Alright, here it goes. I'm committing myself to a chapter-fic. I'm not sure how long it's gonna' end up being, but I plan to try to update once a week, if I can. I'm pretty slow about writing, though, due to the fact that I rarely get more than an hour a day to write. x_x Anyway, here we go.

This 'fic doesn't have a title yet, 'cause I fail at tiles. If anyone has a title suggestion, I'm all ears. The focus-pairing is Optimus/Wheeljack. Why? Because they're probably my two most absolute favorite TF characters, and I've never seen them paired together, so I thought I'd take a crack at it. Lemme' tell ya, it's not being easy, but I am determined. DX SO! Without any more stalling, here's the first chapter.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Long periods of inactivity were more stressful for the Autobots than one would suspect. Under different circumstances they would most likely enjoy it and use the time to relax and socialize, but while the threat of the war persisted, no one could relax for very long. The Decepticons may be keeping quiet for the moment, but they were sure to be plotting their next assault. The longer the 'Cons spent planning and preparing, the more threatening their next plot was sure to be. After a few days, anxiety began to build, and some of the mechs who had been designed and trained for little more than battle started to get restless. Tension permeated the Arks and its inhabitants until, inevitably, something happened to break it. Sometimes a fight might break out in the rec room, or sometimes the entire Ark would be consumed in an all-out prank war. The ranking officers did their best to keep things under control (when they weren't participating themselves), and Optimus was left feeling like he was running the universe's biggest daycare center.

There hadn't been any Decepticon activity for a very long time. It seemed like everyone in the Ark was on edge. Optimus sat in his office and mused to himself as he reviewed the latest intelligence reports. The tension in the base was so thick that it was sure to erupt into chaos if the 'Cons didn't make a move soon, but for the moment there was relative peace. The leader had just set aside the intelligence reports, resolving to try to relax and make the most of the quiet while it lasted, when an explosion rocked the base and nearly pitched him out of his seat.

Alarms blared, echoing trough the halls, and Optimus didn't hesitate. He left his office, running full-tilt in the direction of the blast. He didn't even slow to round corners, and his feet gouged deep grooves into the floor as his inertia threatened to slam him against the wall at each turn. Prowl and Jazz joined him at the first intersection, and several more joined them as they ran, all of them armed and ready for battle. Finally Optimus slid around the corner into the corridor which lead to the wing of the Ark devoted to science and research. Smoke and dust filled the corridor, billowing out of a gaping hole which used to be a doorway, the doors having been wrenched free and thrown into the adjacent wall by the explosion. A sense of foreboding overcame the leader as he realized what room this was. Prowl opened a control panel on the wall and put in a security code to stop the alarms. The accompanying Autobots gathered behind Optimus and all was quiet as they awaited his instruction.

Optimus peered through the smoke and cautiously began to approach the doorway. The charred remains of the room beyond seemed silent and empty. His spark throbbed with dread until he heard a subtle shuffling of debris indicating movement, and the soft sound of cooling fans clogged with dust sputtering to life. Through the haze he could make out a faint yellow light flashing in sync with a static-choked voice. "I'm okay!" The leader's joints nearly gave out in relief.

The doorway was partially obstructed by debris and toppled shelving, so Jazz and Bumblebee, being the smallest two present, ducked inside through a small opening to assist the fallen inventor. Optimus and Ironhide set to work clearing the doorway as Prowl dispersed the gathered crowd. Once the entrance had been cleared, the two smaller mechs reemerged supporting Wheeljack, who looked like a mangled wreck. One of his vocal indicators was cracked and blackened, one of his legs hung limp and dripped hydrolic fluid from the joints, his paint was scorched and peeling, and he was covered with minor dents and scrapes from flying shrapnel. Optimus eyed him with concern. "Wheeljack, you most certainly are NOT okay. Will you two please help him to the medical bay? Ironhide, tell Ratchet to prepare to receive wounded."

Ironhide nodded. "Already done, Prime."

Wheeljack hung his head sheepishly as Jazz and Bumblebee half-carried him down the corridor.

v^v^v^v^v^v^v

"'Jack, if you don't stop doing this to yourself, I swear I'll kill you myself one of these days. You have got to be more careful!"

Wheeljack cringed slightly and did his best to lie still while his friend's nimble fingers worked diligently to repair him. "I know, Ratchet..."

"Then why do you keep doing this to me!? You scare the slag out of me every time! You're too smart to keep making mistakes like this! You need to slow down and pay attention to what you're doing! I know you get excited, but that's no excuse for carelessness!" Ratchet had lost track of how many times he'd had this conversation with Wheeljack. It seemed no amount of ranting and idle threats could get through to the inventor.

The door to the med bay slid open and Sideswipe poked his head through, grinning widely. "Hey, Wheeljack! That was a good one! It shook the whole base! I thought the volcano was erupting!" He didn't even notice the wrench flying in his direction until it had already bounced off of his helm. "GAH! SONUVA-!"

"DON'T ENCOURAGE HIM!" Ratched shouted as Sideswipe beat a hasty retreat. The medic stooped to retrieve his wrench and cursed when he realized that it was now bent. Then he leaned out the door to bellow after the lamborghini's retreating back, "AND YOU OWE ME A NEW 1 1/2" WRENCH!"

Wheeljack couldn't help but chuckle at his friend's antics, but he quickly stifled his laughter when the medic glared at him. "Sorry, Ratch. I really am. You know I don't do this on purpose."

The medic shot him one last glare, then went back to repairing the inventor, grumbling threats as he worked. Wheeljack lay still and smiled behind his mask. He was grateful for his friend's skillful work. Ratchet's repairs were flawless. The medic had patched him up more times than he could count, and he'd never left the med bay with so much as a scratch. He couldn't imagine what he might look like if he'd had to leave his repairs to someone less capable. Offlining his optics, the inventor tried to relax as Ratchet pried the armor from his non-functioning leg to get to the damaged circuitry beneath. In that moment, Wheeljack was intensely grateful to whatever genius had invented pain-blockers.

A couple of hours later, Ratchet was finishing up his work by carefully hammering and buffing out the dents and scratches in his friend's armor. "There. You'll need a re-paint, but other than that, you're good to go. Except for that ding in your mask. Give it to me, I'll buff it out."

Wheeljack was hesitant, as he always was when it came to removing his mask, but when Ratchet held out an insistent hand, he complied. It wasn't as though Ratchet hadn't seen his face a hundred times before, and he already knew the story behind it, so he wasn't going to ask any stupid questions, either. Unhooking the hidden clasps at the sides, Wheeljack removed his mask and placed it in the medic's waiting hand.

"It's really not that bad, you know. I've seen a lot worse. But I'd still like to get my hands on that glitch of a field medic who did that to you. Any idiot knows you don't use armor solder on derma-plating."

"That's all he had. All my fluids were bleeding out. If he hadn't sealed all of the damaged areas, I probably wouldn't be here. Anyway, I don't even care. It doesn't matter to me what I look like, I just get tired of people asking about it. They always think I did it to myself in a lab accident or something. I'm not stupid. I've always worn a mask when I was in the lab, just in case something blows up in my face." The inventor's mouth, out of habit, remained still as he spoke. It's only movement was for the corners to turn down slightly in a frown.

"'Just in case?'"

Wheeljack scowled at his friend. "Okay, for when things inevitably blow up in my face, then. You don't have to rub it in, I already feel like a screw-up."

Ratchet heaved a sigh through his cooling vents. He couldn't bring himself to stay mad a Wheeljack when he was obviously feeling down. "'Jack, you're not a screw-up. You just get ahead of yourself. You need to slow down, be more careful, and not take so many risks."

"But if I don't take risks, how can I come up with anything new!? The only way to avoid risks is to work within ideas and theories that have already been proven to work, and there's only so much that can be done with all that! Sooner or later someone has to take a chance on something completely untested, or we'll never learn anything! That's what I do. I'm not afraid to take the chances that need to be taken to make progress. If that means I get blown up a few thousand times, then so be it, but if no one took those risks then we'd just keep recycling the same old ideas, and we'd never get anywhere!"

"Alright, alright! Don't get your wires in a knot! I didn't mean for you not to take ANY risks, I just wish you'd be more careful, that's all. You may not care how many times you get blown up, but I do, and so does anyone else who cares about you. I'm just worried that some day you'll get in over your head and do something to yourself that I won't be able to fix. I don't want that to happen. It would break my spark." Ratchet handed back the inventor's mask, newly repaired and polished. "There you go. Now get your aft to the auto-painter. I already input your settings."

The engineer took his mask gratefully and replaced it over the lower half of his face. "Thanks, Ratch."

Ratchet eyed his friend sternly. "Don't mention it, but I don't wanna' see you in here again for a long time, got it?"

"Yeah, I got it. I'll do my best." The medic didn't seem entirely satisfied with that answer, but he said no more as Wheeljack made his way to the auto-painter.

The automatic painting booth wasn't one of Wheeljack's favorite inventions, but it was probably the one most acknowledged and widely used in the Ark. He had come up with the idea to help Ratchet because, while the medic's skill with repairs was unmatched, he had never been very good with an air brush. Touch-ups and simple paint jobs he could do, but when it came to special details and graphics he was at a loss, so he often had to send his patients elsewhere to be repainted after he finished their repairs. This wasn't too much of a problem back on Cybertron, because there were some mechs there who made their living exclusively by doing custom paint jobs and aesthetic body modifications. Wheeljack had heard that there were humans who specialized in similar work on Earth vehicles, but the materials they used were primitive, and the paint they used seemed to scratch if you so much as looked at it wrong. So Wheeljack created the automatic painting booth. It could flawlessly replicate a paint job in under 10 minutes. All one had to do was enter measurement, graphic, and color data for a particular mech. The automated airbrushes were accurate within .001 mm, and the paint they used was a particular formula developed by Perceptor, which would cure to a glossy, scratch-resistant finish within 60 seconds under a special type of florescent light. A lot of work had gone into the auto-painter and, while it had never actually exploded at any point during its development, it had been one of the messiest inventions Wheeljack had ever worked on. He still occasionally found traces of paint in his lab.

When the auto-painter was finally ready to be tested, Wheeljack had, of course, tested it on himself first. However, there was a glitch in the way the program interpreted the data which caused it to invert colors. And then Wheeljack had been called to a meeting. At least everyone seemed to think it was amusing, but it was interesting how everyone remembered a black, pink, and teal Wheeljack attending a meeting, but no one seemed to recall that the invention responsible had ultimately turned out to be a success. Scarcely a day went by when someone didn't use it, but no one spared much thought as to where it came from. The fact that Wheeljack had invented and built it seemed to have been forgotten by everyone. Everyone but Sunstreaker, anyway. Sunstreaker HATED the auto-painter and refused to use it ever since an as-yet unidentified "someone" had reprogrammed it to paint him in an obnoxious pattern of salmon pink and neon green. With the true culprit unknown, Sunstreaker had turned his wrath on Wheeljack, or, as he had phrased it at the time, "that fragging, glitched, overrated mechanic and his worthless, rusted machines." Fortunately, though, he had been so focused on throttling the inventor that Ratchet was able to approach him from behind and knock him unconscious with an EMP before any serious damage could be done, and Wheeljack suffered little more than scuffed paint and a dented mask. Sunstreaker spent the next two days in the brig for attacking the engineer, and Wheeljack spent the next few days after THAT in fear for his life, but Sunstreaker had done nothing more than glare at him when they passed in the corridors ever since.

Wheeljack never understood Sunstreaker's vanity. He could never make much sense of vanity in general. He understood individuality, and that one's paint job could be used as a tool to help express it, but the concept of "looking good" to impress or attract others was something that eluded him. He had never much cared about his own appearance, which was apparent from the way he nearly always had scuffs and scratches in his paint. The only time his paint job was unmarred was when he was freshly repainted after extensive repairs. That was why he was never terribly fond of his auto-painter. Its entire purpose was purely cosmetic, and the inventor had always thought that cosmetics belonged at the bottom of the priority list. He was glad that the auto-painter had been so successful and well-received, but he couldn't help but feel that his time and effort could have been better spent on something else. Something with more practical applications.

All his musings aside, Wheeljack stepped into the booth for a fresh coat of paint. Once he was finished, he had to admit that he did feel better with all traces of the explosion removed from his chassis. He thanked Ratchet again on his way out, then he headed back to his lab to set about the arduous task of "cleaning up" after his latest experiment-gone-awry. It was going to be a long night.

v^v^v^v^v^v^v

Ironhide sat in his usual place, in a seat positioned just inside Prime's office door. He had his own office, which adjoined to Optimus's, but seeing as he rarely did paperwork or anything of the sort, he had little use for it. Instead, he sat just where he was now. He knew that Optimus often preferred company to being left completely alone in his office, even if it was just Ironhide quietly reading a data pad by the door while he worked, and Ironhide was happy to oblige him. The tough, red mech's primary duty was to be the last line of defense between the Autobot leader and anything that meant him harm, and it had been since the dawn of the war. Optimus had hand-selected him for this duty because of his proven skills and loyalty, and his single-minded determination. Where ever Prime went, Ironhide was seldom far away, and over the millennia the two had become close friends.

It always set Ironhide on edge whenever Optimus was particularly stressed or worried about something, and few things stressed or worried the leader more than one of his men being injured and undergoing extensive repairs. For most people it would be easy to miss the signs of his unease, but after countless years of knowing and observing the leader, they were as clear as flashing lights to Ironhide. Though he appeared to be working diligently, the red mech could tell that Optimus was making only slightly more progress with his paperwork than Ironhide was making with the datapad he'd been pretending to read since they'd returned to the office.

Instead of reading, Ironhide had actually been monitoring the situation in the medical bay through his spark-bond. The moment Wheeljack was fully repaired he set down his datapad, and Prime looked up at him expectantly. "Ratchet's finished repairs. He's fine. Good as new. Not a scratch on 'im, so you can stop lettin' it eat you up. Honestly, you knew he was gonna' be fine. I don't see why you were so worried in the first place. Wheeljack's bounced back from worse."

Optimus set aside his paperwork and cycled his cooling vents in a sigh. "I know that, but sometimes injuries can be worse than they appear. I'm sure you've heard that countless times from Ratchet by now."

The older mech folded his arms in annoyance. "Anyway, the point is it's over and done now. He's lived ta blow himself up another day. You can relax."

"No, I have far too much to do. We have a strategy meeting tomorrow, and I need to finish reviewing the most recent intelligence reports." Optimus picked up the datapad he'd set aside earlier, and had only just managed to find his place when it was snatched from his hand. "Wh-?"

"You scheduled the meeting, an' you can cancel it an' reschedule! You're due for some time off before you collapse."

"Don't start, Ironhide. I'm fine. I'll take a some time off after the meeting, alright? There are just a few points I want to go over. I'm hoping we can come up with a plan to find the Decepticons. If we find where they're hiding, then we can find out what they're planning, and-"

"Alright, I get it! If the slaggin' meeting is gonna' put your mind at ease, then fine. I don't expect it'll go any better than the others, though. But either way, after this meeting, you gotta' take a break."

"Agreed. Can I have that back now?" Optimus fixed his friend with an annoyed glare, and the older mech reluctantly returned the purloined datapad before returning to his seat by the door, looking particularly ill-tempered.

v^v^v^v^v^v^v

It seemed that Ironhide's pessimistic predictions about the meeting were coming true, much to Optimus's dismay. They were well into the meeting, and nothing promising had been brought up so far. Then Optimus's spirits lifted slightly when he caught sight of movement from a mech standing toward the back. Said mech was poised as though he had been about to raise a hand to gain the leader's attention, but had changed his mind half-way through the action. "Did you have a suggestion, Wheeljack?"

The inventor nearly jumped at the sound of his name, but recovered quickly "Oh! I-...I was just going to say that I've been working on a design for a device that might-" His explanation was interrupted by a scoff, and he turned to see Sunstreaker glaring at him with disdain. His gaze traveled across the rest of the mechs gathered in the room and took in their expressions, which ranged from annoyed grimaces to patronizing smiles. It was obvious that his suggestion wouldn't be taken seriously by any of them. "...Never mind...It's just another crazy idea, and it'll never work..."

"I'd like to hear it, anyway."

Startled again, Wheeljack looked up to meet the gaze of his leader, who's azure optics appeared to reflect genuine interest. Optimus always seemed sincere, but Wheeljack was sure that he was only patronizing him like the others. Optimus must just be better at feigning interest than everyone else. "It's nothing, I just thought-...nothing." The white mech withdrew slightly. He felt worthless, and he just wanted to leave. There was no point for him to be here. No one cared what he had to say, and all of his ideas were slag, anyway.

"Well, if you think of anything..." Optimus trailed off, hoping to draw the inventor into sharing his idea, but Wheeljack remained silent and didn't speak up again for the remainder of the meeting, which only lasted a few more minutes. Everyone departed the conference room with a sense of restlessness, as the meeting had been completely unproductive. The same ideas were brought up and tossed around before being rejected again and again. For over a month, strategy meetings had consisted of the same stagnant discussions. They were going nowhere, and it was beginning to weigh on the already weary Autobot leader.

Wheeljack left the conference room wanting nothing more than to lock himself away in his lab and and tinker with his inventions in peace. Part of him wanted to go talk to Ratchet, because he was the only mech who didn't think he was just an accident-prone eccentric who liked to play with explosives. Ratchet always had a way of making him feel better. But he had seen the medic heading down the corridor toward his quarters with Ironhide hot on his heels, and he didn't want do disturb them. The two had so little time to themselves that it just seemed cruel to intrude. Wheeljack turned down the corridor in the opposite direction to head to his lab when a deep and familiar voice stopped him.

"Wheeljack?"

He turned to see Optimus standing just outside the conference room door. The red and blue mech stood head and shoulders taller than the top of the inventor's helm, and his size alone was enough to make his presence intimidating. The massive leader beckoned to him, and for an irrational moment he was afraid he was in trouble until he saw the concern in the taller mech's optics. Even so, there was a nervous hesitation before the inventor went back to stand in front of his superior. "Yes, Optimus?"

"I made you an officer for a reason, Wheeljack. I know that not all of your inventions have been successful in the past, but your ideas have come through for us often enough that I'll always take them into consideration. You are a brilliant engineer, and I value your input just as much as anyone else's in that conference room. If you don't want to talk infront of the others, then you can come to me personally, but don't be afraid to speak up. I'll always listen to what you have to say." Optimus gently settled a hand on the smaller mech's shoulder as he spoke. His voice radiated compassion and encouragement which seemed to wash over the inventor, seeping into his systems and warming his spark. Moments before Wheeljack had never felt more worthless, but with a few words Optimus had managed to cast his self-doubts aside and make him feel more valuable than ever before.

The two parted ways and the inventor went directly to his lab with a renewed determination. He would present his new device to Optimus, but he wanted to assemble a working prototype first. Optimus may happily listen to the idea itself, but still Wheeljack didn't want to show up without proof that it would actually work.

Optimus watched his chief engineer depart. Wheeljack certainly seemed more cheerful now, but it had been disconcerting to see him looking so discouraged none-the-less. Granted, the leader didn't know Wheeljack terribly well on a personal level, but he had come to count on the inventor's indomitable optimism, and his seemingly indestructible will to KEEP TRYING and never give up, regardless of how many times he may have failed in the past. Whether Wheeljack knew it or not, he was a huge morale-booster. At least he was to Optimus. Aside from his incomparable mechanical skills, Wheeljack was one of those very few who were gifted with the ability to dig a grain of hope out of even the bleakest situation. Optimus admired that about his engineer, as that was a quality he strove for in himself. He usually accomplished it, at least outwardly, but with all the responsibility on his shoulders it was a struggle for him at times, whereas the inventor seemed to come by it effortlessly. Seeing Wheeljack so dispirited unnerved Optimus, but he reflected that NO ONE could be expected to be cheerful and up-beat ALL the time. Suddenly Optimus realized that the fact that he was just now seeing the engineer looking truely glum for the first time after working with him for centuries spoke volumes of just how depthless his relationship with Wheeljack actually was. No wonder the inventor was feeling under appreciated. With a stab of guilt, Optimus set off toward his office, making a mental note to take some time to better acquaint himself with his chief engineer. He'd always taken a liking to the inventor, and he was long overdue in getting to know him.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

To be continued, a week from now! Let me know what you think. o_o; And again, title suggestions would be much appreciated!