"Why'd you do it?"
Wheeljack didn't turn from his position in the Jackhammers cockpit, hands braced against the wheel, eyes peeled for any sign of danger – any sign that his guest had somehow managed to call reinforcements.
There was a warning bell ringing in the back of his mind, and he constantly swiveled his head to stare at the Decepticon nestled in the back of the ship. His head lolled back, lips still parted. Wheeljack had taken the time to try and mend the gaping wound in his side, but he was no medic, and the iron-hard stitches strained outward as the Cybertronian cycled his vents again and again.
Wheeljack's hands were still stained blue. So was the floor of his ship. Starscream himself sat in a puddle of his own energon, the liquid crusting against the hard metal of the Jackhammer's interior.
The wounded mech had murmured a few words, and that was when Wheeljack had chained him up, cuffing him to the wall, careful not to agitate the horrific, bulging, stitched-up gash in his stomach. He'd been strong, looking at the wound with furious reserve.
He'd seen injuries before, knew what kind of damage knives and swords and guns could do. But this…this was disturbing beyond belief, especially since it had been executed by Starscream himself.
Now, Wheeljack stared at the mech's reflection in the glass before him, seeing his head drop forward to rest against his chest. Red optics blinked, and then blared to life, chained fingers twitched and long-unused wings flared violently, before being forced back down by the cuffs.
Starscream mumbled, energon falling from his lips, "What'd ya say?"
"Why did you do it?" Wheeljack's repeated, impatient. "Come on, con, answer me before I regret saving you."
Starscream's head snapped up. He bared sharp incisors, before shuddering, shaking violently, a spray of blue phlegm escaped the back of his throat. He doubled over, coughing for a few moments.
Sucking in a breath, he snarled, "You have no right– " he lost it again, crying out in agony. He yanked against his cuffs but they held firm, causing him to slip and fall back against the wall.
He was panting, raving, shouting abuses at Wheeljack and Wheeljack was ignoring it – it was all he could do, ignore. He jerked the gearstick to the side a couple of times, sending the Jackhammer tilting to the side and Starscream shouting, crying, arms fully extended.
"I give up!" the Decepticon suddenly cried. "I give up, I give up!"
"Good," Wheeljack said dryly, leveling the ship. He heard a wail of agony as Starscream fell onto his side, jarring his stomach.
Several moments of silence, and then Wheeljack said conversationally once again, "Why'd you do it?"
Starscream gave a groan of either pain or disgust, claws scraping against metal. He grumbled, "What if I told you that Decepticon's can, indeed, feel love?"
"I'd say your processors were malfunctioning," Wheeljack quipped, stealing a quick glance a Starscream. The mech was hunched over, hand across the hole in his stomach that was now a sealed, yet terrifyingly grotesque gash. His eyebrows were low, as were his wings, despite the cuffs. Stress and possible lack of recharge had caused the paint under his eyes to peel, giving him an unearthly, ghoulish appearance.
He wasn't kidding, Wheeljack realized with a sudden sinking feeling. The mech looked as if he'd starved himself, on purpose, of energon. Maybe he knew that his attempt at surgery would produce an unpleasant amount of energon, and in the wake of that realization had begun to make sure his frame was as devoid of it as possible. Wheeljack didn't know.
Maybe he was trying to offline himself.
It was scary to think about. Over the past few centuries, Wheeljack had witnessed murders and attempts at murders, wounds inflicted by enemies, some upon himself, some upon his closest friends, and only a handful of times had he seen a mech or femme truly driven mad by the constant demands of war. He used to believe that only Autobots suffered from such a sensation – they were Autobots, after all, defenders of all planets hosting sentient beings, blah, blah, blah – but now, staring at Starscream and his lifeless figure, he wondered if, all along, he'd been wrong.
They were all Cybertronians, after all, spawned by the same deity, no matter how broken or bruised or corrupt their sparks were.
Wheeljack shuddered, looking away from Starscream. There was a collective sigh, and then a sniffle.
"Who was she?" Wheeljack murmured, hating himself for asking.
"A human."
Wheeljack blew air through his olfactory sensors, letting a booming chuckle escape him, vibrating throughout the entire ship. He smashed his thumb down, allowing the ship to cruise languidly on autopilot, before swiveling in his chair to look at the Decepticon hunched over in the corner.
His claws were raking through the puddle of dried energon beneath him, scraping away blue flakes. His back was hunched, probably cramped due to the small space. His optics gave the impression that his processors were somewhere else.
"A human," Wheeljack said slowly. Then, a smirk gracing his lip plates, he said, "Was she cute?"
Starscream didn't reply.
"Tell me about her," Wheeljack crossed his legs and stared, daring the mech to look up. Daring him to do anything, really – what could a little curiosity do?
Then, a soft voice said, "Promise me…promise me that you'll understand."
A nod.
"Good," Starscream closed his optics. "She was wonderful, really, and snarky. A little pompous, but only because, at the time, we were on the same level…."
"Please tell me that you didn't get detention again, Miko."
It was the first thing she heard upon slamming the door, settling comfortably in Bulkhead's passenger seat. Flicking a strand of pink tinged hair out of her eyes, Miko huffed, crossing her arms and trying to act as nonchalant as possible.
Something in Bulkhead's tone stopped her from replying immediately. Maybe it was the exhaustion that caused her to shift, strapping the seatbelt across her chest with enough force to warn Bulkhead that she, as well, was in a sour mood.
She said, "Nope. Not this time – although Danni Martinez did, like, try to talk to me about…"
"Yeah. Yeah," Bulkhead murmured. "How are you holding up on that, kid?"
"I miss her."
"Her" was a substitute for Penny. Over the past week Miko had endured the consolation of one too many people. If she heard another "I'm so sorry" or "I know you two were close" or, her least favorite, "It's alright to cry."
It wasn't selfishness. She wasn't afraid of the same thing twice, but deep in her heart she knew that she had to forget.
Penny had died a senseless death and though it hadn't been at Miko's hand, she understood that she'd played a part. Recognized her failure, her conscience deciding it appropriate to replay it over and over and over in her dreams and, sometimes, when she was awake.
She'd kept herself shut tight. No longer the outgoing, careless Miko. No. She was desperately trying to change, and Bulkhead saw that and felt it right to point it out.
"…this is a war, Miko," he was saying gently. "Even from the human perspective, there are casualties."
"Not human casualties," Miko grumbled.
Bulkhead was silent.
"I mean, it wasn't your fault," she continued, sitting up straighter, watching the steering wheel as it turned back and forth, hypnotizing, yet she was so used to seeing it. "Or Bumblebee's. You guys did all that you could – but that rat Howard…"
"Still haven't found the body," Bulkhead seethed. "Between you and me, Miko, Optimus can take his 'don't harm humans' rule and shove it," the Wrecker snorted. "No disrespect, but please…you agree with me on this, right?"
Miko fidgeted nervously, and then chuckled. "Yeah. Yeah, but I think Jack's already called dibs on offing Howard, Bulk. He beat you too it."
"Good luck getting to him, then," Bulkhead replied sullenly. "I haven't seen Jack in a while."
"Nobody but Arcee has, Bulk, so don't take it personally," Miko huffed, sinking back into the warm seat. "He's grown pretty distant."
"I bet Optimus would be able to get too him…"
"Or his mom. But she's not due back from the hospital until tomorrow night, I think. That's what I heard from Fowler," Miko perked up suddenly, eyes wide. "Hey, Bulk, wouldn't it be cool if we…you know, threw a little 'welcome home' bash for Nurse Darby? Maybe back at base so you and Bee and everyone else could be there, too?"
Bulkhead chuckled. "I'm not one to shut down party, Miko, but don't you think that Nurse Darby will be a little…I don't know, tired? I mean, from what Ratchet told me, she'll be so hyped up on medication that sleep'll be the only thing she can get too."
Miko's face fell dramatically. "Oh," she breathed. "Right, right. Forgot this wasn't the common cold we're dealing with," she stretched out her legs, glancing out the window. They'd pulled onto the vast stretch of road leading to the base, the shrubbery and red dust blurring by as Bulkhead increased his speed. She said, "But come on, it was a pretty cool idea…"
"Uh-huh."
"You okay, Bulk?"
"I haven't had a proper sip of energon in a few days. Our stocks are about gone…we'll probably have to find and hit another mine, soon," Bulkhead sounded excited. "Finally, some action. I'm starting to cramp up, sitting at base this whole time."
"Imagine how I feel," Miko chuckled, tapping her fingers lightly against Bulkhead's dashboard. Then, she lowered her voice, as if someone were in the back seat and she didn't want them to hear. "Sneak me under your armor when you go, alright?"
Bulkhead laughed. "I don't think Ratchet or Prime would approve of that, Miko."
Miko pouted. "Then take my phone. Be sure to get some pics for the scrapbook, alright?"
"Didn't you tell me that your scrapbook was already full?"
Miko sighed, deflated. "Right, right, right. I forgot," she scratched the back of her head. "Gotta go to the store and grab another."
"Just what are you going to do with all those scrapbooks, Miko?" Bulkhead asked. "And you're hiding them, right? I mean, your host parents haven't…"
"Nope. They can't even get into my room," Miko rubbed her hands together. "And just what am I going to do with them? Well, I was hoping that, when I'm older and get married, I'll be able to show them to my kids. Of course, they won't be as cool as the real thing…"
Bulkhead, his voice laced heavily with emotion, said, "I might not be around when you have kids."
"Of course you will!"
Bulkhead didn't reply.
Miko blew air out through her nose, leaned forward, and pressed a hand against the dashboard of the car. Staring through the windshield, she could see the entrance to the base approaching, the vehicle bouncing as it sped off road, rolling through billowing clouds of dirt and dust.
Softly, she said, "Promise me, Bulkhead, that you'll be around."
A soft shudder flew through the Wrecker's frame, the seat beneath Miko vibrating softly. She sat back, rubbing her eyes, blinking away the sudden oncoming rush of tears.
Then her dark orbs opened, shining with unknown pleasure.
"I promise."
