After Atlantis, Part 12

[anon_decepticon]

Title: After Atlantis, Part 12
Author: anon_decepticon
Rating: M
Pairing or Character(s): Wheeljack, Trailbreaker, Optimus Prime, Ratchet, 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 from “Dinobot Island, Parts 1 & 2”. Part 11 references scenes from “The Master Builder” and “Auto Berserk.” Part 12 references scenes and quotes a line from “Microbots,” and gives minor nods to “Heavy Metal War” and “Prime Target.” These portions of the fic are not mine.
Warning(s): PTSD angst, references to rape, references to sex, sexual situations.
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. Also available on FFN. Lots of major plot developments in this one. I hope everyone enjoys it. As always, thanks to kookaburra1701 for her encouragement and all-around wonderfulness, and for that “personal canon meme” idea which I shamelessly stole and have derived so much pleasure from. I’ll continue to answer questions on that post for as long as folks feel like asking them.



Wheeljack was lying on his berth, staring blankly up at the ceiling when he received Trailbreaker’s query ping.

Stifling a groan, he heaved himself to his feet and moved to the door, triggering the mechanism. The door slid open, revealing the smiling mech standing on the other side.

“Hey,” Trailbreaker greeted him. “I was in the section, thought I’d stop by.”

“Oh,” he replied with little enthusiasm. “Hi.”

Trailbreaker glanced around uncertainly, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “Do you mind if I come in for a klik?” he asked. “I mean, if that’s okay with you?”

Wheeljack hesitated. A part of him suspected Trailbreaker had shown up at his door because he wanted to interface, that he’d finally come to collect on the debt Wheeljack owed him, but another part recalled he’d had that suspicion before, and been wrong.

“Sure,” he said with a shrug, stepping back to allow the larger mech to enter.

Trailbreaker came in with a quiet “Thanks,” and stood looking about the room, taking in the clutter of tools at the workstation, the haphazard pile of datapads on the berthside table. “Nice,” he commented.

“Thanks,” Wheeljack replied diffidently. “Sorry it’s kind of a mess.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Trailbreaker said agreeably. “I know you’ve been busy lately.”

After an awkward moment of silence, Wheeljack asked, “Did you want to sit down?”

“Sure, thanks,” Trailbreaker assented, settling his broad frame into the only chair.

Wheeljack fidgeted uneasily. He’d been hoping Trailbreaker wouldn’t stay long; he’d only asked to come in for a klik. He felt certain if he sat down too, Trailbreaker would interpret that as an invitation to linger. But he felt silly just standing there, so after a moment’s hesitation, he took a seat on the edge of the berth.

Another long, awkward silence stretched out between them.

“Was there a problem with one of your mods?” he asked finally, unable to bear it any longer.

“Huh?” Trailbreaker said, glancing up to meet his inquiring gaze. “Oh! No. No, they’re working great, thanks.”

Wheeljack’s spark sank. I knew it, he thought. He’s tired of waiting; he wants to ‘face with me again. He didn’t bother offering a reply, regarding Trailbreaker with resigned, expectant optics.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” Trailbreaker said with a sheepish grin.

Not really, he thought wryly. It’s kind of obvious.

“I came to see how you were doing,” Trailbreaker admitted.

Wheeljack stared at him, startled. “Me?” he asked. “Why?”

“Well, you weren’t at the party,” Trailbreaker explained, “and when I heard about what happened to the Negavator...” Trailbreaker trailed off, shrugging, “I thought you might be upset.”

“Oh,” Wheeljack said again, relaxing slightly. “I don’t care about that,” he said. “Better that than letting the ‘Cons get hold of it.”

“You’re not torqued off about it getting destroyed?” Trailbreaker asked, sounding mildly incredulous. “After all the time you spent putting it together? I would be.”

He shrugged again, indifferently. “Most of my inventions end up that way. I’m used to it.”

“I’m impressed,” Trailbreaker said, and he sounded like he meant it. “I know you worked really hard on it; Hound told me he saw you in the common room the other day, said you looked like you were ready to drop. You really don’t mind?”

He shook his helm. “It’s better this way. It was just too powerful.”

Trailbreaker nodded, smiling. “I guess that’s true. At least you’ve still got the plans for it – if you wanted to, you could always build another one.”

Wheeljack stiffened. “No,” he said, more vehemently than he’d intended.

Trailbreaker cocked his helm, regarding him with a quizzical expression.

He lowered his gaze, focusing his optics on the floor. “I’m not making another one,” he said quietly. “Not ever. I should never have built it in the first place.”

Trailbreaker asked softly, “Why not?”

“Because the Decepticons almost got it,” he confessed, fighting to keep the anguish out of his vocalizer. “Rumble nearly shot Optimus with it. Red Alert was damaged defending it.”

Wheeljack heard the shift and scrape of metal as Trailbreaker got to his feet, but he didn’t look up. Not even when the larger mech sat down on the berth beside him, slipping an arm around his shoulder-struts.

“You can’t blame yourself for that,” Trailbreaker said gently. “The humans were the ones who wanted a weapon. Optimus and Ironhide were the ones who agreed to give them one. All you did was build it.”

“I could have built something else,” he disputed. “Something weaker. Something less dangerous.”

“All weapons are dangerous,” Trailbreaker replied. “You gave them what they wanted. You gave them your best, like you always do. That’s not something you should apologize for.”

Trailbreaker’s argument held the ring of truth. “I guess,” he relented.

“If you ask me, the humans shouldn’t have asked for a weapon to begin with,” Trailbreaker opined. “Not if all they wanted was to defend themselves. Offensive weapons have their place, but there’s always a risk that they’ll be turned against you. A defensive device would have been a much better idea.”

Wheeljack lifted his helm, twisting slightly to meet the other mech’s optics. “I never thought of that,” he admitted.

Trailbreaker shrugged, “Why would you? It wasn’t what they asked for.”

Wheeljack nodded. “But you’re right,” he said thoughtfully. “The Decepticons wouldn’t be as interested in a defensive weapon, and the humans would have a way to protect themselves when we’re not around.”

Trailbreaker chuckled, “I guess it figures I’d see it that way – it’s my function, after all.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he said, feeling strangely comforted. “But you’re good at it.”

“Thanks,” Trailbreaker replied, sounding pleased. “I’m glad you think so.”

“Maybe I should try doing that – inventing something defensive instead of offensive,” he said. “Just in case they ask again.”

“Hey, why not?” Trailbreaker said agreeably. “Even if they don’t, I’m sure we could use it.”

And no one would get hurt, he thought, settling back against Trailbreaker’s chassis. The gentle warmth and steady thrum of Trailbreaker’s working systems was remarkably soothing. Wheeljack cycled his vents in a sigh, feeling the tension slipping from his servos.

“Your force field is a powerful defensive mod,” he mused softly. “Versatile, too. Maybe I could come up with something like that, something portable that the humans could use.”

“That’d do the trick,” Trailbreaker agreed. “If you want, you could take a look at mine. See how it works.”

Wheeljack looked up at him in surprise. Every Cybertronian had a singular ability that was unique to them, governed by a power chip rectifier. Most guarded them jealously, holding them second only to their sparks. Even medics sometimes had a hard time persuading nervous mechs to grant them access to those components when they were in need of maintenance or repair. For Trailbreaker to offer his up for casual inspection was…frankly startling.

“You’d do that?” he asked incredulously.

Trailbreaker smiled. “I would for you,” he said. “I owe you, remember?”

“No you don’t,” he insisted, shaking his helm. “Not like that. If anything, I owe you.”

“For what?” Trailbreaker laughed. “That thing with the Dinobots? That doesn’t count. I’d have done that anyway.”

“Not just for that,” Wheeljack replied. “For, you know...everything.”

“Everything..?” Trailbreaker inquired, pulling back slightly to peer at him curiously.

“For listening,” he said, his vocalizer dropping to a whisper. “For waiting.”

“Oh,” Trailbreaker said, catching on. He chuckled, “You don’t owe me for that. I wanted to wait, too.”

Wheeljack stared at him, nonplussed. “You did?”

“Yeah,” Trailbreaker replied, drawing him close again. “Besides, I like listening to you. Talking to you, spending time with you…” His hand dropped to Wheeljack’s waist components, fingers tracing lightly across his hip plate. “…touching you.”

A faint flush of heat suffused his circuits in response to Trailbreaker’s tone. “Oh,” he said softly.

“I like you,” Trailbreaker concluded.

Wheeljack could only stare up at him, speechless. His vocal indicators flickered, but no words emerged from his vocalizer. A gentle, tingling warmth was spreading steadily through his circuitry, familiar, yet not.

How long had it been since he’d felt genuine desire, sincerely craved an intimate connection with another mech? With Starscream, he’d had no choice. With Ratchet, he’d been caught up, swept away by a flood of overwhelming sensation.

This was different.

Trailbreaker’s fingers dipped shallowly into the transformation seam between his hip and thigh, barely brushing the sensitive wires hidden within. “Is this okay?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah,” he whispered back, to his own surprise. A swirl of conflicting emotions stirred in his spark, battling one another for supremacy. His core temperature was rising, creeping steadily upward, degree by slow degree.

“We don’t have to,” Trailbreaker whispered into his audial, his other hand caressing the curve of Wheeljack’s windshield. “If you still want to wait…”

He hesitated, uncertain. He wanted to. He didn’t want to. His spark pulsed with longing – or was it fear? His intakes hitched as Trailbreaker’s wandering hands passed over a particularly sensitive node, making him shudder, a faint whimper escaping his vocalizer.

An astrosecond later, Trailbreaker’s hands halted their movement. “Wheeljack?” he inquired, drawing back to peer into his optics. “Do you want me to stop?”

Unable to speak, Wheeljack shook his helm and reached for him, his hands sliding up over the larger mech’s chestplate, digging his fingers into the gaps where Trailbreaker’s arms met his chassis, tugging him close again.

Trailbreaker moaned at the touch, arching into him. His energy field flickered, extending tentatively outward as his hands resumed their motion. Wheeljack shivered in response to the light, teasing sensation, pushing his own field out to greet it.

The two fields met, rippled, and fell into synch.

Transmitting a set of slow, heavy pulses, Wheeljack pressed his fingers deeper into the gap, probing beneath the heavy armor plating, seeking out sensitive wires and circuits.

Trailbreaker fell back onto the berth with a groan, his cooling fans switching on as Wheeljack followed him down, moved to kneel astride his waist components and leaned over him, his energy field humming.

Trailbreaker’s hands fumbled their way upward along his thighs, blindly seeking out the gaps now left wide and exposed by Wheeljack’s new position. His energy field, no longer tentative, pulsed and throbbed, hungrily enveloping Wheeljack in its heated embrace.

Wheeljack couldn’t help but moan at the sensation, at the energy field pressing hot and hard against his own, making his circuits burn with need. He ran his hands back down Trailbreaker’s chestplate, tripping every sensor he could find along the way, including the ones lining his own highly sensitive palms.

Trailbreaker’s fingers found the gaps below his hip plate, and Wheeljack bucked into them with a groan, trying to force them deeper, his cooling fans switching on with a soft click-whirr. His energy field pulsed faster, hard and demanding, and Trailbreaker gasped his name like a prayer.

It was then that Wheeljack’s questing fingers finally found their goal, reaching up beneath what would be the bumper of Trailbreaker’s alt mode to tug the wires hidden within – the veritable Promised Land for mechs of that build type – and was rewarded with a shout of pleasure and a blast of hot air gusting over his fingertips from Trailbreaker’s wildly revving engine.

The heat and sensation further stimulated the sensors in his hands, and Wheeljack pressed them in further, eager for more. Trailbreaker’s fingers dug in deeper, clenching tight enough to leave dents as he arched beneath him, sobbing out the most deliciously needy whimpers.

Hands stroking faster, Wheeljack once more pushed his energy field into the gasping, straining mech trapped between his parted thighs, sending a series of deep, vigorous pulses rippling through Trailbreaker’s circuits.

“Oh – Primus – Wheeljack–!” Trailbreaker gasped out, his hands spasming against Wheeljack’s hip plate, his vocalizer rising to a shriek as he bellowed out his name. With a raw cry, Trailbreaker overloaded, releasing a massive burst of electricity that slammed into Wheeljack like a thunderbolt from heaven.

Wheeljack stiffened as it struck home, his backstruts bowing, his frame jerking helplessly as the hot, crackling wave of searing electric bliss engulfed him. His vocal indicators flashed and strobed, sending shadows chasing over the walls, but his wordless cries of pleasure were lost amid the rattle and roar of vibrating metal and revving engines.

Moments later, he slumped over Trailbreaker, his intakes heaving, the steady tick-tick-tick of cooling metal ringing in his audials, his circuits sizzling in the aftermath of ecstasy.

Trailbreaker’s darkened optics flickered and onlined, and the defense strategist stared up at him in wonder, panting heavily through his intakes in an effort cool his overheated internals.

“Holy Primus, Wheeljack,” Trailbreaker gasped. “That was so worth the wait.”

Trailbreaker’s words, and awestruck tone in which he uttered them, made Wheeljack’s circuits heat with embarrassment. He realized belatedly that he was still sprawled atop the larger mech and made to rise, but Trailbreaker caught hold of his hand, tugging him back down.

“Don’t run off yet,” Trailbreaker said with a teasing grin. “I was just starting to enjoy myself.”

“Starting to?” he asked wryly.

Trailbreaker barked a laugh. “Oh, I enjoyed that – you know I did – but I like this part, too,” he explained, reaching up to caress Wheeljack’s chestplate.

He shifted uneasily, unsure how to respond. He wasn’t as large as some mechs, but he was no minibot. He was certainly heavy enough to keep Trailbreaker effectively pinned to the berth, but for some reason Trailbreaker didn’t seem to mind.

After a moment’s hesitation, he eased back down.

Trailbreaker huffed contentedly through his vents and slid his arms around him, gathering him close.

Wheeljack was more than a little nonplussed. He knew their overheated systems would stabilize far more rapidly if they separated. Remaining in such close proximity post-overload would trap the excess heat between them, keeping their core temperatures elevated. Even now, the heat was most concentrated where their frames were in direct contact, leaving him feeling like he was sitting astride a smelter. Did Trailbreaker actually like that?

“Mmm,” Trailbreaker rumbled happily, “You’re so warm.”

Apparently, he did.

As puzzling as Trailbreaker’s behavior was, it at least afforded Wheeljack the opportunity to think. A part of him was still reeling, shocked by what he had done.

He’d interfaced with Trailbreaker again.

He’d known it was coming; ever since the night they’d first interfaced, he’d anticipated the moment when Trailbreaker would inevitably appear and request a repeat performance, attempt to initiate a second intimate encounter. The very thought had filled him with dread.

Now that moment had come and gone – and he’d accepted it. He'd welcomed it.

The first time, he’d been frozen with fear, unable to act or even protest. He’d lain mute and helpless as Trailbreaker stimulated him to overload, wanting nothing more than for him to stop.

This time he’d wanted nothing more than for him continue.

He shuddered as he recalled the exquisite sensations, the waves of pleasure coursing through his circuitry, rising and swelling to a final, ecstatic peak.

He hadn’t been afraid. He hadn’t felt frightened or helpless. He’d felt confident, powerful, in control.

And it had felt good.

Trailbreaker stirred beneath him, distracting him from his thoughts. Even pressed so close together, the heat between them had gradually dissipated, allowing their systems to normalize.

He glanced down at the larger mech, “Did you want me to move?”

Trailbreaker’s lip components curled in a little pout. “I guess we have to get up eventually,” he said with regret. “You probably want me to get out of here so you can get some recharge.”

“You don’t have to,” he heard himself saying. “You can stay if you want.”

Trailbreaker beamed. “You mean it?”

Wheeljack thought for a moment. Incredibly, he did. “Yeah.”

Trailbreaker slid a hand up his backstrut, sending a curious tingling sensation shivering through Wheeljack’s exhausted circuits as they endeavored to respond, making his intakes hitch. Then he lowered the hand to the berth and patted it gently. “Here?” he said, grinning teasingly.

Nodding mutely, Wheeljack shifted his weight to one side, lifting himself off the larger mech. After a few moments of shuffling around they managed to rearrange themselves so that they were lying properly on the berth, stretched out side by side. Once more Trailbreaker reached for him, wrapping his arms around Wheeljack’s waist components and pulling him in close to his chassis.

The closeness, the warmth, and the steady hum of Trailbreaker’s systems were all becoming increasingly familiar to Wheeljack, subtle reminders his CPU associated with comfort and safety. He realized with a jolt that the last night he’d spent like this, wrapped tight in Trailbreaker’s embrace, had been the first time he’d successfully completed a full recharge cycle, undisturbed by sensor echoes.

A tension he hadn’t even known was there abruptly eased from his servos. He cycled a sigh of relief, settling more comfortably into the arms of his lover.

Within moments he’d drifted into a deep and dreamless recharge.

**

Wheeljack onlined wrapped in Trailbreaker’s arms, his systems rebooting as the recharge cycle he’d initiated the night before completed its run.

Evidently his theory had been correct. There’d been no interruptions. No sensor ghosts.

He’d needed the respite, needed it badly. Of all the troubles plaguing him recently, his inability to recharge normally had been the most critical, the one most likely to cause him to do something foolish out of sheer desperation, to make some fatal error that resulted in the injury – or worse – of a fellow ‘Bot or human ally. He’d already done things he regretted, made some poor decisions he blamed at least in part on the diminished processing capacity of his wearied CPU.

He glanced over at Trailbreaker, still deep in recharge, studying him thoughtfully. He may not have managed to get his hands on a processor inhibitor…but it seemed he’d found an effective alternative.

A renewed sense of optimism filled his spark, and he felt a measure of his former confidence returning. With sufficient recharge, he’d be able to function again. More than any mod or invention, Wheeljack’s processor was what he relied on, the source of his greatest strength. With it charged and functioning at full capacity, he would be able to face his problems head-on, the way he used to, before…everything had happened.

A slight variation in the soft, steady hum of Trailbreaker’s slumbering systems pulled Wheeljack from his musings, drawing his attention back to the mech recharging beside him. A few astroseconds later Trailbreaker stirred, his optics onlining to meet Wheeljack’s.

“Morning,” Wheeljack greeted him, vocal indicators flashing brightly.

Trailbreaker grinned broadly. “Someone’s feeling chipper this morning,” he said with a chuckle. “Have a good recharge?”

“I did,” he replied. “Thanks.”

Trailbreaker’s optics gave off a faint glow in the dimly lit room as his hand sought out Wheeljack’s in the darkness and gave it a gentle squeeze. “So, no regrets this time?”

The question triggered a revelation in his CPU, a complication he’d failed to consider, one he’d overlooked in his elation. He’d recharged well last night, true – but what about tonight? Or tomorrow night? The night after?

He didn’t think he’d have any difficulty persuading Trailbreaker to share his berth every night to ensure his uninterrupted recharge, but he also knew such an arrangement wouldn’t come without a cost. If they began sharing a berth on a regular basis, Trailbreaker would naturally expect Wheeljack to interface with him. Frequently.

His spark quailing, Wheeljack met Trailbreaker’s earnest gaze – now tinged with worry due to his lack of an immediate response – and thought fast.

He now knew that he didn’t have to feel frightened or helpless during an interface, didn’t have to just lie there and let things be done to him. He could take control, take the lead, set the pace, the way he had last night. He could interface on his own terms. As accommodating as he was, Wheeljack felt certain Trailbreaker would let him.

Last night hadn’t been too awful. Certainly not as bad as the first time. It had even been…kind of nice.

If that was the price Wheeljack had to pay for uninterrupted recharge, for a processor free of sensor echoes…

He decided he was willing to pay it.

“No,” he said after a momentary pause. “No, no regrets.”

Trailbreaker’s expression seemed caught somewhere between relieved and wary. “You had to think about that,” he said, not sounding quite as cheerful as he had a moment ago.

Processor racing, he stammered, “Yeah. I, uh…actually I was thinking maybe we could, um…”

Trailbreaker’s optics brightened with hope and desire. His hand, still clasping Wheeljack’s, gave a slight squeeze. “You want to go again?” he guessed, a hint of eagerness betraying his vocalizer.

Wheeljack’s spark clenched in apprehension. He'd made his decision, but he hadn’t expected to be called to act on it quite so soon. He hesitated, torn. If he refused, it might arouse Trailbreaker’s suspicions. If he consented, Trailbreaker might sense his reluctance.

The soft chime of an internal reminder provided the solution to his dilemma. “I can’t,” he said. “I’m on duty in a few breems.”

“Oh,” Trailbreaker replied, wilting a little. “I’m off today,” he added almost as an afterthought.

“If you don’t have plans, you could come to the lab with me, let me take a look at your force field mod,” he suggested.

Trailbreaker grinned. “Aha. You do want to get under my plating,” he teased. “I knew it.”

“Yeah, I guess I do,” Wheeljack said, ducking his helm in embarrassment. “Will you?” he asked softly, meeting his gaze entreatingly.

“When you ask like that, how can I refuse?” Trailbreaker replied happily.

**

As they departed from his quarters, they bumped into Ironhide. Literally.

Wheeljack exited first, glancing back as he stepped out into the corridor to see if Trailbreaker was following. A sudden jolt and a loud clang announced the collision, followed by another as he stumbled back against Trailbreaker’s chestplate. Trailbreaker had the presence of mind to catch him, steadying Wheeljack long enough for him to regain his equilibrium.

“Aw, sorry, Wheeljack,” he heard Ironhide saying in his familiar drawl. “Didn’t see ya there.”

“That’s all right, Ironhide. No harm done,” Trailbreaker replied cheerfully. “Good morning, by the way.”

There was a brief, startled pause. “Uh, mornin’ Trailbreaker,” Ironhide stammered. “H-how are ya?”

“Good,” Trailbreaker said. “We’re on our way to the common room for some energon; care to join us?”

Ironhide glanced at Wheeljack, who avoided his optics, finding himself suddenly wishing he could sink into the floor and disappear.

“Nah, that’s okay,” Ironhide drawled, sounding uncomfortable. “I gotta get to Command.”

“All right then,” Trailbreaker replied agreeably. “See you around!””

Wheeljack’s circuits burned with mortification as he watched Ironhide hurry off. Based on the security officer’s flustered reaction, Ironhide had immediately discerned the fact that Trailbreaker had spent the night in Wheeljack’s quarters, and drawn an accurate conclusion as to why.

Wheeljack cycled a sigh. He supposed he should be thankful Ironhide had been surprised; Ironhide’s quarters were directly adjacent to his own, and sound sometimes carried through the walls. He could only pray Ironhide had been out late last night, or deep in recharge.

“We’d better get moving,” Trailbreaker said. “If he’s in a hurry to report for duty, he must be running late. Which means you are, too.”

“He reports in early so he can check in with Red Alert,” Wheeljack replied, which was true. “We’ve still got time to refuel.”

“Oh,” Trailbreaker said. “Great, let’s go.”

They proceeded on to the common room – Trailbreaker once again rested a hand on his backstrut as they walked, this time further down, just above his waist components – which proved to be fairly crowded that morning.

No one remarked on their arrival, much to Wheeljack’s relief. After a brief consultation, Trailbreaker headed off to dispense their rations while Wheeljack secured an empty table.

The sting of embarrassment he’d felt in response to their brief meeting with Ironhide began to fade, and his thoughts gradually turned to the latest task he’d laid out for himself – the invention of a portable force field generator.

Removing a datapad and stylus from his subspace compartment, he began making notations, drawing up a basic schematic. By the time Trailbreaker returned with a pair of energon cubes for them, Wheeljack was thoroughly absorbed in his project.

“What’s that?” Trailbreaker asked, peering at the datapad as he set a cube down in front of him.

“I’m drawing up a schematic for that force field generator we talked about,” Wheeljack replied absently, making another notation. “I’ll have to fabricate some of the components, jury-rig a few others from stuff I’ve got lying around the lab, but I think I’ve got everything I need to build it.” He picked up the cube Trailbreaker had set before him and subspaced it for later without lifting his optics from the datapad. “It won’t be anywhere near as compact as yours, and it’ll probably consume a ton of energy, but I don’t think the humans will mind. There’s no shortage of resources here on Earth, and compared to their current technology, it’ll seem downright efficient.”

“Wow,” Trailbreaker said, sitting down. He sounded impressed. “Sounds like you’ve got it all worked out. You sure you even need me?”

Wheeljack glanced up at him. Trailbreaker’s tone was upbeat and playful, a teasing grin quirking his lip components, but a hint of uncertainty lurked in his optics.

“I definitely need you,” he reassured him. “I only have a general understanding how your force field works; I’m not real sure of the details. Having you there for reference will be a big help.”

“Oh, good,” Trailbreaker replied, a look of relief flickering across his faceplate. “If there’s anything I can do for you, just name it.”

“Thanks,” he said, returning his attention to the datapad.

Trailbreaker remained silent as he worked, quietly consuming his energon ration. Within a few kliks Wheeljack was once more completely absorbed – so much so that when another mech came over to their table, he barely even registered his approach.

“There you are, ‘Breaker!” Hound said. “I’ve been looking all over for you! You weren’t in your quarters last night, and when I stopped by this morning, you – oh. Hi, Wheeljack!”

Wheeljack looked up to find Hound staring at him in surprise, having broken off in mid-sentence to greet him.

“Hey, Hound,” he replied, giving the scout a polite nod before returning his attention to his datapad.

Hound glanced back and forth between the two seated mechs, his gaze finally settling on Trailbreaker. “I was hoping you could help me out again today, ‘Breaker,” he said. He gave Wheeljack another brief glance. “You busy?”

“I am this morning,” he heard Trailbreaker reply. “I might be free this afternoon, though. Wheeljack?”

“We’ll be done by then,” he said without looking up, scratching out a line on his datapad and making a minor revision.

“Does this afternoon work for you?” Trailbreaker asked his friend.

“Yeah,” Hound replied, and Wheeljack could tell from his tone he was smiling. “That’ll be fine. Meet me in my quarters?”

“I’ll be there,” Trailbreaker assured him.

“Great! Looking forward to it,” Hound said. “See you around, fellas.”

Wheeljack glanced up long enough to give a distracted wave farewell, then went back to his datapad. There was a moment of silence, followed by the rhythmic clank of Hound’s retreating footsteps. “Quatra board?” he asked, his optics still focused on the screen.

“Yeah,” Trailbreaker replied with a chuckle. “Feels like we’ve been playing forever, but he thinks we might finally finish in another day or two. Then he can give the board to Mirage, who’ll probably beat his aft on it in less than a joor.”

He laughed, imagining Hound’s expression in that scenario. “It’s the thought that counts,” he said, vocal indicators flashing in amusement. Subspacing his datapad, he looked up and noted that Trailbreaker had already finished and dispersed his cube. “You ready to go?”

“You bet,” Trailbreaker replied, getting to his feet and offering him a hand. “Let’s get inventing.”

**

Within a few joors, they had produced a functional prototype.

Functional might have been a slightly generous description. The first time Wheeljack activated the device, the energy drain blew all the lights in his lab, plunging them into darkness. He’d had to fumble around for the “off” switch by the dim glow of his own optics.

But at least it hadn’t blown up.

Trailbreaker’s input had proved invaluable. Not only had he allowed Wheeljack to open him up and examine his force field for reference, he’d lent a hand in the actual construction, even suggested several applications for the force field itself that Wheeljack hadn’t thought of.

He’d also been very pleasant company. The jokes and camaraderie they’d shared as they worked reminded Wheeljack of the times he’d spent performing repairs in the medbay with Ratchet – only without the acerbic comments.

He hadn’t quite managed to work up the nerve to invite Trailbreaker to spend the night in his quarters again, but there’d been a couple of occasions when he’d come pretty close. At one point he’d looked up to find Trailbreaker gazing at him with a curiously wistful expression, and he’d nearly said something – but then Trailbreaker had noticed him looking, smiled and asked him a question, and the moment was gone.

In the end, he let Trailbreaker go without vocalizing his request, telling himself he’d comm him later, once he’d had some time to work out exactly how he intended to phrase it. Trailbreaker’s hand had brushed against one of his sensor-winglets as he bade him farewell; Wheeljack couldn’t decide if it had been accidental or not.

He’d gone back to the device to do some fine-tuning when he got the comm.

A special news bulletin had interrupted “As the Kitchen Sinks” to report the discovery of an “alien spacecraft” on the continent of South America that had been uncovered by a team of human archeologists. The humans were excited by the news. The Autobots, after catching a glimpse of the mysterious craft in question, were not.

It was the Nemesis. Megatron’s ship, the one that had pursued them all the way from Cybertron, ultimately crash-landing on Earth, just as the Ark had crashed. Unlike the Ark, it had been lost, buried in the earth for four million years.

Until now.

After so much time, it was unlikely the Nemesis would ever fly again, but its discovery was still a cause for concern for one simple reason: The Heart of Cybertron.

The Heart was an energy maximizer, an amplifying crystal that had served as the power core of the Decepticon warship. Megatron would never allow such a potent energy source to lie unclaimed for long, not when he could use it to power some devastating new weapon or energy-collection device. They had to get to it first.

Every ‘Bot on duty was ordered to roll out, including Wheeljack and – to his dismay – Ratchet.

Seeing Ratchet again was an unpleasant surprise. He hadn’t realized the medic had returned to duty. Wheeljack studiously avoided his optics as they boarded Skyfire and rushed to the dig site.

They arrived too late.

Megatron had already recovered the Heart by the time they arrived and implanted it inside himself. The energy supplied by the crystal made the Decepticon leader all but invincible. They’d attacked in full force, and Megatron had single-handedly swept them aside like so many iron filings.

There was no other choice but to retreat. Trapping the Decepticons in a rockfall bought them enough time to escape, but it was only a temporary solution. Sooner or later Megatron would come for them, and powered by Heart, he would be unstoppable.

**

“Start with Wheeljack. I need him.”

Prime’s order startled him. Only five of the ‘Bots who’d accompanied them on the mission had escaped from the battle unscathed; everyone else had been damaged, including Hoist and Ratchet. Why had he been given priority over the two medics?

In spite of his confusion, he didn’t argue. At least it meant his repairs would be performed by Perceptor or Sparkplug rather than Ratchet. He didn’t think he wanted his former friend getting that close.

When he was fully functional again, he reported to Prime’s office.

“Come in, Wheeljack,” Optimus Prime called in response to his query ping.

“You wanted me, Optimus?” he asked as he stepped into the room.

“Yes,” Prime replied. “I need you to rebuild the Negavator.”

He stared at the Autobot leader in disbelief, too stunned to speak.

Optimus looked at him inquiringly when he failed to reply, cocking his helm in concern. “Wheeljack?”

He belatedly regained command of his vocalizer. “…I, I can’t,” he stammered out.

“If you don’t have the materials you need, we can make arrangements with the humans to –”

“No, I can’t,” he said again, interrupting him. His vocalizer quavered on the last syllable, and he bowed his helm in shame, unable to meet Prime’s puzzled optics.

There was a brief silence as Optimus digested this information. Then he sighed, a soft cycling of his vents. “I’m sorry to have to ask you for this, Wheeljack,” he said finally, his tone gentle and understanding. “I know lately you’ve been –”

“I’m fine!” he blurted out, his circuits heating in chagrin at the desperation coloring his words, at the crackle of static that invaded them. He clenched his hands into fists, fighting to rein in his rioting emotions, to keep himself under control.

“I wish there was another way,” Optimus said, his vocalizer thick with regret. “But as long as Megatron has the Heart of Cybertron, he’s far too dangerous for us to try and handle on our own. We need the Negavator. It’s our only hope of stopping him.”

“And what if it doesn’t?” he asked softly. “What if I rebuild the Negavator and Megatron takes it from us, because he’s too powerful for us to stop him?” He raised his helm, meeting Prime’s optics with a pleading gaze. “What if he ends up with both the Heart and the Negavator, and uses them to destroy everything – us, the Earth…even Cybertron?”

Optimus Prime stared at him, clearly taken aback, but after a moment he recovered. “Do you have another suggestion?” he asked.

“No,” he said, shaking his helm. “I’ve been working on a portable force field, but it’s still just a prototype and uses a lot of energy. It might hold him off for a while, but…”

“But it’s all we’ve got,” Optimus said, surprising him. “We’ll input the specs into Teletraan-1, run an analysis to find out exactly how much time your force field will buy us.”

“Yes sir,” he said, removing the datapad containing the force field schematic from his subspace compartment and handing it over. “I’ll start setting it up.”

**

Five Earth minutes.

That was how long Teletraan-1 predicted Wheeljack’s force field generator would hold out under a continuous assault from a hyper-powered Megatron.

Five. Minutes.

Wheeljack’s spark sank. It wasn’t enough. Burying the Decepticons in an avalanche of rock had bought them some time – certainly more than five Earth minutes – but it wouldn’t hold them for more than a joor or two, and he’d wasted those precious joors making preparations on a useless force field when he could have been assembling a weapon that would have saved them from certain doom.

A sickening blend of guilt, disgust and self-recrimination suffused his circuits, making his fuel tank churn. He’d been selfish. He’d refused to rebuild the Negavator out of fear of being single-handedly responsible for destroying them all – and by his refusal, accomplished the same feat.

It was too much to bear.

He looked on in despair as the other Autobots bustled around him, busily working to re-route every available erg of energy the Ark could spare to power his force field generator. No one spoke. No one commented on the futility of their plan, or expressed regret over the fact that they would soon be facing the end of their existence. Somehow, they all still clung to hope.

Wheeljack couldn’t. He had no hope left.

Optimus Prime returned. Wheeljack glanced up as he approached, half-expecting him to offer a reprimand, or perhaps ask if there was still time to rebuild the Negavator.

Instead, Prime described a new plan – an insane, illogical, irrational plan – conceived by Perceptor, to use his Transmat Reduction Beam to shrink a handful of Autobot warriors down to microscopic size, allowing them to infiltrate Megatron’s body and disconnect the Heart of Cybertron from within. In the meantime, Wheeljack’s force field would be used to delay the Decepticon tyrant, to keep him occupied while the micronized ‘Bots completed their mission.

He didn’t know whether to feel relieved or horrified. Perceptor’s proposed course of action was completely ludicrous, fantastically dangerous – and their only hope of survival.

**

Wheeljack knelt down beside what was left of his portable force field, examining the wreckage to see if any portion of it was salvageable.

There wasn’t. The device had been thoroughly slagged.

But it had done its job. It had protected them, bought them the time Perceptor and the others had needed to disconnect the Heart of Cybertron from Megatron. Knowing that, Wheeljack felt more pride than regret as he surveyed its charred and smoking remains.

He imagined Trailbreaker’s response when he learned how effective the force field had been, the same force field he’d helped Wheeljack to build, and a curious warmth filled his spark. Shrugging his shoulder-struts and shaking his helm, he got to his feet and headed back to the Ark to tell him.

Ratchet was waiting for him just beyond the entrance.

He halted a few strides short of the medic’s position. “Ratchet,” he greeted him coldly.

“We need to talk,” Ratchet said without preamble.

Wheeljack’s optics narrowed. “I don’t think we do.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” Ratchet replied tolerantly. “But we still need to talk.”

“Fine,” he spat. “You want to talk? Let’s talk.” He crossed his arms over his chestplate, glaring at the medic. “What do you want to talk about first?” he asked acidly. “How you’ve been lying to me all this time? How you threatened to betray me? Or how you tried to plug yourself into me?”

A flurry of emotions too complex and numerous to interpret flickered rapidly across Ratchet’s faceplate. “I’m sorry, ‘Jack, truly sorry for that. I handled it all wrong. Please, just listen –”

“I think I’ve done enough of that already,” Wheeljack interrupted curtly. “I’m through listening to you, Ratchet. I don’t believe a word you say anymore.”

“I get it, ‘Jack,” Ratchet said gently, placatingly. “I get that you’re angry with me, and I understand, believe me. If you’d just let me explain–”

“Explain what, exactly?” he demanded, cutting him off again. “Is this the part where you tell me you were only trying to help me? That I should trust you?”

“’Jack, come on –”

“Or maybe this is the part where you lecture me about being not being honest about my feelings?” he persisted venomously. “You know all about that, don’t you Ratchet?”

Ratchet looked stricken, his lip components contorting briefly, but he tried again. “’Jack, please –”

“Maybe you were planning to try and blackmail me again,” he said, his optics blazing as anger simmered through his circuits. “You go ahead and try, Ratchet,” he challenged. “You say one word to anyone, and I'll tell Optimus his CMO is running around blabbing the contents of his patients’ confidential medical files. You know, the ones with highly restricted access?”

Ratchet’s optics widened in shock and disbelief. His mouth opened, but no words emerged.

“Guess you don’t like that idea,” Wheeljack observed icily. “I’m betting Optimus won’t like it much either.”

Ratchet stared at him, stunned and speechless, devastated by his counter-threat.

“Stay away from me, Ratchet,” he warned, “and stay out of my business.” With a final glare, Wheeljack shouldered past him roughly, reentering the Ark.

He didn’t look back.


*Part 13 is here.*

A/N: Finally got Chapter 20 (the second half of this post) up on FFN thanks to an ingenious suggestion from swipeatronspark. Handy little dodge, that. Thanks again!