Rating: M
Chapter 17
He was unused to this.
The border collie onlined his optics
slowly, trying to focus on the world before he realized that the
blurriness was a result of his glasses being skewed. Heavily, he
raised a servo and straightened them, taking mute notice that the
reason he felt so sluggish and warm was because of the two hybrids
currently curled up on either side of him, deep in recharge.
Perceptor stared.
He could not exactly recall when he had
gone to bed or when the twins had decided to climb into berth with
him, but he supposed it didn't matter. Jetfire and Jetstorm were
back.... They had gone away, he recalled with horrible clarity, and
then they had come back. All of their own volition. To help him
overcome Starscream's.... involvement, in their lives, however short
it might have been.
The scientist's processor went through
the events of the other orn, dissecting and analyzing them with the
calculated precision that he'd carried his whole life. Like puzzles,
he pulled each action and reaction apart, trying to understand how
things had ended up that way and where they stood now. Outside of his
intense self-analysis, he could sense the stirrings of change in the
atmosphere.
A ping of dread echoed from his empty
fuel tanks.....
The small yawn caught Perceptor by
surprise; silently, the autodog turned his helm down, watching
neutrally as Jetstorm lifted his helm first, followed by Jetfire. The
hybrids gave a short, slow stretch, not willing to get up just yet,
but rolling a little so they could look up at their carrier. Big,
bright smiles stretched across their lip components as they saw
Perceptor awake and looking back at them.
“Morning good,” the blue twin
greeted.
“Momma good is?,” Jetfire asked,
giving the border collie a little nuzzle.
Perceptor tried to search for the
answer, but could not to find it. The variables were incomplete; the
data lacking for a concise and full evaluation. Still, his sons were
waiting, their optics lit with hope and shadowed with that fearful
touch of doubt. Without moving much, the autodog lifted both servos,
rubbing the tips of the twins' ears tenderly. They pressed into the
touch, resting their helms back on Perceptor's chassis as they purred
in contentment.
“Stay being,” the orange hybrid
cooed thickly, optics shuttering in peace at the petting, “Us
with.... Okie for dokie?”
Jetstorm purred in support of his
brother's comment. “Reason not leave is being, yes? Warm and soft
berth is.....”
The scientist had no argument to give
to such a suggestion. The twins shifted up and closer, their arms
weaving around Perceptor's frame, keeping him warm and protected in
their embrace. As his optics slowly shuttered close again, the border
collie noted that this was a nice place to be.
His spark whirled in bliss at the
closeness and love of his sons.
xxXxXxx
Wheeljack mumbled a thanks as the cup
was handed to him, cradling it carefully in his servos and sighing as
he stared out at the passersby walking up and down the street. Beside
him, Ratchet plopped onto the bench, drinking deeply from his own cup
of oil and glancing up at the sky in boredom. “So..... you said you
wanted to talk?,” the labrador asked, prompting the unavoidable
conversation.
The bulldog sighed again, deliberating
a few astroseconds longer as he nursed his oil. “....I think I
probably should leave Perceptor alone,” he said, as Ratchet went to
take another drink. “You know, get out of his life and all.”
The vet almost spat his oil across the
sidewalk. “W-what?,” he growled, choking the hot liquid down and
turning his flabbergasted face to the younger mech. “What the slag
gave you that idea?!”
Wheeljack looked at Ratchet with dim
optics. “Well, I mean, it's my fault that the twins went running
off to go and see Starscream. I don't know how they found out about
him or even how they discovered where he lived, but I was the one who
took them out that day!,” the engineer tried to explain. “It was
my wallet they swiped! If I had only been paying attention, if I'd
only left them home instead of taking them out then-”
The labrador cuffed his companion
upside the helm -hard.
“Ow!,” Wheeljack cried, whipping a
servo up to rub his aching plating. “What was that for?!”
“That was for being stupid!,”
Ratchet growled. He put his oil to the side for a moment, pulling out
his pad and writing something down on a medical note. Warily, the
other autodog took the slip when it was handed to him.
“....and what's this for?,”
Wheeljack asked, glancing down at the labrador's sharp handwriting.
“Vet's recommendation,” the older
mech grumbled, “One dosage of 'Grow a fragging pair and stop your
whining'.”
The engineer scowled, not one bit
amused by the vet's sarcastic humor. “Ratchet.... this isn't
funny....”
“No, I agree it isn't,” Ratchet
rebutted, picking up his cup again and draining the rest of his oil.
“Listen, kid,” he continued, wiping quickly at his mouth before
turning his attention back to the bulldog, “You've spent years
-years- being by Perceptor's side. You're an intangible part
of his life now, and maybe that's all for the best. Tell me, where
would Perceptor be if it weren't for you?”
Wheeljack raised a servo to protest but
the quick glare from the labrador shot him down.
“More than likely, Perceptor would be
in worse straits than he is now. Primus, he could have very well been
forced out onto the streets and into a life of addiction, if it
weren't for you. You helped him flee your home town, was with him
throughout the duration of his pregnancy and the twins' birth,”
Ratchet said, his voice growing softer and softer with every
sentence, “Slaggit, you even threw away your hopes and dreams of
ever becoming an engineer you told me, all so that Perceptor could go
and work as a scientist while you stayed home and raised the boys
during their first few years.”
“B-but....”
“You are an important individual in
both Perceptor's and the twins' lives,” the vet continued, tone
switching back to stern again. “And though he may not fully be
aware of it, I'm certain that Perceptor would agree. If he did not
need or want you Wheeljack, do you not think that he would have
forced you out of his life long ago?”
The bulldog didn't know what to say to
that.
Seeing the surprised and perplexed
expression on Wheeljack's face, Ratchet sighed, rubbing tiredly at
his optics. “Primus, I'm dealing with children.....,” he
muttered.
“C'mon,” the labrador ordered,
grabbing Wheeljack's arm and yanking the stunned mech to his pedes.
“W-where...... where a-are we
going?,” Wheeljack asked as he realized that he was being pulled
off down the street.
Ratchet kept up his pace, not even
looking back at the engineer tripping along behind him. “We're
going to the flower shop. You're going to pick the biggest,
brightest, most beautiful bouquet and give it to Perceptor. I don't
even care if it's gaudy or tacky. I'm getting fragging sick of you
constantly tip-toeing around that mech.”
“B-but, Ratchet!,” the bulldog
tried to protest.
“Na-na-na-na-na!! No excuses! You're
going to pick what you think Perceptor will like best and that's the
end of it. I'm going to make sure you court that daft scientist and
confess your feelings, if it's the last thing I do!” Whimpering
now, Wheeljack had no choice but to allow himself to be dragged down
the street, knowing that there was no escape after Ratchet had made
such a vehement declaration.
xxXxXxx
Mirage exited out onto his floor,
staring anxiously at the two guards that stood by on either side of
Tracks' apartment. Though they were all Flare-up's employees, it was
still unnerving to find any of the security staff upstairs on the
dwelling areas. After all, it was the trade-mark rule of their
careers: no 'guests', security guards or otherwise, allowed in or
near the escort's apartments. The yorkie supposed it was an insurance
policy to make sure people weren't getting their frags without first
paying the price.
Gripping the box in his servos tightly,
the blue mech forced himself to walk toward the security guards,
swallowing back his fear. They looked down on him blankly as he
approached. “I-i, I would like to see Tracks,” Mirage said,
trying to keep his vocalizer as strong as possible, “If there are
no qualms.”
The two mechs shared a look with each
other, before they both nodded, stepping aside so that the escort
could enter. A servo was grasping Mirage's arm an astrosecond after
though, taking the box from his servos. “You can't take this to
him,” was all the security guard said, before handing the box to
his partner.
Confused and affronted by the callous
notice, the yorkie continued on into the apartment, slowing down in
shock. What he had thought was merely was an open door, was not. In
fact, Tracks' door was missing from its hinges entirely. Walking
further into the apartment, Mirage was quick to see that wasn't the
only changes to take affect since he'd last been in the pomeranian's
home. Where there had once been pictures and vases and beautiful
mirrors, empty spaces remained; the absence of these items creating a
void that suddenly made the apartment feel that much more cold and
lifeless. An image supported more by the silent autodog that sat
hunched over on the couch, staring distantly out the window as he
clutched a blanket around his shoulders.
“T....tracks?,” Mirage called
softly, almost not believing this was the same narcissistic mech that
he knew.
The helm turned to him stiffly, optics
narrowed and dim behind their frames. “....come to laugh and jeer
at the accident as well?,” the pomeranian asked coldly.
“W-what? No!,” the yorkie protested
immediately, standing in the spot where the coffee table had once
been. “No, Tracks, I heard what's happened and I.... I w-wanted to
come see how you were doing. I wanted to make sure you were alright.”
Tracks snorted at the words, turning
his helm away again. “Please. As if I'm not aware of what's really
being said about me,” he muttered contemptuously. “Why don't you
do yourself a favour Mirage and stop pretending as if you care. I
know you certainly don't view me as a friend.”
The words were like a slap to the face.
For a moment, the blue mech didn't know what to do other than to
stand there, gaping like a fool, but slowly the anger rose in him and
he balled his fists as he glared down at the sullen autodog. “You
are an idiot! Insinuating that I simply spend time with you for the
chance to mock you..... Do you really think yourself that special
Tracks? Can your narcissism find no better way to deal with your
selfishness than to make it seem as if the whole world is jealous of
you?”
“I'd hate to see what happens to
those that actually worry about you,” Mirage added, driven in his
irritation with the other escort.
The pomeranian bared his fangs as he
faced the yorkie. “Concern? You want to talk to me about concern
now?!,” he snarled, his tone getting louder and louder with every
sentence. “Concern is what this slagging company calls a
'contract'! Concern is having my life fragged over by one stranger's
signature!! Concern, is having twenty-four hour surveillance watch
and having all my doors removed, as if I was some dangerous criminal!
I can't even go to the fragging washroom without some presumptuous,
muscle-brained dimwit standing in the doorway.”
“Their 'concern',” Tracks
continued, spitting in disgust, “For my well-being included
confiscating my possessions. They even took all the glass and
cutlery! As if having my freedom ripped away from me wasn't
humiliation enough.... but now I'm denied my privacy and my dignity
all for their sick amusement!”
Mirage didn't know what to say to that.
He stood, silently horrified, as the taller mech spewed his
animosity, feeling smaller and weaker with every curse. The yorkie
watched mutely as Tracks snorted again at his silence; anger and
indignation snuffed out as the pomeranian seemed to curl into
himself. Leaving only nothingness behind.
“Don't say I deserve it,” he
muttered softly, pulling his knees up onto the couch and burying his
helm into them. “Don't say anything. Just go..... leave me alone. I
don't want your pity.”
Resignedly, the smaller escort turned
away, ignoring the security guards as he passed them on the way out.
xxXxXxx
“Ah, Optimus, it's good to see you
back.”
The german shepherd looked up, smiling
as he watched Ultra Magnus approach him. The lawyer was slipping on a
brown trench coat, holding a black briefcase in one servo as he
walked down the hallway. “Good morning, sir,” Optimus replied,
shifting his load, “I apologize that I was unable to return sooner.
I would have come if I had known that you'd be leaving to go out of
town, instead of-”
The older mech raised a servo,
silencing the other autodog. “Don't fret about it, Optimus,” the
great dane assured, smiling kindly at his secretary, “Things were
manageable in your absence. I'm only glad that you are fit and
well.... though we seem to have lost Sentinel today in exchange.....”
Optimus looked to the side
self-consciously. “U-um, yes, well, that may be my fault sir.....”
Ultra Magnus chuckled softly, patting
younger mech on the shoulder. “Perhaps he caught your bug now too?
Tell me, how is young Bumblebee faring anyhow?”
“Oh, he's well, sir. He's a very
bright and energetic pup, though I fear not very good at sitting
still.... He's at least passing all his courses anyways, and we've
actually talked a bit about future careers.” Optimus smiled.
“Bumblebee's grown so much. It's still amazing to look back and
think of how he used to be compared to now.”
“I confess, I was somewhat concerned
when you had informed me that you were adopting a stray into your
home, Optimus,” the lawyer shared seriously, “Especially since
you seemed somewhat stretched between work and your tutoring lessons
with Perceptor's young ones. But you've proven time and again that
once you take something on, you see it through straight to the end-
strong and true. I am not surprised that Bumblebee has started to
emulate you, Optimus. You are a noble person to follow....”
The german shepherd was blushing at the
unexpected praise. Before he could shake off his daze though and
protest against the flattery that Ultra Magnus had so needlessly
bestowed him with, the great dane was pulling his pocket watch out of
his coat; checking the time before slipping it away once again. “I'm
sorry, Optimus, but I must cut this nice conversation short. I need
to be at the airport in a little while to catch my flight,” he
informed.
“O-oh, well, I-i'm very sorry for
having kept you, sir,” Optimus quickly apologized.
“Nonsense,” the other autodog
replied kindly. “If you happen to see Sentinel before I return, do
tell him that I hope he is doing well. In the meantime, have a good
day, Optimus; Jazz- I shall see you both once I get back.”
Waving quickly, the great dane
continued on his way, leaving the stunned secretary to whirl around
once he was out of sight, coming face to face to the familiar
dalmatian. “J-jazz?!”
“Hey, OP,” Jazz greeted, shoulders
rolled back casually and an easy smirk on his lip components. “How
ya been? It's been awfully dull 'round here since ya been gone.....”
“....yes, well,” Optimus sighed,
turning and walking down his section of city hall. Jazz followed
quickly at his side. “It's been a very.... busy..... little while.
I needed some time to myself.”
“So ya weren't really sick then,
huh?,” the security guard asked, his questions piercing. “....I
found out too ya know. Why ya were so mad at Sentinel.....”
The taller mech came to an abrupt stop,
facing his companion. He searched the neutral face quickly, trying to
weigh the consequences of his next words. Finding nothing, Optimus
couldn't help but to sigh again, shifting his folders. “Listen,
Jazz-”
“It was disgusting, ya know. The way
that he would be so insulting to ya, his oldest and bestest
friend....” The dalmatian shook his helm, glaring at the ground
momentarily. “I'm telling ya, if I had known sooner, I would have
socked that horndog several. Almost threw the terminal when I found
out that Magnus sent him to go find ya yesterday to tell ya to come
back to work. .....He didn't start slag, did he?”
“In a matter..... somewhat,”
Optimus replied flatly. He quickly raised his servo, grasping Jazz's
shoulder plating as the other autodog readied himself for a rant.
“Jazz, please, I appreciate all of your concern and everything,
but.... but this is something that I feel must be resolved between
Sentinel and myself alone. No good will come out of it if you and him
start picking fights.”
“B-but....” The smile the german
shepherd gave him was somewhat disarming. Jazz struggled to gather
his thoughts, even as the secretary turned and began walking away.
“So you're still going to go talk to him? Even after all the slag
he pulled?!”
Optimus did not stop or slow down this
time. “Of course,” he called back, shrugging his shoulders
casually. “No point not to, when the conversation hasn't finished
yet.” Then he said no more; rounding the bend and disappearing from
sight.
Jazz stood where he had been left for a
few astroseconds longer, before he vented loudly, slipping his servos
into his pockets as a wry smile pulled his lip components upwards.
“Well, I guess that's the end of that.....,” he mused to himself,
spinning on his heel and heading back for his own station.
xxXxXxx
He stood staring at the door for a
good, few kliks before hesitantly reaching up and knocking. The dull
thud was enough though to make Wheeljack cringe. Okay, so he had
keys.... Perceptor had made spares the week they had first moved into
this apartment together, and had left a pair in the bulldog's
possession for him to keep even after he had moved out later on.
Wheeljack just didn't feel quite comfortable using them this very
instant.
Was that so weird?
Slight movement could be heard on the
other side of the door. Panicking for a horrible moment, the engineer
twisted the bouquet behind his back, cringing again when the plastic
wrap crinkled loudly in the empty hallway. Why did the femme at the
flower shop have to wrap up the roses in so much of the stuff?
Swallowing sharply, Wheeljack was forced to pay attention as he heard
the deadbolt drop heavily on the other side of the door; the brass
knob turning, before the wood began to swing backwards slowly.
He almost wanted to scream out 'Thank
Primus' when it was Perceptor himself who opened the door, and not
the twins -which, the bulldog realized a couple astroseconds too
late, would have been the terrible alternative.
“Wheeljack.....,” the border collie
began in that same, flat tone of his. “Did you not have keys?”
“U-umm, well.....,” Wheeljack
mumbled, silently berating himself for even thinking that Perceptor
might not pick up on that fact, “I, u-uh..... I f-forgot them!
Yeah.... At work! I, um, was almost all the way here before I-i
realized, and I thought well, um, no point going back to get them now
really. I'll just get them tomorrow w-when I go back into work.”
The scientist, even in his
expressionless state, did not seem entirely convinced by the
engineer's poor excuse. Slag, even Wheeljack wasn't entirely
convinced by his own lie..... Feeling like a sparkling caught in the
act, the white autodog quickly glanced away, fidgeting slightly in
his embarrassment.
“I, u-um, I g-got something
anyways!,” he exclaimed hurriedly, before whipping the roses out
from behind his backstruts and thrusting them at the smaller mech.
Perceptor merely shuttered his optics at the flowers pushing awfully
close to his olfactory sensor, black ears perked queerly. For a
moment, Wheeljack actually felt giddy -this had been the first time
he'd ever gotten so close to confessing his feelings for the other
autodog, and seeing a flash of recognition sparkle in those delicate
optics sent a thrill through him.
He opened his mouth wide to speak, when
Perceptor beat him to the bunch.
“Agglomeration of botanical organism
Rosa genus of Rosaceae strain?,” the border collie stated
factually, the barest lilt of a question in his tone. “What is the
objective of presentation?”
He stared over the roses at Wheeljack
patiently. Fumbling, because that had certainly not been what he had
expected to hear from Perceptor (but, really, should he have
anticipated something else from the die-hard science nerd?),
Wheeljack tried his best not to let his disappointment show in his
vocalizer as he answered. “W-well, um, they're..... They're for the
apartment!,” he quickly fibbed, forcing a smile to his face, “I
thought the boys might like something nice and pretty in the house,
after that whole.... fiasco. And, umm, well, roses are.... nice?
Right?”
One of the black ears slightly tipped
to the side. The engineer had a hard time not gushing as the action
made the scientist appear so cute and innocent. “Reasoning valid,”
the red mech conceded after a moment. He stepped back a smidge,
making room for the bulldog to enter. Gladly, Wheeljack did so. The
smell of something roasting met his olfactory sensors, and he
couldn't help but to sniff at the air loudly.
“Wow.... something sure smells good!”
“Jetstorm and Jetfire are preparing
for tonight's meal. They are insistent on making a special dish for
our consummation,” Perceptor replied.
“Ah, I see....,” Wheeljack
returned, glancing away from the border collie when one of the
fore-mentioned twins came skipping out of the kitchen. Orange ears
flew up in delighted surprise and Jetfire practically sprang across
the room to hug the bulldog.
“Uncle Wheeljack!,” he chirped.
“Hey,” the engineer beamed, his
spark welling in joy to see the hybrid his usual, up-beat self. He'd
been almost afraid that Jetstorm and Jetfire's running off would have
torn the little family apart, but after the initial scare and a good
bit of crying, all three mechs were back up on their pedes. They even
seemed a little better than before. “You guys sleep all day?”
Jetfire giggled. “No..... most sleep
of day, not all. But is good nap was.” From the corner of his
optics, he saw the bouquet that hung by Wheeljack's side, almost
obscured by his carrier. Grinning in disbelief, he yanked the
engineer's arm forwards, almost burying his olfactory sensors in the
buds. “Flowers? Bringing what for them?,” he asked through a
purr.
Wheeljack felt himself blush in
embarrassment as the roses were stolen from his grasp to be cradled
and smelled by the eager youngling, having forgotten about them again
so quickly. “U-um, well, you see....”
“Wheeljack has purchased them as a
present for all of us,” Perceptor quickly supplied, “We shall set
them accordingly within a vase and set them in the living room.”
The youngling spared each of the
autodogs a look, and for a frightening moment, Wheeljack thought he
saw some sort of calculating thought pass through the yellow orbs. He
was soon to forget it though when Jetfire beamed up at them,
clutching the bouquet tight to his chestplates. “Okie for dokie!
Shall putting in water, am I!” The orange mech turned to return to
the kitchen.
“O-oh, um, wouldn't you like some
help Jetfire?,” Wheeljack asked, feeling somewhat guilty that the
younglings were currently doing everything.
The hybrid shook his helm widely,
smiling up at the engineer cheekily. “We all do! Adults no help,”
he added immediately, his grin turning into something of a stern
pout. It lacked any seriousness though, and only looked
overwhelmingly adorable. “Can do being, brother and I.”
Wheeljack couldn't help but to chuckle
as Jetfire finally turned away, disappearing into the next room.
“Well, I guess that settles that then.....” He swept an arm
toward the living room, inviting Perceptor to join him. Together,
they headed over and to the couch. “I'm glad to see the boys up and
about. Jetfire being his spunky self, Jetstorm wanting to cook all
the time..... How about you, Percy? How you feeling?”
The border collie inclined his helm
slightly to the bulldog as they sat down, side by side. “I have
exceeded my slots for medical leave. I shall return to my lab
tomorrow and proceed with my unfinished duties. Starting with the
commission for the refinery company,” he answered.
Wheeljack shuttered his optics in shock
at the statement. “You're.... you're still going to work on that
commission?,” the engineer asked, feeling his fuel tanks churn
anxiously. Things had all spiraled out of control because of that
slagging commission in the first place, leading to the discovery that
the company was owned and run by Megatron, Starscream's bondmate. The
lucky glitch that had sired the twins. The white mech couldn't
understand why Perceptor would want to even have anything to do with
the kittycon CEO after all of this.
The scientist didn't seem very
concerned himself about his choices though. “Of course,” he
replied neutrally, helm turning to face his companion fully, “Only
thorough inadequacy to facilitate the client's requirements is valid
pardon to not fulfil a task entrusted to me. If the variables are
inaccessible or inoperable for modern adaptation, then I shall advise
another to be given the project. For now, I am capable of handling
this formulae.”
What could he say to that? Even as
bland as the words had been spoken, there was no doubting the passion
and confidence Perceptor both carried in himself and the field that
he worked under. And truthfully, Wheeljack knew, there really was no
one better to do the job. Not another 'bot around could match the
border collie's genius. Releasing a heavy vent, Wheeljack leaned back
against the couch, pausing for a moment in his thoughts. His arm, he
realized, had automatically slung over the back of the furniture out
of pure habitual routine, because the couch was so small and with how
wide he was, it was virtually impossible for him to keep it at his
side comfortably when seated with someone else. He'd never noticed
before, how the fabric and foam dipped about the middle, right where
his forearm was currently cradled; formed that way from stellar
cycles of his arm resting there.
Struck by the new-found discovery,
Wheeljack slowly glanced around the room, realizing that he knew
every nook and cranny of this apartment and could recall every detail
with vividness, even if he were to lose his sight right then and
there. He even remembered how each and every mark, bump, scratch or
stain was made; whether by Perceptor, one of the twins or himself.
His spark was beginning to whirl
excitedly beneath his chestplates.
The distinguishing signs of the
bulldog's presence throughout the stellar cycles were clearly visible
around the apartment, and yet he had never truly noticed nor
considered their significance until now. Ratchet had been right.....
He was an integrated part of not only Perceptor's life, but the
twins' as well. He was, in some, small beautiful way, truly apart of
their family.
Smiling serenely, Wheeljack turned his
helm back toward the curious border collie; his helm fins glowing
with a pale rose. “I'm glad to hear it, Percy. You're amazing at
seeing something through, even if you're afraid it might fail,” he
said, in response to the scientist's proclamation earlier. Primus, it
almost felt an eternity since Perceptor had said those words.
Relaxing further into his seat, the
engineer politely led the conversation onto a topic more in his field
-experiments and inventions- the feeling of peace and comfort having
yet to leave the bigger autodog. His stubby little tail wagged as he
watched Perceptor's ears grow a tad more perk at the stimulating
discussion.
Tomorrow, Wheeljack decided, he'd try
again tomorrow. And every orn after, for as long as it took, until
this wonderful, beautiful, brilliant mech knew just how much he was
loved and appreciated by his friend.
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