Title: Don't Ask Don't Tell.
Rating: T.
Universe: Canonical TV G1.
Pairing/Characters: Pre-established Red Alert/Wheeljack, hints of Red Alert/Starscream non-con. Implied Inferno/Perceptor and Cliffjumper/Mirage. Nothing graphic.
Summary: Set after the events of 'Auto-Berserk'. Wheeljack has been acting peculiarly towards Red Alert since the latter was safely rescued from Starscream's clutches. Also references 'Atlantis, Arise!', some knowledge of both episodes needed. Rated T for adult-ish themes.
Author's Notes: This pairing has been nagging at me for a long time. I think because Wheeljack is such an unrelenting optimist, whilst Red Alert is the nay-saying pessimist. Despite Wheeljack's usual good nature, I also imagine him having a bit of a temper.
I originally uploaded this at deviantArt. It had the same title and was authored by Rapa-Nuiz, if you would like to find it there. =)
Wheeljack was one of the most sociable bots the Ark had to offer. Almost irritatingly so. Whenever there was a party - which was not very often, thanks to the warfare situation - he would be at its forefront, dancing with the mechs who might not have partners, pouring the high-grade into already well-sloshed friends, or telling anecdote after anecdote when the sound system inevitably wanted to have a dance with its bondmate. He was also a good bot to have around in the Repair Bay - where he was often to be found, sharing a joke or two with Ratchet as the latter gritted his denta and patched up yet another war wound - and any Autobot who found themselves stuck there were always glad of his company. Thanks to his high spirits and positive nature, the fact that the Ark had to be routinely cleaned and re-wired went almost unnoticed: the Earth sky was blue, Decepticons were aftholes, and every so often Wheeljack made something explosive that wasn't even flammable. Scrap happens.
As of such, when the fact that he was sharing in a relationship with a mech who fervently believed social discourse was one step away from sabotaging the effectiveness of the Ark's officers was discovered, nobot really knew what to say or how to say it. Most Autobots had simply assumed that Red Alert was in some kind of strange affectionate mating dance with Inferno, and hadn't even considered that two bots who were practically glued at the hip-joint may not actually find one another attractive in that sense.
"Yer what?" Inferno had exclaimed when Grapple had bravely tackled him over the issue in the canteen. "Me? Courtin' Red? Naw, what're you on about? We're just friends."
"So who are you seeing, then?" Tracks had interjected. "We've all seen you sneaking out after dark," he continued with a smirk when Inferno threw him a filthy look. "We just assumed you wanted to keep it...private. You know what Red's like about privacy."
"S'none're yer business," the fire engine had muttered with a fierce scowl.
But the matter of courtship was everybot else's business - at least, on the Ark it was. From a military perspective, Optimus Prime was keen to keep all of his staff on friendly terms, even if that meant heavily monitoring matters that were meant to be private; and on a personal level, the Autobots were a tight-knit culture in much the same way a human family was, and assisting in courtship matters was as natural as asking about the weather. (Which was an excitable topic in itself: the weather on Cybertron was either 'clear' or 'acid rain'. The Earth's multiple climate changes, especially those that came about in a mere matter of seconds, were fascinating.) As of such, Wheeljack's insistence on courting a mech who thought the idea of discussing his relationship with anybot else was scandalous irritated the Ark's gossip mongers - of which there were many - to no end.
Red Alert's recent flight with Starscream, however, had kept glossas wagging long into the night, with many cynical Autobots predicting a fiery confrontation with Wheeljack once he was released from the Repair Bay. But when Red Alert was eventually cleared by Ratchet, everything simply seemed to go back to normal, and attention was quickly turned elsewhere before boredom could set in.
For Red Alert, however, nothing was back to normal. He had managed to get over the fact that Cliffjumper appeared to be following him around more than it was normal to, at least when Mirage had eventually caught his bondmate at it and scolded him; Optimus hadn't given him the stern telling off he had expected; he was still allowed to play at Poker Night, so long as he promised not to tell Prowl. (Being such close friends with Inferno had its bonuses, one of which was getting invited places that usually would not touch him.) Wheeljack, on the other servo...was not speaking to him. Or looking at him. Or staying in the same room with him longer than it was absolutely necessary for him to. Or turning up in his berthroom at night to snuggle, smelling of burnt plastic and acids that ought to have irritated him but instead made his partner somehow more endearing. It was distant behaviour he had expected from other comrades, who were only picky with social etiquette when they needed to bully or ignore somebot, but the fact that his normally optimistic and carefree partner was now slinking away from him whenever he attempted to ask what was wrong was now beginning to seriously worry him.
He had related his woes to Inferno that afternoon over dinner. "Aw, he's prob'ly just mad he couldn't find ya when Optimus asked him to," Inferno had replied distractedly, trying not to make optic-contact with Perceptor - sat directly opposite him on the far side of the canteen - in case the gossipers who were still trying to find out who he was courting made the obvious connection. "Don't take it person'ly, Red. He'll get over himself. Feelin' useless is the worst feelin' in the world." He gave his friend a sudden hard look. "The worst feelin', Red. And there's no escapin' from it."
Red Alert had stabbed listlessly at his cyberwafer with his spacespork. "It's not that. I've done something wrong," he mumbled. "I just can't figure out what it is." And after sleeping alone for two and a half weeks, the sorrow and self-pity were slowly turning into a dull, aching anger. This was what hurt the most: he didn't want to be angry with Wheeljack, but he also didn't want to feel sorry for himself for very much longer. It was driving him to the brink of insanity, and having just come back from there he didn't want to visit again any time soon.
"Ask him," said Inferno. His optics accidentally locked with Perceptor's and the microscope shared a conspiratorial smile before continuing his conversation with Ratchet. Tracks, sat next to the scientist and sharing in a discussion of Earth music with Jazz, intercepted the smile. His face lit up. Inferno cursed under his breath.
Ask him. Easier said than done, and now that Red was stood outside of Wheeljack's laboratory, bathed in the soothing orange light of the safety lamps (the scientist was not allowed any other kind of lamp, not after last time) he was a nanoclick from simply turning and running away. He shoved these traitorous thoughts back down into his subroutines and, hitching his vents, stepped into the room. He felt a familiar wave of anxiety sweep through his spark when he caught sight of the scientist's back, bent over his mottled and scarred workbench, a series of indistinguishable mutters issuing from beneath his mouth-plate as he studied something.
"Um..." Said Red. "Wheelja -"
Wheeljack sat up with a start and there was a tinkle of smashing glass. "Aw, great," he spat. "That was the last one I had o' those. Whaddya want, Red?"
"To apologise," said Red, advancing uneasily. "I think I know what it was I did that upset you so much a-and..." He frowned inwardly at the stutter and paused to allow his speech routines to settle back down. "...I'm sorry I destroyed the Negavator. I didn't do it out of spite, and I didn't do it because I was malfunctioning. I just didn't want it getting into Megatron's servos. I -"
A snort interrupted him. Wheeljack had spun around on his stool and was staring at Red Alert with wide-opticed incredulity. "You really think that's what I'm mad at you over? The Negavator? It was a prototype, Red. I can build another one if Optimus ever needs it again in less than a week."
"Then what is it that I've done that's so terrible you won't even look at me?" Red Alert snapped, feeling his sorrow completely giving way to annoyance. "Didn't even visit me in the Repair Bay? Poor Inferno. He came every night because he somehow knew you weren't going to, which means you must have told the others what it was I've done that's so terrible!" His horns suddenly flared up, a deep, dark blue. They flashed several times before switching off. He gritted his denta through the pain. "And Ratchet keeps glaring at me like I've got a Decepticon insignia stapled to my faceplates."
Wheeljack had stood up and approached uncertainly. "Ratch said your glitch was fixed," he said with some thinly veiled concern. "That doesn't look fixed to me."
"Answer the question!" Red Alert shouted. His right horn gave another spark and he sank to his knees, gripping at it with his servo and giving a frustrated growl. He head Wheeljack's footsteps retreating, the clunk of the laboratory blast-doors as they slid shut, and then felt a pair of servos under his shoulder joints, hauling him to his pedes.
"You wanna know why I'm so mad at ya?" Wheeljack grunted as he hauled his partner over to a pile of detritus he had fashioned into a chair for a prank. "Because Starscream's energy field is all over ya, that's why. I can feel it now, for sparks' sake. You can argue about faulty logic circuits all you want, no malfunction I ever heard of can make screw another bot against yer will." He thrust Red down hard onto the chair, then stalked over to the energon dispenser he'd had installed and fetched a cube of low grade. "Drink this before you offline yerself."
Red Alert stared at the cube, then smacked it out of Wheeljack's hand with a snarl. "You think...you really think..."
"Oh don't lie," Wheeljack sneered. "It musta been fun, flyin' around with a Decepticon warrior, instead'a bein' stuck in a lab pretendin' to be interested in what I'm sayin'. You've made it perfectly clear loadsa times that -" Red Alert's flattened servo connecting with the right side of his facemask cut him off mid-sentence. It didn't hurt - protecting against physical harm was what the mask was for, after all - but the shock killed his vocaliser more surely than a laser blast would have. Red Alert was a soldier, and a good one when he wanted to be, but he wasn't a violent mech by nature. He'd never lashed out before, no matter how angry he was.
"He tried to." Red Alert ground out between still-clenched denta. "He really did try to. And I fought him off. My horns were hurting so badly by that time I think he was frightened of damaging me before we reached the bunker." The dull, aching anger in his spark had been growing as Wheeljack spoke, and now it took over in a wreath of fiery indignation. "Do you really think, really, really think that I would..." He shook his head in disgust. "Did I ever, after what happened to you in Sub-Atlantica? Did I ever accuse you of...of that? Primus, 'Jack. Just...Primus." Optic cleanser beaded at the corners of his cheekplates and he angrily wiped them away. "You're worse than I am."
"He..." Wheeljack looked bewildered, then saddened. "...Then I...I'm sorry. Red, I...I was bein' selfish...I hoped..." He folded his arms. "I hoped you had. I hoped you had done it willin'ly, even if it made me so mad wit'cha that I couldn't..." His vocabulary unit searched for words that wouldn't come, and he fell silent.
The dawn of understanding broke over Red Alert's logic centre. "You hoped I had cheated on you, because then it meant that I hadn't been...been attacked. But you had no way of saying that to my face, so you just ignored me instead and hoped that I'd eventually break and admit it to you. And it never occurred to you that if I had been...that I'd need you. Wheeljack, the nicest, friendliest, most sociable bot on the entire Ark ignored his partner on the off-chance that an outright attack could have been consensual because he didn't want to deal with it if it hadn't been -"
"No. Because Wheeljack had been attacked like that and knew exactly how it felt," Wheeljack snapped. "And Wheeljack didn't, really didn't want the bot he loved to have experienced it as well. Not at the servos of the same fraggin' Decepticon. So Wheeljack acted like an insensitive glitch and pretended like it hadn't happened like that for his own peace of processor. And he's sorry. Okay?" His vocaliser cracked from the strain and he turned away. "I'm sorry."
Red Alert got unsteadily to his pedes. "'Sorry' doesn't cut it," he whispered. He stared at Wheeljack's trembling back. The scientist hadn't been the same since what had happened to him on Sub-Atlantica. He was getting better day-by-day, and the nightmares had all but dried up, save for the occasional relapse...and yet every once in a while Red Alert would catch some smidgen of anxiety and fear at the back of his partner's optics, and would spend the rest of the day sticking close by him, just to reassure him that if Starscream did somehow break into the Ark, the only thing waiting for him there would be his fist. Was that what Wheeljack had been scared of? To gaze back and find that same look of terror and self-disgust in Red's own optics? And to know there was nothing he could do to make that go away, no matter how hard he tried?
Feelin' useless is the worst feelin' in the world. The worst feelin', Red. And there's no escapin' from it. He smiled sourly. As always, Inferno had found out what the real problem was, and had tried to fix it without giving up a confidence. "You told Inferno," he said. "Asked him, probably. But he couldn't tell you because he didn't know either, and that just made it worse."
"You always tell him things you don't tell me," Wheeljack replied shakily. "The fact that he didn't know what happened scared me more than I thought it would. I didn't know what to do. I really didn't. After behavin' like that fer so long I couldn't just then turn 'round and act like everythin' was okay, could I?"
"No. You should have just asked in the first place." Red Alert placed a servo hesitantly between Wheeljack's shoulder ratchets. "But as somebot who frequently fails at social discourse, I...I don't condone what you did, but I understand. But next time, you just ask, okay? You just ask m-"
Wheeljack spun around so suddenly one of his back-blades sliced clean across Red Alert's digits. Fortunately, the blades were blunt from years of abuse, but the action still stung. "There won't be a next time," he said determinedly. "If he so much as looks at you again I'm gonna beat him offline with one of my cyberspanners."
The mental image this generated forced a true smile to Red Alert's mouthplates. "I would pay good credits to see that," he said. "But I'd be probably be too busy helping you."
They stood looking at one another awkwardly. Eventually, Red Alert moved closer and slipped his arms around Wheeljack's torso, feeling the other mech's snake around his shoulders. "I really am sorry," Wheeljack murmured. "I can be such a jerk sometimes, and I don't even know I'm doin' it. Everythin' you do feels okay so long as you can justify it to yerself, doesn't it?"
"Yes," said Red, simply. "Next time - and there will be a next time, this is you we're talking about - I'm going to point out you're being an idiot sooner. Especially if it means you pay for my energon ration for the rest of the week."
Wheeljack groaned. "You too? I'm still payin' off Percy after last week's lab accident!" He paused. "Don't suppose you want to go for a drive, instead? You are a Lambo, you know."
"No," said Red Alert stubbornly. "I want to go for a drink in the canteen, and if you really want to say sorry properly you can 'face me violently in front of the others to take their processors off of Inferno's beau."
They began to walk towards the laboratory doors. "As nice as that would be, I think Optimus and Prowl would have somethin' t'say about traumatisin' Bumblebee," said Wheeljack. Then: "Wait there a sec, I just wanna fetch somethin'."
He left Red Alert in the middle of the laboratory, and walking on the tips of his pedes to minimise noise, approached the doors alone. Taking out a hammer from his subspace pocket, he traced a digit down the blast-proof metal until it reached his knee. Bracing himself, he swung the hammer with all of his strength against the door. The clang! reverberated out around the laboratory, and was accompanied by a howl of pain from the other side.
"I'm telling Prime you did that!" Cliffjumper shrieked.
"Good," replied Wheeljack. "I'm tellin' Mirage where you were when I did it to ya."
The threat degenerated into a angry whimper that retreated down the corridor outside with some haste.
Red joined Wheeljack as the latter disappeared his hammer back into storage. "How long was he listening out there?"
"Only for the last part," Wheeljack shrugged. "Good thing these were blast-proof doors or he wouldn't be walkin' straight for weeks." He grew serious. "So...we okay?"
"No," Red Alert said truthfully. He caught Wheeljack's crestfallen expression. "We're not okay. We've both been through something only a narrow margin of other mechs would ever understand, and we've both come out of it the other side a little worse for wear. So it's a good thing we've got one another." He stopped before he felt any more sickened at the mushiness spouting from his vocaliser. "If you could just follow me around with that hammer for any future Cliffjumper-related events, I'd be very grateful."
Wheeljack beamed behind his facemask. He knew Red Alert couldn't see it, and he also knew that Red somehow knew he was smiling all the same. "Well then. Me, you, hammer, Cliffjumper. Perfect date."
"There's not many mechs you could say that to," Red agreed.
They quit the laboratory and headed for the canteen. They encountered Perceptor and Inferno in the line for the energon dispenser, and there were quite a few raised optic ridges and hissed whispers when both Wheeljack and Red Alert made to hug Inferno, who greeted the attention with his usual blithe cheerfulness and a return squeeze.
Perceptor merely rolled his optics at them, then turned back to his conversation with a now very-confused looking Tracks.
Everything was back to normal.