Rating: M
Chapter 20
“And here you would....” Ratchet
trailed off, glancing up from his manual. “Are you.... paying
attention?,” he asked tersely, fixing each of the younglings with a
suspicious stare. Jetfire shuttered his optics from where he lay
lying flat across the floor; Jetstorm hovering over him, fingers
pressed against one of his brother's wrists. Both looked equally
confused by the question.
“Is course of listening,” the blue
hybrid spoke first.
“Is wanting to learn of the CPR,”
his brother added. “Is skill handy having to, no?”
The labrador did not reply to that.
Grumbling, Ratchet looked back down into the manual, stalling. He
didn't really need to read the thing -Primus knew it was outdated to
begin with- but he was certain that the twins weren't aware of that,
and really, the vet could use the distraction. Anything to keep from
having his attention focused wholly on the two younglings.
“Right.....,” he huffed after a moment, “Then let us continue
from checking for an energy pulse and-”
“Ratchet.....”
Slaggit..... The vet vented silently.
Here came the questions. Just like he had expected.
“What?,” the mech asked, putting
the CPR manual down entirely. It was doubtful he would get back to
their lessons anytime soon.
Jetfire pushed himself up as Jetstorm
shifted over; both younglings staring up at the labrador. “We
wondering...... I-is..... is momma okay being? Uncle Wheeljack worry
seemed, b-but not much so now. I-is.... is being that good?”
Ratchet felt he should be angry. Slag,
he felt he should at least be disgruntled that this lesson had been
nothing but a ploy to get him here..... but he wasn't. In fact, the
autodog was sympathetic. “Listen,” he began softly, leaning back
in his chair, “I don't think you're quite-”
“W-we enough old!!,” Jetstorm
quickly interrupted, straightening up.
“Yes! Knowing lots is,” his twin
added, servos curling in his lap anxiously. “P-please, Ratchet sir!
N-not think b-be of us y-young. W-wanting o-only know to a-about
momma!!”
The vet sighed. “Very well.....,”
he began. He quickly raised a finger, pointing it at the two sternly.
“I'll talk, but you both must promise not to interrupt and don't
try to do anything rash. Understand?” Two helms nodded back
rapidly. Still feeling uncertain, Ratchet shifted in his seat,
resting his servos on his stomach when he felt more comfortable.
“Your creator was very young when he
got sparked. Wheeljack tells me that he was a very different person
before then,” the labrador explained, “Still bright, still
intelligent, still very sympathetic..... but he'd been a lot more
open, engaging, full of expression and life. I'm sad to say that the
circumstances in which Perceptor was sparked left him.... with a
broken spark, it seems. He was young. Taunted and teased, his trust
shattered and his beliefs almost rooted up entirely. Wheeljack was
your carrier's closest friend -and thus, that's why he's the most
prominent person in your lives.”
“We.... had some concerns,
specifically about the effect that your carrier's detachment would
have on his health and social life.” Ratchet paused for a moment.
“Through your earlier years, he seemed to be improving, possibly
even stabilizing to a point. He was, certainly, much more talkative.
But then even those little forms of expression and the like were
tucked away under a greater veil of apathy, and Wheeljack and myself
started noticing a downward spiral with Perceptor's moods. We were
afraid that this constant restraint and rewrite of character would
end badly..... Particularly in self-harm. Simply put.... we were
afraid he would completely shut-down.”
Ratchet stared into the optics of each
of the younglings.
“We were racing against a clock,
knowing that the day you became full-fledged adults would be the
catalyst that would drive Perceptor that final distance.”
Jetfire and Jetstorm shuttered their
optics in horror, sharing a quick glance at each other.
“You see,” Ratchet elaborated, “You
were the only two factors in Perceptor's life that affected how his
world would come together that day. Wheeljack was only secondary in
importance, but there's a reason why he stayed with your carrier
despite everything all these years..... among other things. Seeing
your sire again..... had been an unexpected and frighteningly
powerful impact on Perceptor. We saw a glimpse of what would become
of his continual mental alterations if things did not change.....”
“Then run away.....we....?,”
Jetfire mumbled softly.
The labrador cycled a weary intake for
a moment. “Yes..... And then you ran away. Seeking a sire you had
only just heard about, in hopes that..... well, who knows really.
Perhaps you did it out of a subconscious need to complete your
family. Perhaps you were fulfilling an ambition you had just come up
with. Maybe you were seeking to have a sire in your life for
once..... Maybe you thought it would really help Perceptor to bring
your sire back.....” Ratchet shrugged. “No matter the case, as we
all know, the effect was the opposite of your intentions.”
Orange and blue ears lowered meekly at
the implied reprimand. At the sight of them, the vet sighed again,
shifting in his seat. “I.... I don't blame you, nor do I think your
actions entirely stupid,” he said. “You did what you thought was
best, as many other younglings would have, given the circumstances.
Thankfully, none of you were seriously harmed and.... to be honest, I
never thought I'd see Perceptor smile. Even as small as it was. For
the first time in years, I saw your creator cry, and smile, and look
Primus-damned relieved. Emotion. Emotion I never
thought he was capable of showing so soon.”
“I think..... and this is not a
medical opinion, really,” the labrador continued, “That
everything up to now, was good. I think this sudden turn of events
was just the jolt that Perceptor needed; to show him that life is
never as manageable as numbers and factoids and a periodic table....
but even despite it all, there are good things here and people that
treasure him. And that those people will always be there for him at
the end of the day.”
Jetfire and Jetstorm were crying. They
wiped quickly at their faces, sniffling in joy, tails wagging merrily
behind them. Before he could stop them, they leapt to their pedes,
rushing Ratchet and hugging the vet tightly. Cheekplates heating up,
the autodog awkwardly patted each of them on their backs, clearly his
vocalizer after a few, short kliks.
“L-listen now..... T-there's no need
to cry,” he tried to soothe. “Your creator is fine and s-so are
you, and I'm certain that he'll keep improving from here on out.
S-so..... dry your optics, pups. You got lessons to do......”
“Y-yes.....,” they smiled, pulling
back slowly. “T-thanks being you again. F-for thing of every.”
The hybrids quickly pecked a cheekplate each, before dashing back and
falling into the same position from before. All smiles and sunshine.
Stunned, it took Ratchet astroseconds
to realize that they were waiting patiently for him to continue the
training.
xxXxXxx
“.....What are you doing here?”
Rodimus bared his fangs, glancing quickly up and down the street,
praying that there was no one around to see the kittycon standing on
his doorstep, despite it being so late. After his hasty scan, he
turned his narrowed optics back to the panther, snarling lowly. “Who
gave you any right to come here!?”
“Why,” Blackout smirked, “You
did, of course. When you were such a little wh-”
“Leave!,” Rodimus barked, stepping
out an inch, servo balled at his side. “Before I call the cops!!”
The kittycon's grin grew, his small,
beady optics glittering with dark amusement. “Oh.... now I know
you're being funny. You ain't gonna call the coppers. You wouldn't
want to have to explain that mess to your daddy....” The golden
retriever froze. “What was his name again....? Oh, right! Ultra
Magnus. Ain't he a bit old for you to be panting for?”
The lawyer growled once before he
jumped at Blackout, ready to kill. Anticipating this, the panther
easily grabbed the charging mech by the wrists, throwing him back
into the house and stepping inside. Rodimus scrambled to get back up
when he heard the front door slam shut behind the kittycon but he
didn't have the chance before he was being grabbed by the neck and
shoved against the adjacent wall.
“P-primus,” Blackout rumbled,
sliding between the other's flailing legs; grinding up against
Rodimus' codpiece, “You're s-so feisty!! I love when you growl like
that! Means you're all good and wet, ready to take me in. You want to
be pounded just as much, dontcha? Betcha been waiting all day for
this.”
Rodimus twisted and snarled, trying to
get free, but the kittycon merely grabbed his jaw, slamming their
mouths together. A strangled hiss escaped him as a wily glossa slide
into his mouth, that slagging servo dipping down, snapping his
buttons undone and fondling his aft. He bit the appendage as it tried
to wiggle in deeper, growling viciously when he heard Blackout snarl
in displeasure, yanking back a couple inches.
“Why are you so against this, huh?,”
the panther snapped, grinding harder against the golden retriever.
“We've been doing this for months now. You're the one who always
needs to be spiked; who comms me late at night, begging for me to
pound your fragging aft. I think you're mistaken who needs who in
this 'arrangement' of ours!”
Rodimus wrestled a servo free, swiping
at the other mech's face. He hissed when he only scraped away surface
metal -not nearly enough to harm Blackout, or get him to drop him.
“You're wrong!,” he shouted, wriggling harder. “I don't need
this!!”
Blackout narrowed his optics, before he
slammed forward again; their mouths colliding violently as he slid
his glossa inside the unsuspecting mouth, nipping on Rodimus' bottom
lip component, his servos groping the autodog's aft as he rocked
against him hard. Finally, a sharp, needy whimper was choked free
from the lawyer. “N-no,” Blackout panted between harsh bites and
licks, “Y-you don't n-need this.... Y-you're s-settling for
t-this, b-because t-that rusting s-scrapheap of a m-mutt c-can't
e-even stop thinking a-about you long en-enough as a son t-to
sp-spike you! A-and that to-tortures your p-pitiful, l-lil' youngling
s-spark!!”
The panther muffled the autodog's
hissing protest. “H-he's a w-waste, I t-tell you! A l-loser w-who
won't t-take what you're s-so generously offering.”
Rodimus whimpered as Blackout kissed
him again; fingers clawing down his shoulder plating as the kittycon
yanked his pants down his hips carelessly. He could feel the other's
claws drawing nearer to his codpiece, and thus, his valve, and
despite how outraged he felt, the golden retriever could not stop the
chill of anticipation that ran down his spinal struts.
But....
“What is going on here.....?”
That was only for a moment.
Blackout stopped rocking against the
autodog, looking over his shoulder, disgruntled by the interruption.
Rodimus, still pinned to the wall, and his clothes horribly mussed,
froze, feeling all of reality up-end over his helm. Ultra Magnus
stood in the doorway, servo still on the doorknob; his suitcase and a
small gift bag held loosely in the other. His callous gaze was fixed
on Blackout, before it slid down to Rodimus..... and the younger mech
felt his spark sink to his fuel tanks. Not caring for how mute or
meek his partner had gone, the panther casually pulled away from
Rodimus, straightening out his coat and sliding his servos into the
pockets.
“Sorry for disturbing the reunion,”
he muttered nonchalantly, stepping around Ultra Magnus and walking
out the door. Nobody moved. Pausing, Blackout glanced back quickly,
winking at Rodimus with that cruel grin before he made his way down
the front steps.
The golden retriever only had a moment
to feel his servos curl into fists; rage piercing through his dazed
and frightened state. That fragger! He'd planned this!!
The door slammed shut again, tearing
Rodimus away from any other thoughts about Blackout and revenge,
reminding him, like a punch to the gut, exactly who had walked in on
them. Tears glazing his optics, he nervously turned his helm to Ultra
Magnus, flinching at the look the older mech was giving him.
“You had a strange mech in my
home......” Steel blue optics were flat; angry.
The younger autodog swallowed. “Y-yes,
but I-”
“You were.... are.....” Ultra
Magnus paused, jaw tightening as he struggled for the words.
“Pursuing relations with him then?”
“N-no! I-i'm not- I-i'd never-”
Rodimus couldn't speak. He was tripping over his words, chestplates
squeezing and squeezing until he was fighting for every intake.
The great dane straightened up further
at his poor reply, his scowl deepening in the dim light. Again, the
younger mech flinched. “I see,” he continued lowly. “Then you
are merely messing around. Inviting strangers into my home.....
Progressing with these..... ill acts, with no intent of seeking
something more dignifying.”
The golden retriever bowed his helm,
trying to hold back his whimper. His shaking servos moved slowly,
trying to straighten out his clothes; make himself appear more
suitable before his foster dad and crush. He hoped -prayed- that
Ultra Magnus would forgive him; say it was just normal, youthful
behaviour. Ensure him that it was okay, and that he didn't hate or
think any less of the younger mech for it.
“.....You disappoint me Rodimus.”
But those were stupid things to ask
for. Primus didn't exist, and he certainly didn't care about his
“creations”, either.
Rodimus stood, stunned, as Ultra Magnus
brushed past him; the great dane's pedesteps echoing loudly down the
hall and up the stairs, before silence once again descended, choking
everything in its grasp. Slowly, bit by bit, the last of his hope and
strength crumpled and turned to dust in his servos..... Ashamed,
disgusted, scared and tormented, the golden retriever collapsed to
his knees. Trembling servos cupping his mouth as he finally broke
down into tears.
xxXxXxx
Blackout leaned back into his couch,
ignoring the rusty springs as they screeched and whined at his
weight. His gaze was fixed on the small, flickering t.v he kept just
in the corner of the room; mute, half-garbled vocalizers speaking
through the busted speakers, a round of laughter coming from the
audience and drowning out the rest of the actors' words. He thought
to change the channel, because he hated this kind of slag, but he was
far too lazy to get up and scavenge through the darkness for the
remote and he still had to change the bulb in the main room of his
apartment.
Taking a deep drag from his cygar, the
panther lowered his servo to the floor, rifling it around aimlessly.
Something scurried about in several directions at his motion, but he
paid them no mind, pulling an open, half-finished bag of bolts up to
his lap.
He had to wait, he reminded himself
firmly, making sure to repeat it every couple kliks. Patience, he
would admit, was not his thing really. It had been brutal enough just
pulling away from Rodimus, when he'd had the autodog good and charged
beneath him. Blackout had wanted to growl at Ultra Magnus'
interruption. Maybe even deck the stupid fragger and get back to
pounding his delicious mutt. But that would go against his plans.....
'What
if they don't get into a fight though?,' a little voice
niggled at the back of his processor. 'What if that big, dumb
fragger actually doesn't mind and him and the mutt make up, with
kisses, rainbows, sunshine and lollipops? What if they even-'
Blackout quickly squashed that train of
thought before it could progress any further. He had to remind
himself this time that the expression that Ultra Magnus had left upon
him leaving, was anything but pleased. And that, in itself, should be
enough to ensure that there would be no confessions and
'long-awaited' frags either. Now, the panther just had to lay low for
a little bit. Let the two autodogs stew in their tension, until
Rodimus came seeking him out.
The kittycon sort of hoped it would be
in tears; panting to be taken again, spouting apologies for his
callous behaviour and his stupidity in ever holding the great dane in
higher regard than him.
But of course, he wasn't going to put
all his faith in something that was especially naive, Blackout knew.
In the meantime, he would amuse
himself, knowing that Rodimus would come looking for him. And when
that happened...... The panther glanced at the folder he had gotten
from Swindle, sitting innocently on top of a pile of crap. When that
time came, he'd have a wonderful, little surprise to share with the
arrogant autodog. Blackout smirked.
He couldn't wait.
xxXxXxx
“You still working on that?”
Perceptor looked up from his work,
finding Wheeljack standing before him; one servo on his hip and the
other slinging a dishtowel over his shoulder. Confused slightly by
the question, the border collie canted his helm to the side an inch,
not aware that doing so made him seem utterly adorable. “I do not
understand what you are stating,” he said.
Trying not to blush -though he did
nothing about the smile spreading across his face- Wheeljack only
chuckled, waving a servo casually. “Don't worry about it, Percy,”
he replied. “Let me get you some coffee, now that the dishes are
done.”
The scientist shuttered his optics as
the other mech left the room, surprised. “I had not requested that
you do the dishes,” he began when the bulldog returned.
Wheeljack grinned brightly, gesturing
for the smaller autodog to open his servos. Perceptor did so
immediately, accepting the steaming cup of oil from his friend.
Taking a sip from his own, Wheeljack seated himself beside the
scientist on the couch; little tag wagging as their hips touched.
“Well, you didn't have to ask me, Percy. Seeing that you were so
focused on your work after dinner, I took it upon myself to do them.
The boys wanted to help, but I could see they were tired, so I sent
them to bed as well. Now, they'll be sleeping away like lil'
cherubs.”
Perceptor took a moment to stare at the
structured display of charts and formulas that he had spread across
the coffee table, before turning his helm to look at his companion.
“Then I must thank you, Wheeljack,” the border collie stated
monotonously, “You have done me a great deal of favours recently,
and I have yet to express my gratitude for them.”
The engineer shrugged casually,
slinging his free arm over the back of the couch. He thought he saw
the smaller mech tense for a moment, but it was quick to fade away;
Perceptor leaning back into the cushions, appearing relaxed and calm
beside the bulldog. Wheeljack's following grin almost split his face.
“..... so, what are you working on
right now?,” he asked after a few kliks. As much as he enjoyed this
comfortable silence, he also wished to instigate a conversation, in
the hopes that it would give him an opportunity to confess his
feelings for the scientist. Cowardly though he still may be, at least
he had not been feeling guilty lately for caring about Perceptor.
The bordier collie sipped again at his
drink, before setting it aside carefully on the very edge of the
table, away from his work. “I have formulated the best method of
conversion and changed the equation of refinery after studying it for
several orns, giving it an increase of at least .15 percent higher
processing rate which should, if my ratio of gathering and stripping
is correct, produce a greater quantity of energon while lowering the
percentile considered waste or too unsafe for consumer digestion,”
Perceptor spouted quickly, his servos pointing to several datapads
and scattergraphs as he shared this information with Wheeljack.
Following (for the most part), the bulldog nodded, finishing the last
of his oil.
“Wow..... You're really good, Percy,”
he beamed, grabbing the smaller mech's shoulder and bringing him
closer for a quick hug. “There isn't another 'bot on this entire
planet that could bounce back as quick as you and still manage to
sort through a series of molecular compounds, coming up with such a
secure and fantastic method of conversion! You deserve a medal!
Maybe, even a vacation.”
The scientist was silent during his
friend's enthusiastic jostling, quietly pushing away once Wheeljack
was done; reclaiming his former spot again. It wasn't hard to notice
that he was being stared at, and somewhat confused by that, among
other things, Perceptor stared silently at his work before he turned
his attention back to the engineer. “Wheeljack.....?”
“Yeah, Percy?”
Gentle, blue optics shuttered slowly.
“...... the short, crude variation of my name. Why are you
addressing me as such?,” he asked.
Wheeljack looked down on him in
surprise. “You mean, why am I using your nickname?,” he replied.
“Yes,” came the quick reply.
Smiling, the bulldog turned his helm
forward, slinging his arm back over the couch. “....You remember
when we were back in highschool, and I started calling you Percy? You
hated it at first -thought I was treating you like a lil' kid and all
that- but then you were okay with it and I called you Percy all the
time.....” He lowered his optics, staring down at his lap as his
expression turned wistful in remembrance. “I think I stopped
calling you it after we came here..... Didn't feel right. Felt like I
was asking too much or something, when the only purpose of coming to
Iacon at the time, was to be there for you.”
“You,” Wheeljack turned and looked
at the silent border collie, “You were my best and only friend,
Perceptor. And even though we've been blessed so much, with so many
new friends and acquaintances, you'll always remain the closest
person to me. I want to do all in my power to repair the relationship
we once had; make it stronger and just as trusting a bond as when we
were just two younglings, dreaming of bigger things. Is that.....
Would that be acceptable, Percy?”
The scientist had gone quiet. His small
blue, optics staring up at him, Wheeljack wondered what sort of
thoughts were running through Perceptor's helm as the silence dragged
on, and if, maybe, he had pushed too far this time. He was just
starting to get knots in his fuel tanks when the smaller autodog
finally nodded; fixing his glasses and grabbing the datapad he was
currently working on. “I do not believe our relationship needs any
fixing, as you say,” the border collie said, settling comfortably
back into the couch, “But I shall not deny you the chance that you
seek. You are also my most significant friend, Wheeljack. No matter
what ridiculous names you see fit to address me with.”
The bulldog chuckled lowly at the
other's final words, inching closer just a tad, before shifting and
relaxing in his seat. So, it wasn't exactly a confession, but it was
a step forward. And he knew that if he just came outright and said
it, Perceptor -as wonderfully intelligent he was- would be utterly
baffled and miss the point entirely of his feelings. He only had to
give him time, Wheeljack knew.
Perceptor already had all the factors
and equations in his servos. He only had to just put them together.
And he would. The scientist was nothing if not exceptional at finding
the answers to any question.
Wheeljack smiled, stealing himself
another glance at the border collie. Hopeful, that the moment
Perceptor realized his true feelings, would be a happy time for them
both.
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