Rating: M
Chapter 14
The creaking of the door drew
Wheeljack's attention as he tried to tip-toe down the hallway
silently. “Oh.... boys,” he whispered, attempting to be cheerful.
He gave up as soon as he heard the flatness of his own vocalizer.
“I'm sorry.... I must have disturbed you. Why don't you go back to
bed?”
“N-no, is.... sleep not could,”
Jetfire answered, shutting Perceptor's door closed the rest of the
way. His brother glanced down mutely at the portfolio in the
autodog's servos.
“Uncle Wheeljack... y-you go?,” the
blue hybrid asked, lifting his visor to Wheeljack's optics. The
engineer sighed at the terrified look both of the twins adapted at
such an implication; reaching forward, he used his free servo to
scratch at each of their ears, opening his arms wide to accept the
younglings as they stepped forward for a hug.
“I was only going to go to the lab,”
he explained to them softly. “Grab a few things, here and there,
that I needed. I wasn't going to be gone long....”
The arms around his chassis tightened,
ears flattened against the twins' helms as they pushed their faces
deeper into the folds of Wheeljack's coat. Venting quietly, he rubbed
at their backstruts, mulling his options over. He did not want to
leave Perceptor alone for very long, if at all, but he also didn't
want to upset Jetfire and Jetstorm by leaving, when they were already
in such a delicate, emotional state. It didn't take long for the
bulldog to reach his decision.
“Alright..... go get your ponchos.
It's supposed to rain.”
The hybrids' pulled back suddenly,
staring up at the engineer in stunned disbelief. He attempted to
smile at them, his optics shuttering gently, to assure them that he
meant what he said. Some of the former glow returned to their optics;
hugging Wheeljack again quickly, Jetfire and Jetstorm pulled away,
rushing for the entrance, and making a slight racket as they pulled
their ponchos out of the closet. The bulldog's peace faded away as he
joined the younger mechs at the door. Forcing another smile to his
face, he held the door open for the twins, allowing them to exit the
apartment first before he followed.
He stared at the lock for a nearly a
klik, before he turned the key and walked away.
xxXxXxx
It was a typical bar: dark, dingy,
and ramshackle at best; standing on the outskirts of the city, open
to everyone and anything. The best kind of place when you wanted
business handled, or were looking for someone specific. Not a place
where everlasting bonds were made, that was for sure, but that wasn't
what these people were looking for anyways. If it was, they wouldn't
have come here.
Pulsing music hummed throughout the
room; loud enough that idle chatter couldn't be heard, but soft
enough that those mechs and femmes leaning in close to each other
could speak without a problem. Streaming strobe lights, muted orange
in glow, passed over the bar. The lights gleamed off a mech's slim
frame, highlighting the golden-red fur of his ears and tail. The way
he was dressed, the sleekness of his fur..... he was hot, and the
mech knew that. Optics trailed over his chassis and aft hungrily,
glossas practically salivating in lust. The autodog was causing quite
a stir this night. It wasn't often that they had such new, gorgeous
prey.
One 'bot shifted in the shadows,
stalking toward the sexy mech. Pale blue optics -like shards of pure
ice- glanced at the approaching stranger, an exasperated pout
pulling at luscious lip components. This wasn't the first 'bot to try
and flirt with him tonight. “Can I help you?,” the autodog asked,
turning his attention back to his drink. He swirled his glass of
high-grade, certain that his lack of interest would quickly deter his
would-be suitor.
The larger mech smirked toothily.
Primus, even the mutt's vocalizer was sexy. That smooth, presumptuous
tone..... how lovely it would be to hear it screaming and begging him
as he pounded that sweet aft into the most wonderful of overloads.
“I'm sure that you could,” he answered back. “It's not often
that a pretty, little pure-bred like yourself can be found in a place
like this.”
“Maybe I just needed a place to
have a drink,” the autodog snipped.
The lights passed overhead again,
making the other's coat shine beautifully for a moment. Unable to
help himself, the bigger 'bot inched closer, tail swishing against
the dirty floor. He was looming over the bar now, casting an
unhealthy amount of shadow over the hot autodog and the other
patrons. “Oh, I might believe that..... but this isn't the type of
place for a casual drink. Sure I can't be of any assistance?”
The mech's entire helm turned in his
direction this time. The put-off scowl slowly faded, a more
contemplative expression coming to the autodog's faceplates as his
optics scanned the other 'bot. Those scalding blue optics suddenly
began to sparkle, and a devious smirk pulled at the 'bot's lip
components; sending a thrill of heat spiking through the big mech's
systems. Oh, this lil' pup was going to be a sweet one....
“Well now.... maybe you can,”
the autodog breathed, hungry optics having yet to leave the other's
frame.
His engine rumbled with lustful
mirth, cat ears twitching at the promise underlining those words.
“Heh.... sounds like we've reached an agreement.”
xxXxXxx
He looked up from the floor the moment
the kittycon came waltzing into the room. “Ah, Blackout,” Swindle
greeted extravagantly, his arms outstretched with ridiculous flourish
and his conniving smile wide across his cheekplates, “What brings
you here?”
The panther growled lowly at the subtle
taunt, shifting on his tiny chair. It creaked in protest and seemed
to shrink to the floor an inch. “You know exactly why I'm here. I
commed you before coming,” he returned flatly, “Just as your
tight aft demanded....”
The devon rex frowned at that comment.
Snorting nonchalantly, Blackout rose to
his pedes, easily towering over the smaller kittycon. “You made me
sit here for two whole, fragging cycles.... The least you can do is
pretend to be apologetic about it,” he snarled.
“What?,” Swindle sneered back, his
fangs bared, “Did I interrupt you while you were fantasizing about
your precious mutt?”
The panther's optics narrowed,
informing the private detective and part-time merchant, that his
associate had indeed been doing just that. Of course, Swindle wasn't
aware that Blackout wasn't so much simulating fragging Rodimus as
reminiscing on their first encounter. The very first step into this
madness....
“Anyways,” the devon rex shook a
servo carelessly, circling around Blackout's hulking frame and
slipping into the plush chair waiting behind his desk, “You
mentioned you wanted to gather some more information on your
frag-toy?”
The brown mech sank back into his
abused chair, oblivious to its screeching whine of torment.
“Yes....,” he gruffed, almost embarrassed. One tan ear perked at
the other's tone. Glaring at the interested look Swindle was now
giving him, Blackout squirmed, turning his helm and staring at some
abstract, black and white photo on the wall. It reminded him of those
cards vets used to tell how crazy you were.
For a klik, the panther was silent. And
then.... “You told me he liked someone else. His sire to be exact,”
the kittycon whispered, denta clenched tightly. “He admitted it.”
Swindle crossed his fingers before his
face. “Did he? Did goody-goody Rodimus actually confess to be a
sick, little daddy-lover?,” he asked, a grin in his tone. “....Or
were you simply just guessing at that because he refused to answer
you?”
Blackout glared at the detective from
the corner of his optic.
Sighing, the tan and purple mech sat up
in his seat, leaning across the desk. “Blackout, buddy, we've
talked about this. You're not supposed to be making answers out of
other people's refusal to give one. It's one of the reasons why you
keep getting slag wrong, and then end up the one duped in the end!”
“Well, he didn't have to say it in so
many words!,” the panther snapped, hackles raised. “He was caught
off-guard when I mentioned it, and he kept acting all defensive.....
Wouldn't say a word more though, no matter how hard I pounded his
aft....”
Swindle refrained from burying his face
in his palm. “Well, as riveting as that is to know,” he replied
sarcastically, “That still doesn't change the fact that he hasn't
come out and admitted to the fact that he is in love with his sire.
Your opinion on the case doesn't really mean much. Honestly, I'm
baffled why you care so much to begin with Blackout. He's just some
mutt.....”
Blackout turned his seat, resuming his
glaring at the ink-blot hanging on the wall. “I want to know more.
I want to know who his sire is.... and I want to know within the
week,” the panther demanded, his fist clenching in his lap.
“....Why?,” the devon rex asked
after a long pause. “What good could possibly knowing do for you?
If he's in love with his sire, then let him pine after the other
autodog. He's sleeping with you, isn't he? That just goes to show
that he's not getting anywhere with his daddy.”
The larger kittycon said nothing to
that; rising to his pedes and grabbing his coat. “I'll come back in
a week with the cash. I want my information by then; no hold-ups.”
Swindle sighed softly. “....You know
my prices aren't cheap, right?”
Blackout shrugged, turning to the door.
“One week,” was all he rumbled, before he left. The detective
vented again once the panther had left, servos pushing through the
small paper work that was on top of his desk and pulling out a thin
folder.
Honestly, when Blackout had been
bragging at the bar last week about his new and sexy frag-toy
Rodimus, all Swindle had wanted to do was sow some discord and maybe
use the brown mech as a tool for digging up some more dirt on the
seemingly perfect autodog. After all, tabloids paid top dollar for a
story that could convict a good lawyer, rather than build him up. But
one word of the mouth -that Rodimus apparently had some unnatural
affections for his sire- weren't enough to make a story. He needed
more than that.
Like, filthy habits, weird rituals,
notebooks filled with crazy ramblings of their fantasized lives
together.... That kind of stuff. Unfortunately, the only two demerits
the golden retriever had on him right now was the fact that he was
'facing Blackout on the side, and living the life of Mr. Perfect
while he pined over some unknown mech.
Blackout's reaction to the comment, and
Rodimus' supposed negative response to being told, had not been
accounted for. The devon rex shook his helm, pinching the bridge of
his olfactory sensor with one servo. It sounded like his associate
was.... getting attached. And in the business of digging up secrets,
weapons distribution and illegal trade, attachments were the last
thing you wanted to make.
But still.....
Swindle was a man of business, and if
his client wanted more information, then, well, the kittycon sure as
slag was going to pull up as much as he could.
He just hoped that Blackout didn't blow
up in his face if something came up that the panther wouldn't like.
xxXxXxx
It was raining heavily outside.
Wheeljack shook his helm a little as he and the twins stepped into
the science building, wishing that he had thought to invest in an
umbrella or maybe just a hat. Pushing that thought to the side for
the moment, the engineer turned to the younglings standing patiently
behind him. “Alright, you two stay just here in the lobby, okay?
I'm only going to head upstairs and see Mainframe to drop off some
files.” Wheeljack lifted the portfolio he carried in demonstration.
“Then I'll grab a couple things from my lab and come back down to
get you. You don't have classes today, so... so it'd probably just be
best if we went back home.”
Jetfire and Jetstorm stared back at him
quietly.
Shuffling in place for a moment,
Wheeljack decided not to bother asking if they were okay, opening his
arms to give them a quick hug. The twins immediately rushed forwards,
nuzzling the bulldog, their grip tightening for a moment before
reluctantly letting go. Hesitating an astrosecond longer, Wheeljack
turned; venting softly as he headed for the elevators. The two
hybrids stood where they were for a klik longer, dripping onto the
floor, before Jetstorm turned his helm to his brother.
“You getting?,” he whispered.
The orange youngling glanced about
cautiously, flashing the wallet he had gripped in his servo before
sliding both back under his poncho. “Uncle Wheeljack notice not
when taking,” Jetfire mumbled back. His ears were drooping, his
optics lowered to the floor ashamedly.
Jetstorm took the other twin's free
servo, giving it a comforting squeeze. At his brother's touch,
Jetfire looked up and silently the blue mech assured him that it was
alright. Contrary to what Wheeljack might believe, they had not slept
at all last night. Instead, they'd stayed awake, planning their next
move while they watched over their unresponsive carrier. Waiting,
they'd decided, was not an option. If they were to confront their
sire, they had to do it quick.... and that meant taking a bus out of
the city, today.
Adults would not understand their
plight; would not give them the assistance they needed.
....but how it weighed on their young
sparks to be doing such secretive, terrible things....
“Come,” Jetstorm said, pulling his
brother to the door. Lightning flashed across the sky outside as the
downpour increased. “Not rush, missing bus will. Afford can not.”
Jetfire looked out into the storm for a
moment, before pulling the hood of his poncho up. “Hurry must,”
he agreed. He pushed the glass door opened, wind howling and rain
splashing up into their faces as they stepped out of the building
together.
xxXxXxx
“Vet Ratchet, please return to the
nursing station. Vet Ratchet, please return to the nursing station,
please.”
The labrador turned his helm up at the
intercom, closing the folder he had currently been flipping through
and grumbling as he turned to head back down the hall. Sometimes, he
wondered what it was about the hospital that enticed him to stay for
as long as he did, dealing with one ridiculous case after another.
Already, he'd been here for eight cycles and had put up with useless
parents stressing out over a simple cough that their bornling had, to
idiot younglings who'd managed to damage codpieces by attempting
crazy stunts without wearing the proper protection.
And now he was being beckoned by the
P.A system to go see the nurses?
Slaggit, he could have been doing more
productive things this orn, like trying to find a way to help his
younger acquaintances, Perceptor and Wheeljack!
Grumbling, Ratchet approached the
nursing station, a dark cloud hanging over his helm. The few nurses
there immediately averted their optics, not willing to draw the vet's
wrath. Only one did not -a small femme that swallowed her whimper as
the older mech stopped before the counter, slamming his folders onto
the wood top. “I-it's, u-um, f-for you, s-sir,” she stuttered,
sheepishly holding out the phone for the vet.
Ratchet's frown, if possible,
increased.
Refraining from growling at her (bother
him with phone calls? Something that could wait until after his
shift?!), he took the phone, placing the receiver to his ear and
asking a brisk, “What?”
Immediately, the voice on the other
line broke out into panicked shouting and Ratchet's optics flared in
shock. His frown tightened anxiously, and after a klik, the labrador
handed the phone back to the nurse. “FIRST AID!,” he shouted,
turning down the hall and hurrying off.
The australian shepherd, at that very
moment just assisting one of the interns, jumped at the yell,
spinning around and running after Ratchet. “W-what, what is it,
sir?,” he yipped, trying to keep on the vet's heels.
The older mech did not answer him,
increasing his pace, practically running into his office. First Aid
followed after him, shutting the door behind him, his worried optics
turning to Ratchet as the other autodog tried to access his terminal.
“Confounded....slagging..... machine.....,” the labrador growled.
“First Aid! Get over here and make this stupid thing work, will
ya?!”
“R-right away, sir!” The smaller
mech dashed right on over, taking Ratchet's seat as the vet turned
away and started shuffling through the datapads on his desktop
haphazardly. “Sir, what am I looking for?,” he asked after a
moment, once the computer's screen had come up.
“Old file,” Ratchet clipped
distractedly. “Tell me, First Aid, what would you do if you were a
young 'bot and your mother went into a depressed trance over some
sire that you never knew existed, let alone met before?”
“U-um.....” The australian shepherd
was confused by the question. “I s-suppose, I might want to g-go
and s-see this sire. F-for closure, or h-help. .....W-why do you ask,
s-sir?”
The labrador picked up one of the
datapads, squinting at it, before nodding. “Because,” he replied,
finally turning his helm to the smaller mech. “Jetfire and Jetstorm
are missing..... and I'm willing to bet my ridiculous salary that
they've gone to see the very mech that created them. They're smart
enough to figure out that he's the cause for Perceptor's current
state.”
First Aid gasped in horror at the news.
“How-?”
“Wheeljack decided to take them to
the lab with him, when he went to go hand in his resignation. They
were in the lobby when he went upstairs.... and they were gone when
he came back down,” Ratchet added grimly. “Now, hurry up, pull up
a Mr. Megatron's file. If memory serves correct he came in here a few
years back for food poisoning or something....”
“B-but sir!,” the younger autodog
protested. “Patient files are confidential! W-we can't-”
The vet's growl shut him right up.
“R-right away, sir,” First Aid conceded, turning his attention to
the computer and rapidly pulling up previous patient files from the
database.
Ratchet let his subordinate do what he
needed while he strode over to the coat rack; pulling down his coat
and slipping it on. “First Aid.... you're not doing anything this
afternoon, right?”
“W-what?,” the australian shepherd
asked, looking up from the computer. “O-oh, umm, not really sir. I
was going to help the nurses catalogue some files, and-”
“Good,” the labrador interrupted.
He walked back to his desk. “I need you to cover my last
appointment for the day,” he said, holding out the datapad he had
picked up earlier. “Everything you need to know is written here;
address too. Now, how comes the search?”
Scrambling, First Aid grabbed a piece
of paper and pen, scrawling down the location written on the screen.
“T-there you go, sir....,” he answered sadly, handing the address
to Ratchet. “I s-still don't think this is r-right, but, whatever
can help us to find the two younglings is a g-good thing, I suppose.
You t-think they'll go here?”
Ratchet nodded solemnly.
“Thanks kid,” he sighed, turning to
the door and quickly crossing the room, “Remind me to give you a
raise and some extended vacation time when I get back.”
“.... good luck, sir,” First Aid
whispered, smiling softly as the door shut on the labrador's exit.
xxXxXxx
The rain was coming down in sheets when
they stepped down from the bus. Rushing under the small shelter
placed at the stop, Jetfire and Jetstorm huddled close together as
the vehicle pulled away from the curb, disappearing into the fog and
darkness of this horrible day. “W-which way go?,” Jetfire asked,
trying to keep his denta from clacking together as a chill seeped
under his plating.
His brother shifted, pulling a piece of
paper out from under his poncho. “W-we....,” he replied,
shivering, “M-map says up g-go we.” His visor lifted, trying to
peer through the rain and bleakness in an attempt to read the nearest
street signs. “M-must go t-to V-Vos C-crescent; h-house th-there.”
The orange youngling opened his mouth
to answer back, but a wicked wind howled right then, sweeping up from
the ground and blowing gritty rainwater up into the hybrids' faces.
“O-okie.... for dokie....,” he mumbled finally, wrapping his arms
tight around himself, trying to retain heat.
Jetstorm nodded his helm stiffly,
folding up their now-wet map carefully and tucking it away out of
sight again. “L-let go t-this way,” he said, stepping down from
the shelter and crossing the street cautiously. Lightning cracked
across the sky, making everything shine bright as day before the
darkness settled in once more.
Not wanting to lose his twin in this
nasty gloom, Jetfire stepped down as well, following after Jetstorm's
lead.
xxXxXxx
“Ah, you must be Ratchet's
replacement today,” Flare-up smiled, gesturing for the mech to come
forward. “The good vet was kind enough to call and inform us that
he would not be able to make it today, but he said that the one he
was sending over was the best substitute. First Aid, wasn't it?”
“Y-yes,” First Aid replied, smiling
meekly in return. “I-i must apologize, I-”
“Don't worry about it, sweetspark,”
the femme interrupted, waving a servo carelessly as she leaned back
in her chair. “You seem like a very kind but innocent sort of 'bot.
I'm sure our type of business must be very.... peculiar to you.
Hence, why we only request the hospital send us good, respectable and
open-minded vets who won't be so quick to judge our employees.
Ratchet has been acting as resident vet for our company for the past
twenty years; he is very dear to us.”
Anxiously, the australian shepherd sat
down, resting his datapads in his lap. “Y-yes. Ratchet, sir, i-is
very good at w-what he does.... I was ever s-so honoured w-when he
selected m-me to be his pr-protege.” The white mech couldn't help
the little smile that rose at that last statement, beaming with quiet
pride. That really had been one of the best moments of his life.
Flare-up's grin grew softer in
understanding, before the jack russel terrier snapped her fingers,
getting back on task. “Now, the check-ups.... I'm sure that Ratchet
has already informed you of how the procedure works,” she started,
locking optics with the other autodog. “Patient confidentiality
usually is between a 'bot and their present vet, but here at the
Agency, it is essential that I, their employer, am also kept aware of
my employee's well-being. An extra measure to ensure that my femmes
and mechs are at their best at all times. So.... how are we faring
this week?”
First Aid squirmed uncomfortably in his
seat, suddenly feeling very shy about getting down to the business
aspect of his visit to this strange place. “W-well.....umm,” he
stuttered, hesitating, “Yo-your employees are a-all well! N-no
cuts, damages, viral infections o-or diseases..... They're all
perfectly healthy!”
The femme shuttered her optics, holding
out a servo politely.
Noticing the gesture, the young vet
immediately handed over the medical records he held; clasping his
servos in his lap immediately after. “But?,” Flare-up asked, her
optics glancing over the files slowly. “I can hear a note of
deliberation in your tone, First Aid. Not a really good thing for a
vet to have.... So, please, enlighten me if you would. Why the pause,
if my employees are as good as you say?”
The australian shepherd bowed his helm
a little at being caught.
“N-no, th-they are g-good....
b-but.....”
The femme lifted her optics, staring at
him with waning patience.
“U-um.... I-i'm a-afraid to s-say
that one o-of the-them is....,” First Aid stuttered, struggling to
get the words out while he was being pinned down by the red autodog's
firm gaze. “....u-uh, sparked.....”
If it had been anyone else, in any
other situation, the look of shock on Flare-up's face would have been
comical. Instead, First Aid became more nervous and sank further back
into his seat. “Who?,” she asked tersely, shuffling through the
files more intensely now.
The white mech cleared his vocalizer,
flushing a little. “T-the, u-uh..... p-pomeranian. M-mister Tracks,
I believe?”
The stunned silence that followed was
so tangible it was to be a rope wrapped tight around the young vet's
neck cables.
“I.... see.....,” the femme
replied, a servo cupping her chin as she stared down at her desk
thoughtfully. Afraid to interrupt her train of thought, First Aid
remained silent; squirming every few kliks as the other autodog
continued to ignore him. Finally, her optics flashed back up, staring
at the australian shepherd.
“Thank you for your time, First Aid.
This is.... news that must further be reviewed and extra action taken
for.” Flare-up rose from her seat, walking around the desk and
gesturing for the shorter 'bot to follow her.
Slowly, First Aid stood up.
“I-i....I hope I haven't caused any
trouble. I mean-”
The jack russel waved off his concerns.
“No, this isn't a terrible thing, First Aid,” she said. “Just....
surprising. Especially considering the situation. I'm sure you're
aware of that. But do not fret; no harm will come to my employees.
Other than that.... I can tell you no more. Company policy.”
Their destination was the door.
“O-oh....,” First Aid mumbled, glancing at the glass panes, then
back to Flare-up. “W-well then, I shall i-inform Ratchet, sir, that
everything has been taken care of and t-there's no major concern
then. I'm sure he'll be back next s-shift to assist with check-ups
and p-probably the expecting mother's c-condition.”
The femme did not respond to that,
opening the door and kindly leading the mech out into the hallway.
“Do feel free to ask one of the chaperones to take you home
tonight. It is terribly dreadful outside, and we would not want you
to catch a virus from this storm, now would we, First Aid?,”
Flare-up smiled.
“U-uh.... no, I suppose not,” the
vet answered, realizing the blatant change of subject for what it
was. Understanding that he would no longer be shared any more
information, First Aid smiled back politely in turn, bowing his helm.
“Thank you for your time and have a good night,” he said, before
turning around and pressing the button for the elevator.
Waiting until the australian shepherd
had boarded the lift and the doors had closed on his angelic little
face, Flare-up strut briskly back into her office; sinking into her
seat in one fluid, harsh motion. She gathered together all of her
employees' recent health files, setting them all to the side....
except for one. Tracks' file.
“Just a cold, huh....,” she mumbled
exasperatedly to herself.
A red servo picked up her cordless,
punching in numbers quickly before pressing the phone to her helm. It
rang, once, twice, before the other line picked up.
“Hello, Mr. Soundwave? This is
Flare-Up, from the Agency....”
The femme spun her chair around,
looking out into the flashing lightning and booming thunder of the
storm wreaking havoc in the sky around her apartment.
“We need to talk....”
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