Rating: M
Chapter 12
He'd seen that mech around before.
Rodimus stood against a pillar,
glass of low-grade in his servo, as he stared curiously at the other
autodog across the room. In the beginning, he had been merely
mingling with the other party-goers, trying to strike up discussion
with several of them. Each had been a fairly short and clipped
conversation. Despite Ultra Magnus' beliefs, the golden retriever
really did not do well in “high class” scenes, and this party was
only proving it.
The young mech would rather be back
at home, going over homicide case files than be here, attempting to
charm some over-privileged, pompous mutt. It was just too bad that
this kind of crowd happened to be their most frequent clients. After
a couple cycles of failed conversation and rebuttal after rebuttal,
Rodimus had resigned to an evening of boredom, until things had wound
down enough that he could acceptably leave. Of course, his boredom
was quick to depart once he'd spotted that familiar mech.
Even among all the pedigrees
surrounding him, it was very hard not to notice the pomeranian.
Obviously, the stranger worked diligently to make his presence as
such.
The last time the lawyer had seen
him was at a social function similar to this one last week. Except
this time, he wasn't with the same mech. Rodimus peered perplexedly
at the ageing autodog that had one servo on the pomeranian's
backstruts; before his very optics, that servo slyly dropped lower,
squeezing heatedly at the other's aft. The golden retriever almost
spluttered in shock at the blatant disregard for the stranger's
dignity and self-respect, but felt even more alarmed when the autodog
did nothing about it.
Was this acceptable behaviour among
these snooty 'bots? Should he anticipate someone sneaking up behind
him and grabbing at his tail some time soon?
Spurred on by his slightly paranoid
thoughts, Rodimus glanced behind him, but thankfully found no other
autodog within ten feet of his person. Huffing at his ridiculous
thoughts, the golden retriever turned forwards again; an optic ridge
rising in surprise as he saw the pomeranian stroke his partner's
cheekplate before twisting away. Seeing this for the opportunity that
it was, Rodimus quickly gave chase, trailing after the other autodog
before he was completely lost in the crowd. He followed the
pomeranian all the way down a less populated hallway, before the
taller mech turned the corner up ahead.
Increasing his pace, the golden
retriever rounded the same corner, finding himself coming to an
immediate stop just before the very 'bot he was chasing. A smile
pulled at rouge lip components; seductive blue optics sparkling in
mirth behind glass frames.
“Hello,” purred the other.
“U-um....” Rodimus quickly
straightened up, taking a step back. Giving himself a moment to
collect his dignity, the lawyer quickly cleared his vocalizer,
turning his helm to the side slightly; feigning disinterest as he
tried to calm the flushing of his cheekplates. “My apologies. I
thought that this way led to the washrooms.”
The pomeranian smirked at the poor
excuse, crossing his arms over his chestplates as he stepped closer
to the golden retriever. “Really now? I could have sworn that you
were simply following me,” he replied, amusement colouring his
tone. “In fact, I'm certain that you've been watching me for the
past cycle already. It's hard not to notice such a fervent stare from
a cutie like yourself.”
There was no way to hide his blush
now. “I.... I've seen you before. At the Grandus' party last week,”
Rodimus mumbled. “You were with a different 'bot there too....”
“Ah....,” said the
multi-coloured autodog. His optics flashed knowingly. “And no doubt
you wanted to inquire about my various 'mechfriends', correct? I'm
sure a smart mech like yourself can figure it out.”
The golden retriever frowned at the
avoidance, shifting in place uncomfortably. If he had to caution a
guess as to what the other was, he knew it would not be a pleasant
answer, nor a respectable career. Still, the pomeranian was evidently
waiting for a response.... “A pleasure-bot,” Rodimus supplied,
keeping his expression as neutral as possible as the words escaped
him.
As he had half-expected, anger
flashed across the other's optics and his lip components pulled
downwards in a scowl. “No, not a pleasure-bot,” the other
started, obviously miffed. “Though,” he purred again in the next
moment, “I do excel in the field of pleasure. No, my dear friend, I
am an escort. That's a little different from a lowly, virus-infected
pleasure-bot. The paycheck is bigger for one.”
Rodimus frowned again, slightly
annoyed that he was being spoken to like an ignorant sparkling. His
earlier unease fading now, he propped his servos on his hips, looking
at the pomeranian blandly. “So you make a living by sleeping with
various mechs? I can not fathom how such a thing would be considered
dignifying.”
The multi-coloured mech chuckled
softly, stepping forwards until he was pede-to-pede with the golden
retriever. Not one to be intimidated by anyone -not even arrogant,
beautiful pansies- Rodimus maintained his stance, even when
daring fingers stroked temptingly down his chestplates.
“Don't be so silly, love,” cooed
the stranger. “Everybody needs a little love, every now and then.
Even if it's just physical.”
The cynical truth of the words
echoed painfully in Rodimus' spark. The pomeranian stared at him
silently as he turned his helm away again, his gaze fixed to the
floor dimly.
“I can see,” started the other
autodog softly as he withdrew his fingers, “That apparently even
you are the same as everyone else. Here.” A card flashed under
Rodimus' olfactory sensor.
Uncertainly, the golden retriever
reached up, taking the card. It was for some bar he'd never heard of;
the address placing it somewhere at the edge of the city. Flipping
the plastic over, Rodimus found a cell number scribbled on the back.
The name 'Tracks' was written just under it.
“Should you ever need someone to
call,” the pomeranian said as he stepped around the lawyer and back
towards the party. “Remember: there's no harm in having outlets.
Everyone needs them at one point or another.”
Rodimus looked up from the card,
turning and watching Tracks strut away. Silently, his optics dropped
back down to the card in his fingers, before he slipped it into his
pocket.
xxXxXxx
Systems humming quietly as they began
to stir into attentiveness once more, Rodimus slowly onlined his
optics, his processor replaying the last dregs of the memory file
over in his helm like a self-made taunt.
He'd think it was a curious thing to
remember, but considering the circumstances, the autodog couldn't say
that it was really.
Sitting up, kicking the arm off that
had wrapped itself around his waist presumptuously, the golden
retriever slipped off the berth, ignoring his partner's sleepy
grumbles of discontent. It only took him moments to wipe off the mess
between his thighs with some tissue, and then several more to put his
clothes back on.
“Going so soon then?,” teased a low
voice.
Coldly, Rodimus turned to face
Blackout, buttoning up the last of his shirt. “I'll call you when
it's necessary,” he informed, grabbing his keys and heading for the
door.
The kittycon watched him go silently,
his expression displeased.
xxXxXxx
“Uncle Jazz..... what is most of
vital company being for Iacon?”
The dalmatian slowed in his chopping,
turning and looking at his two charges. Jetstorm and Jetfire -who'd
been nearly mute all orn- were currently looking up at him now, their
own sets of onions sitting half diced, abandoned for the time being.
He wasn't entirely sure if it was from the vegetables or not, but it
almost looked as if the hybrids optics were glazed to the security
guard.
“Um, well,” Jazz struggled to grin,
trying to remain cheery for the oddly quiet younglings, “There
really are a lot of companies that are important to a city. Iacon
just happens to have many globally vital institutions calling this
place home for their headquarters.”
“Yes, but ones which?,” Jetstorm
asked, setting down his knife completely. His brother copied him.
Seeing that they weren't going to be
getting back to cooking anytime soon, Jazz sighed softly, putting
down his own knife and turning the stove off. “Well, let's see,”
he explained, stroking at his chin thoughtfully. “You've got your
basic ones, Pipelines, Cybertron Bridge and Octane Airways, for
imports and exports. Then you've got the judicial system, obviously,
and the Science Guild along with Iacon General. And of course you got
your speciality ones, such as the CaseDeck Communications Network and
Fusion Inc.”
The twins perked at that last sentence.
“Is what that?,” Jetfire asked, his tone unusually innocent.
“What, you mean Fusion Inc?,” Jazz
replied. Two helms nodded in confirmation. “Well, that one is an
easy answer. That company has been around for a good decade now, and
they've entirely taken over all industries for energon-processing and
refinement. In fact, the CEO lives not too far away.... Word has it
that he lives in a smaller town just outside of Iacon, with his wife
and family.”
“Listen boys, I'm not really good
with all this business stuff,” the dalmatian continued, raising his
servos in apology. “If you want though, there should be some
magazines over there on the table. I know there was one or two with
articles about various CEOs and their beginning roots. You two go on
ahead and I'll finish cooking this up so we can at least have some
lunch, okay?”
At his suggestion, Jetfire and Jetstorm
immediately dashed off towards the lounge room table, wrestling each
other for the magazines. Jazz only watched them go, smiling wryly at
the cute if baffling behaviour, as he turned the stove back on to
let the water boil and busied himself with the last of the onions.
xxXxXxx
It was a quiet day, Rodimus noted.
Shuffling through his files quietly, the autodog turned the corner,
lifting his helm to greet Optimus. The words though did not fall of
the tip of his glossa; shuttering his optics in shock, the lawyer
stared uncertainly at the empty desk where the german shepherd would
usually be. He was stirred from his daze when the glass doors behind
the secretary's desk opened up, Ultra Magnus exiting out of them.
“Ah, Rodimus,” the great dane
greeted, “How are you?”
Shaking his helm a little, the golden
retriever turned to the older lawyer, a smile on his lip components.
“I'm good, sir, but..... I'm sorry, I confess I'm a little
perplexed. Where is Optimus? It is not usual for him to be away from
the desk,” Rodimus replied.
Ultra Magnus nodded his helm in
understanding, approaching the younger mech. “Yes, I can understand
your confusion,” he said kindly, one large servo resting on the
other's shoulders. “Optimus is a diligent worker, but even he needs
some days off. At the moment, he has requested sick leave and is no
doubt at home, recovering from whatever it is that plagues him. I
hope for a speedy and kind recovery.”
Rodimus let himself be turned about,
the great dane's servo still sitting warmly on his shoulder plating
as they walked back down the hall. “Yes, I hope he gets better as
well. His absence is a little unsettling... perhaps I am just too
used to him being here.” The golden retriever shrugged. “My only
concern now would have to be the twins. Do Jetfire and Jetstorm
know?”
“I'm not certain,” the older mech
confessed. “But, I am sure they are being kept busy with their
other tutors. Which reminds me: how are they faring in your class?”
“They are doing quite well. It won't
be too long before they are proper, polite mechs.”
Ultra Magnus looked down at the golden
retriever. “But?” Rodimus lifted his helm to the larger 'bot
perplexedly. “I can hear the hesitation in your vocalizer,
Rodimus,” the great dane pointed out. “Tell me, what is it that
bothers you?”
Cheekplates flushing in embarrassment,
the smaller mech shifted his files in his arms, before sighing softly
and acquiescing to his boss' gentle prompt. “I guess I'm still
uncertain about why you chose me of all mechs to teach two younglings
etiquette and courtesy,” Rodimus explained. “Surely, there must
have been others much more equipped at teaching such vital lessons,
other than myself.”
The older lawyer smiled, stopping and
facing the other autodog fully. At the absolute attention he was
receiving, Rodimus was quick to lower his gaze shyly. “The fact
that you can say such things, and with gentleness, only further shows
that you are right to be the twins' tutor in this field,” Ultra
Magnus complimented. “You understand that proper behaviour is a
life-long lesson, and everyday, even you are learning more. If you
had been cocky in any sense, it would be an error on my part to
appoint you as those young ones' teacher. Is my judgement marred?”
Rodimus flushed further, dropping his
chin for a moment before respectively turning his face back up and
speaking clearly so the bigger mech could hear. “....Y-you, you
flatter me much, sir.”
Chuckling, the great dane patted the
young lawyer's arm, tucking his arms behind his back and walking
forwards again. The smaller autodog was quick to follow. “It is
flattery well-deserved,” Ultra Magnus said. “One day, you shall
make a 'bot very happy. Your politeness and chivalry shall endear
them to you, and I know the family you both will raise together will
be a good one. I look forward to that day.”
Enraptured as he was with his harmless
musings, the older lawyer missed the look of sorrow that flashed
across Rodimus' optics, or the way his pace slowed just a tad. “Yes,
of course, sir,” the golden retriever replied flatly, before
falling silent altogether.
xxXxXxx
“That is... being sire?”
Jetstorm leaned in closer to his
brother, his question a whisper as he stared at the glossy page
before him. Jetfire did not answer him, but merely frowned at the
article; his optics dimming sadly. Jazz had been right: they were
many magazines left in the lounge room, some older than others, and a
lot about various businesses around Iacon. It had taken the hybrids a
little while to search through the collected mass, but their efforts
had been fortuitous in the end.
They had found the specific issue their
tutor had mentioned.
“He big, looking scary mech is,”
Jetfire had noted, when they'd first started scouring through the
pages. At first, they'd been merely skimming, but when Jetstorm noted
the word 'family', they'd slowed down to actually read the words
printed on the page. It made their fuel tanks sink low in their
frames.
“Big 'bot money makes lot of,” the
blue youngling said.
His twin vented softly. “He happy is,
says paper. Big 'bot live in house pretty and big, for good raising
lots of sparklings.” Jetfire fell silent as they turned the next
page, being graced with an entire spread of photos: some featuring
the CEO by himself, some of him with other 'bots, and even a family
photo. But it was the one picture, of the a slim, magenta mech that
had caught their immediate attention.
Shivers ran down the orange hybrid's
backstruts, catching Jetstorm's concern. Pressing closer, the other
youngling looked on at the image of their supposed sire, feeling his
own mix of sorrow, confusion and anger nearly overwhelm him. This
“Starscream” was beautiful.... and looked absolutely happy by the
other kittycon's side.
It didn't seem as if the abyssinian was
sorry at all about the two 'bots he had sired, and their mommy that
had been abandoned in the process.
Jetfire turned towards his brother,
shutting the magazine and quickly rolling it up between his angry
servos. “It okay being,” he ground out lowly, his optics fixed to
the table in his ire, “We answers get. Soon. He us tell why he not
care about us.”
“Yes....,” Jetstorm agreed softly,
taking the magazine from his twin and slipping it inside of his
sweater. “Now knowing we his face. Soon, we finding home, then....
then thing of every being okie for dokie.”
“Boys,” Jazz called from behind
them. “Food's ready.”
Zipping up his sweater, the blue
youngling kissed his brother's cheekplate, before shuffling the rest
of the magazines into a neat pile as he rose to his pedes. Jetfire
copied his motion, glancing anxiously at the security guard. It
didn't seem as if Jazz had heard a word of their recent conversation
though.
That was good.
They could not have anyone interfering
until they'd met this plan through.
xxXxXxx
Wheeljack sighed, turning his helm away
from the other 'bot; fingers rubbing at his tired optics.
“Ratchet....”
“No,” interrupted the labrador. The
vet locked the office door, before pointedly gesturing to the chair
in front of his desk. At the silent command, the engineer gave in,
seating himself down and watching wearily as Ratchet circled around
him, sitting himself in the desk chair across from the younger mech.
“We need to talk.”
“Ratchet, really it's not-”
“Don't,” growled Ratchet, jabbing a
finger at the bulldog, “Tell me that it's not necessary. Before,
you had agreed that measures were going to be needed to help
Perceptor rehabilitate himself to function normally in regular
society. We started with you first telling me a little about your
shared history. Apparently, you left out some very important
details.”
Wheeljack bowed his helm at the true
accusation, cupping his servos in his lap anxiously. “Listen,
Ratchet, this....this isn't really the best time. I...”
“Not the best time? Not the best
time?!,” the other autodog roared, leaping to his pedes. The
engineer held back his whimper with sheer will, sinking low in his
seat as Ratchet loomed over him from the other side of the desk.
“What time should we wait for then? HUH?! Tell me, Wheeljack? Are
we supposed to wait until Perceptor has completely shut down, or
worse, to find him having poisoned himself with the various, lethal
chemicals that he comes in contact with EVERY ORN?!”
Snarling as he reigned in the rest of
his words, the vet collapsed into his seat again; his servos tight
fists on the desk top. “Wheeljack...,” he started again, after
he'd given himself a klik to calm down some, “Everything about this
situation is... unstable. Right now, Perceptor is having a psychotic
break and his sons are suffering because of it especially. You've
told me that you were once classmates in a small town, and now that
the unknown sire of Jetfire and Jetstorm just happens to also be the
bondmate of one of Iacon's most important CEOs. I need to know now
-exactly how did this all happen?”
Wheeljack's gaze lifted from the floor
slowly, his optics glazed with tears. “I just.... I don't,” he
choked. “I-i don't.... I don't know if I can....”
Ratchet's expression softened, his
servos uncurling and lying flat on the desk. “You can Wheeljack.
Trust me, everything is going to be alright.”
Cycling a shaky intake, the bulldog sat
forward in his chair, his servos cupping his forehead as he dropped
his gaze back to the floor. “A-all.... alright,” he conceded
weakly. The labrador remained quiet, waiting, until his companion had
the strength to speak again. “Y-you.... you already know that we
came from a small town.”
Ratchet nodded.
“W-well....um, Perceptor came.... He,
he actually lived in a smaller town. Right, so, he's very
intelligent, like, the youngest 'bot to ever be inducted into the
Science Department as a full-time scientist,” Wheeljack rambled
nervously. “And-”
“Wheeljack,” the older autodog
kindly cut in.
Falling quiet for a moment, the bulldog
nodded his helm in understanding, getting himself back on track.
“W-well, the town he came from was like, really, really tiny in
comparison to ours. They had one small school house, for all grades.
Well, the principal recognized Perceptor's genius and had him
transferred up to our town to continue his education. He stayed in a
small dorm house, set up for cases just like this. I..... I just
happened to be his roommate.”
Wheeljack lifted his helm a little,
smiling in bitter remembrance. “My mom had died when I was
younger.... Dad, he tried, but he just couldn't keep it together. He
ended up being hospitalized indefinitely, for narcotic abuse and
processor damage. I was still too young to really get a job, and
well, in places like that.... your social rep just doesn't recover.
The school gave me permission to live in the dorms until I graduated,
but I think they were just hoping I'd give up and go off and join my
pops in the hospital.”
“I confess.....,” the engineer
admittedly sadly, “Sometimes, I thought about doing just that. I
mean, there was no one there to support or encourage my dreams. They
all felt like ash in my servos, especially when too many people were
criticizing me.... But then, Percy showed up. He was young, but, he
was so enthusiastic about everything! He was the only one who didn't
think my ambitions were silly and he listened eagerly to all of my
rambles, even going so far as to kindly offer constructive advice
where he could. I gotta say I needed an expert opinion on some
things....”
Ratchet said nothing. He stroked his
chin thoughtfully, absorbing the words being spoken to him. Wheeljack
half-smiled, lost in memories of older times, before all of this
madness began. He came out of his daze a few kliks later, glancing up
to see the labrador waiting for him to continue on patiently.
Flushing in embarrassment, the bulldog straightened, cycling a deep
intake to steady himself.
This next bit would bring him no joy to
repeat.
“We.... Perceptor was on the fast
track. Everybody knew he was going to make it to Iacon Academy within
a couple years. I....I didn't mind. I mean, I would have graduated by
then, hopefully, so I was hoping to go to Iacon as well. Their
engineer program was the best, and if I graduated from the Academy,
I'd have a better shot at being accepted in the Science Department.”
The younger mech paused, his optics dimming in sorrow. “Midterms
were over, and the seniors were throwing a big bash. A couple of my
classmates invited me, and I in turn, invited Perceptor.”
“You were a senior then, correct?,”
Ratchet asked, for clarification. Wheeljack nodded. “And this
party.... you mentioned it before.”
The bulldog whined lowly in his throat.
“Yes....,” he continued. “It's.... I failed Perceptor. There
was drinking, some, not too much. I got Perceptor some p-punch....
i-it must have been spiked. Somebody pulled me a-away to talk and....
and when I turned around.....”
Wheeljack bowed his helm again. “Percy,
he.... he was gone....”
Silence descended between them again.
Ratchet held a servo to his mouth, his gaze fixed to the lacquered
wood of his desk. He could formulate guesses from what the other
autodog had told him so far, but they'd only be guesses. He needed
more information before he could say anything certain.
“....was he raped....?”
The engineer flinched at the question.
“I.... I don't know,” he whimpered, burying his face in his
servos again, “I, I d-don't know....”
The vet said nothing as his companion
cried, feeling his spark wither with sympathy. “What happened?,”
Ratchet pressed gently.
Wheeljack wiped at his optics,
swallowing sharply before continuing on. “I...I was starting to
search, but nobody had seen where Perceptor had gone. I was just
about to go upstairs to the bedrooms when....when that little glitch
Starscream came strutting in like some over-pampered pedigree.” The
bulldog's optics flashed angrily, and his servos clenched against the
chair's arm rests. “He starts boasting, like it's some kind of
prize, and he.... he humiliates Perceptor, in front of the entire
senior grade. He never cared about Perceptor, not at all....”
“I.... I've never hated someone in
all my life, ever!,” Wheeljack growled out. “That.... that
sleazy, whoring kittycon took Perceptor's virginity and then degraded
him throughout the entire school!! And if that wasn't enough,
Perceptor he.... he found out later, he was pregnant.”
The engineer weakened before the
labrador's very optics, sinking low into his chair again. His optics
were dim with sorrow, his shoulders slumped with immeasurable regret.
“I swore.... I swore I'd protect him, Ratchet. That I would wait
for him, because I loved him.... but, but Starscream ruined
everything. My hopes, Perceptor's life....”
“It was only because Perceptor
persevered through the abuse and ostracization, graduating at the
very end of his first year in that town, that he survived that long.
I, I could see it Ratchet....” Wheeljack looked at the vet, his
vision swimming with tears. “I watched d-day.... d-day after day,
as th-the one I loved, j-just.... just wi-withered up and s-stopped
feeling. B-but I swore, I sw-swore, that I w-wouldn't fail him again.
I w-would keep him safe, h-him and th-the boys.... and I-I'd hope.
Hope for the day w-when the Perceptor I knew -the s-sweet, care-free,
curious mech- w-would come back once again.”
Ratchet got to his pedes then, coming
around the desk and patting Wheeljack on the shoulder plating
momentarily, before heading to the counter at the front of the room
and making a mug of oil. Returning to his distraught friend, the vet
handed the hot drink to the younger autodog; seating himself at the
edge of his desk and sighing wearily.
“This.... this is definitely a
terrible set of circumstances,” the labrador agreed. “As far as
we know, Perceptor could have been raped. On the other hand, he might
have willingly agreed to going with Starscream that night. Whatever
the case may be, it doesn't change the fact that he might have been
intoxicated, and henceforth, unable to make clear decisions on his
own. And that indiscretion led to him being pregnant..... None of you
should have suffered that at all, especially not Perceptor. That
kittycon should have taken responsibility for the things he did,
instead of humiliating the pup and leaving you with the broken
remains.”
“Wheeljack,” Ratchet continued,
kneeling before the bulldog. He rested his servos on the other's
shoulder plating, looking up into the engineer's glazed optics. “What
happened is in the past now. Do not seek revenge on Starscream; it
will do you no good, whatsoever. If Perceptor wishes to confront this
mech, then you must let him, and you must let him do it on his own,
unless he asks for your presence exclusively.”
Wheeljack started at the words. “But-”
“No. Not 'buts',” the old vet
interjected quickly. “Listen, Wheeljack, I know this is hard. But
right now, there's still a hurt mech needing your comfort and
support. You've held strong for this long. If you can keep strong a
little longer, I'm sure that eventually, Perceptor will start to come
around. Now that I know the whole story.... I just may be able to
offer more help myself.”
Standing up again, the labrador sighed,
looking guiltily to the side. “I suppose you should go get the boys
then.... You said you'd dropped them off for their regular classes,
right?”
The bulldog nodded, getting up as well.
He stared at the old autodog, trying to smile through his tears.
“Thank you Ratchet. For all your help.”
“Anytime, pup,” Ratchet replied,
the corners of his lip components lifting in comfort. “I'm sorry
I've been so hard on the both of you over these years.”
Wheeljack said nothing to that, waving
his servo nonchalantly as he turned and shuffled for the door.
Pausing, the engineer glanced over a shoulder plating uncertainly,
his servo tight around the door knob. “I.....I don't know if it
really matters at this point, Ratchet,” he mumbled. “But....
Perceptor was fourteen when he gave birth to the twins. Just thought
you should know before you try anything.”
Ratchet felt his knees weaken beneath
him as he sat back on the edge of his desk, staring disbelieving at
the door that closed being Wheeljack as he left.
Perceptor....
Perceptor had really only been that
young?
No comments:
Post a Comment