At Night
A/N: I've had this sitting on my desktop since Saturday morning, and just now found the gumption to post it. Go figure.
Anyway, for those who care enough to read this, I happen to think that "Hurt" was a wonderful episode, finally answering our questions (sort of) about what happened to Bulkhead. The raw emotions between Miko and the rest of the team were very real, and the plot of the episode was great. Then this little plot bunny crawled into existence, primarily after "Toxicity" and the mutual respect Agent Fowler and Bulkhead seemed to have attained. And so relax, pull up a chair, and enjoy. And don't forget to review, please!
Transformers :Prime (c) Hasbro
The silo proper was silent, almost painfully so, when Fowler exited the elevator, and he took a few cautious steps onto the platform that overlooked the cavernous room, lit by the dimmest of overhead lights. The air was cooler than usual, and the special agent felt his skin pebble as he moved to grip the icy railing.
The faint glow of several monitors in the corner of the silo made his hands clench, clammy palms biting into the chilled metal, and William Fowler felt something knot deep in his gut. He hadn't even taken a single step toward the stairs when a voice from the shadows, as bitter as the air, startled him.
"Something I can help you with, Tiny?"
Feeling something pulse in his temple, Fowler turned with clenched jaw, a reprimand bubbling in his throat, when he finally faced the Wrecker.
His taunt shriveled and died on his lips as he took in the bot's scarred and dented frame, far worse for wear than the last time Fowler had seen him. Fowler had heard Bulkhead's stories of the Wrecker's durability, but seeing it firsthand only cemented the fact for him. Although, it was not Wheeljack's outward appearance that startled the special agent so. Rather, it had been the look in his optics—exhaustion, fury, and resignation all at once. Fowler carefully cleared his throat as Wheeljack's optics narrowed and his question continued unanswered.
"Not that I know of," Fowler began slowly, hands fisted at his sides. Wheeljack looked him over for a second before scoffing loudly. William internally winced—he was normally an excellent liar, it may as well have been required for his profession, but the giant, alien robots he tended to work with could always see straight through him. Before the bot could question him further, Fowler turned the tables. "And anyway, what are you doing here? Last I heard from Prime, you'd turned tail."
Wheeljack seemed to seethe at the human's words, and his optics were torn forcibly away so that he began searing a hole into the floor with his glare instead. "I do believe I reserve the right to see my old teammate when he's in critical condition, don't I?" Fowler blinked at the bot's savage tone, when he noticed one of Wheeljack's black servos cradling its twin arm.
"What happened to you, anyway?"
The Autobot chuckled darkly, perhaps at the abrupt change in subject or something else entirely. "Long story. Now you wanna see Bulk' or not?" Fowler's shock must have registered on his face as Wheeljack said nothing more, releasing his hold on his injured arm and offering a servo to the special agent.
Fowler normally wasn't too keen on the bots carrying him around, the abrupt feeling of vertigo that accompanied each lift less than appealing, but now the man made an exception as he climbed into the Wrecker's scarred palm. Wheeljack's heavy, dragging pedefalls echoed through the empty area as he trudged over to the medical bay, a fact that Fowler was not oblivious too.
"Didn't the doc fix you up when you came back?"
Wheeljack managed a humorless chuckle. "I'm not exactly welcome at base right at this moment, Tiny. I've got no one but myself."
Fowler's brow furrowed, and though they were seconds from the med bay he struggled to maintain the small connection he and the behemoth had forged. "What did you even do too yourself? Prime was a little too vague for my liking."
"Not about Bulkhead's condition, I hope," Wheeljack responded grimly, and Fowler felt his mouth dry. Looking up at the gargantuan bot—actually average sized among Cybertronians— optics glowing icily, containing a forever burning fury, coupled with scarred visage, chassis, and frame, the special agent found this bot truly terrifying for the first time.
No more was said by the time Wheeljack stopped inside the med bay, the various monitors and consoles along the walls blinking in the gloom. As the bot put him down, Fowler swallowed. "Do you know what those say?" he asked, keeping his voice level as he pointed towards the comatose bot's vital stats. Wheeljack nodded sharply.
"He's still stable."
Fowler exhaled heavily, finally forcing himself to look upon Bulkhead's prone form, strewn across the massive berth. Atop his chest plate he could barely make out a small lump, moving up and down as the child breathed in sleep.
"She's been here all night," Wheeljack said, answering his unasked question. "I overheard 'em. She won't leave his side." He scoffed softly, but there was a mingling of respect in his tone. "Stubborn kid."
"Two-ton would've been proud of her," Fowler observed with a chuckle, but when glancing up at the bot, he found Wheeljack's optical ridges furrowed.
Wheeljack slowly cycled air through his vents, glassy optics on his motionless teammate. "I…don't really think so." The special agent was aware of the regretful tone in an instant, and whirled around to face the bot as well as he could.
"What happened?" he demanded sharply, arms akimbo. He noted with some surprise how Wheeljack refused to meet his blistering gaze, his optics wandering somewhere near his left pede, when the bot released a pained groan and collapsed onto a nearby berth. As he leaned forward, a servo rose to cradle his scratched and dented helm and his optics closed. Never before had Fowler seen the Wrecker look to utterly drained.
"It was my fault," he muttered, so softly that the agent barely caught it. He continued before Fowler could interrupt. "She snuck onto my ship. The kid knew who attacked Bulkhead so I…I let her come along." He exhaled softly, optics opening somberly. "She ended up killing Hardshell."
Fowler blanched at the bot's words, stumbling back as a wave of shock and disbelief struck him. He felt his back hit cool metal, and knew it to be Bulkhead's arm. He turned back to Wheeljack with a seed of anger building in his gut—anger towards Miko for stowing away, at Bulkhead for making everyone feel so much pain, and a bolstering, withering rage towards Wheeljack for putting the girl in such dangerous circumstances. Whatever innocence she had had left was certainly destroyed by now. But seeing the Autobot slumped on the berth before him, normally cunning optics dimmed and shoulders drooping, looking pathetically weak beneath the med bay's dim lighting, he felt his anger ebb away, giving purchase to a hollow exhaustion.
Wheeljack chuckled quietly, and Fowler's gaze zipped back up to him. "Revenge never felt quite so empty before," he mumbled with a ghost of a smirk across his faceplate.
Fowler found that he had no answer, and instead allowed his gaze to wander, eventually landing on the screens displaying Bulkhead's vital statistics. A shuddered breath instantly tore his attention away from the monitors, and upwards to where he could still make out Miko's shadowed form. Swiftly motioning for Wheeljack to lift him up again, Fowler winced as the Wrecker rose slowly, though nowhere near his full height, as his backstrut remained hunched by pain.
The agent scrambled into the Wrecker's palm and was lifted so that he came level with Bulkhead's chassis, where he clambered off and with utmost care made his way over to the trembling girl, all too aware of the optics trained on his back.
In seconds Fowler was crouched by Miko's tremulous form, the slight girl curled tightly into a ball, and moved a hand to shake her awake, when he thought better of it. Carefully pulling off his grey jacket, Fowler draped it over the shaking girl's shoulders, trying and failing to overlook the tear streaks down her cheeks and the redness of her eyes. The agent felt a sigh escape him when Miko's trembling stopped and she pulled the jacket closer to her, absorbing its warmth. He stood then, and Wheeljack neutrally offered his servo again.
Fowler was deposited on the concrete before Wheeljack turned back to his unmoving teammate. He could feel the tension rolling off the bot in waves, eons worth of unbridled pride and loneliness crashing down on him, when Wheeljack placed a servo on Bulkhead's shoulder, mumbling something—a prayer, or a promise perhaps—in the foreign tongue of Cybertronian. Before Fowler could fully absorb this rare moment of weakness, he had been scooped up and deposited onto the same platform he had arrived on.
Stunned, the agent watched the Wrecker begin to limp off towards the exit; shoulders hunched and injured pede scraping the floor. "Wh-where do you think you're going?" Fowler sputtered, and the bot paused to look over his shoulder at the human, optics laced with the familiar devil-may-care attitude, but this time with a more powerful, darker undertone to the carelessness.
"Everywhere and nowhere," Wheeljack answered cryptically, smirking slightly. "Don't tell the others I was here, all right?"
Before Fowler could respond, the Autobot had reverted to vehicle mode and tore out of the silo proper, leaving only a trail of dust and the smell of burnt rubber to announce his presence.