Title: After Atlantis
Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers. This chapter contains references to the G1 cartoon episode "Day of the Machines." Additional episodes will be referenced in future chapters.
Warnings: PTSD angst, references to rape.
Author's Note: For those who've been wondering about the rapid updates, I'm back-posting. There are currently around ten chapters in total, and they're going up as quickly as I can edit and post them. I write fast, but not that fast. Things will slow down to about a chapter a week once I'm fully caught up. Until then, enjoy the ride!
Chapter 4: Anxiety
He couldn't recharge.
He was exhausted, practically ready to drop where he stood, but he just couldn't.
He couldn't face the sensor echoes, or the memory files they inevitably triggered. He'd hoped they'd get better with time, but no.
They'd gotten worse.
After the scan, Wheeljack had felt more at ease, secure in the absolute certainty that his circuits were clean. For the first time since...it happened, he'd initiated a recharge cycle without hesitation, confident that any lingering traces of Starscream still lurking in his processor were just that and nothing more.
He figured he could handle a few sensor ghosts. He'd just ignore them. It had been bad, yes, but was over now, really over. He was safe, clean, and functioning at optimal levels. There was nothing to be afraid of.
So he'd lain down on the berth that evening, studiously ignoring the faint flicker of unease that flashed through his CPU, and offlined his optics.
He'd been calm. He'd been in control.
He'd slipped into recharge feeling almost...relaxed.
He onlined with a start a few joors later, feeling anything but.
It was because of the scan, he surmised. It had to be, because now Ratchet was in there too, in his CPU, a comfortingly familiar presence sickeningly interwoven with the horrific jumble of fear and humiliation, persistent phantom touches and shrill, mocking laughter.
That was disturbing enough all by itself, but when Wheeljack had risen from the berth, intent on finding a datapad or something to tinker with, some form of distraction, he'd noticed something else that made it even worse.
He was running hot.
The sound of his own cooling fans humming away in his chassis made his fuel tank roil in self-disgust. Primus, what was wrong with him? Having your recharge cycles plagued by sensor echoes of a bad experience was hardly pleasant, but at least it was normal.
Actually being aroused by those echoes...
The energon in his tanks lurched, practically boiling at the thought. The next thing he knew, he was purging again.
Afterward, feeling weak and shaky, he sat down and waited for his systems to normalize, trying not to think.
He didn't think about Starscream. He didn't think about Ratchet. He definitely didn't think about the heat suffusing his chassis, or how easy it would be to just tweak a few wires and–
That was how he'd ended up in Command, even though he was technically supposed to be off-duty. It was why he was present to overhear Teletraan-1's warning about a fleet of oil tankers behaving erratically, and Dr. Gates' frantic late-night distress call.
Hound had offered to investigate the tankers, to go and find out what the Decepticons were up to. Normally Wheeljack would have been the first to volunteer to go with him, but this time he remained silent. Rescuing a human from some Earth mechanisms run amuck sounded far more appealing to Wheeljack than facing off against the Decepticons – and one Seeker in particular – directly.
When Prime gave the order to roll out, he'd transformed along with the others, heading for Quantum Labs.
Sparkplug had gone with him.
"I hope Spike will be okay," the human mechanic commented once they'd gotten on the road.
"He'll be fine," Wheeljack assured him. "Hound's with him, and Skyfire. They won't let anything happen to Spike."
Wheeljack knew Hound, knew the kind of mech he was. He was certain Hound would do whatever was necessary to protect the human boy, just as Wheeljack had done on...that day.
He hoped if it came to that, the cost wouldn't be too high. What if one of them was captured by the 'Cons, the way he had been? What if –
"Yeah, I know," Sparkplug said, interrupting his thoughts. "Spike's a resourceful kid; he can take care of himself. I know all that. But a father can't help worrying a little."
"Can't blame you," Wheeljack replied gloomily. "Sometimes bad things happen."
Sparkplug seemed to find his sober response less than reassuring. "Well…at least it's just recon. They shouldn't get into too much trouble."
"Yeah," he agreed. "Dr. Gates is probably in more danger than they are, and we're on our way to help him."
Sparkplug nodded, "They're just regular machines at the lab. Compared to the Decepticons, taking care of them ought to be child's play."
A degree of anxiety Wheeljack hadn't even realized was there eased from him at the mechanic's words. Sparkplug was right; this would be easy.
He felt a sudden surge of gratitude towards the human. His presence was somehow…comforting. Reassuring. The small talk they exchanged during the remainder of the drive was a welcome diversion from his own weariness, from the unwelcome thoughts still haunting his processor.
By the time they arrived at Quantum Labs, Wheeljack was in good spirits and ready to go to work. He was the first to attack one of the machines that emerged to defend the laboratory against the Autobot rescuers, the first to tear one open and discover that no human was controlling it. He'd taken out the laser gun turrets when Prime gave the order, targeting them handily, his aim never wavering.
He felt almost like his old self again, confident and self-assured.
The machines proved to be more of a challenge than they'd expected, but when Optimus Prime called in the Dinobots, Wheeljack's spark surged with pride. They were, after all, his creations, and in light of their rather shaky entrance into the Autobot ranks, it felt good to know that they were now considered a valuable asset to the cause.
But once they'd arrived, Grimlock had made a comment about how the Dinobots were always coming to their rescue, and he was suddenly reminded of the last instance of their heroics.
He hadn't been there to witness it personally; he'd been offline. Damaged, drained, and immobilized. Used and discarded by Starscream, awaiting ignominious discovery by Bumblebee and Spike, splayed out flat on his back, his spark chamber laid bare, left naked and exposed for all to see –
"Help! Wheeljack, Prowl, somebody! Get this thing offa me!"
Sparkplug's frightened cries shook him out of his daze. Wheeljack forced the unwanted memory files crowding his processor aside and rushed to aid him. He made short work of the robot welder, saving his friend.
"Thanks, Wheeljack," Sparkplug said. "Thought I was a goner."
"Not as easy as we thought it would be, huh?" he asked.
"I guess not," Sparkplug replied wryly as Wheeljack helped pull him free of the ruined machine. "Hey…what's that?"
Wheeljack looked in the direction Sparkplug indicated. His optics widened in surprise. "A remote control circuit linker!" he exclaimed. "That's how TORQ is controlling these things! I bet there's one on every machine here! We've gotta tell Prime!"
"Better yet, let's show him," Sparkplug replied, bending down to pry the small device free.
While they were busy checking the other destroyed machines for circuit linkers, Optimus Prime had rescued the trapped human scientists. A brief conversation with Dr. Gates, combined with the evidence of the Cybertronian remote control devices, solved the mystery of the misbehaving oil tankers. The circuit linkers and TORQ III's reprogramming were clearly the work of Megatron. Stealing the oil the tankers carried was his obvious goal.
It was evident that the only way to stop the Decepticon tyrant from gaining control of such a massive amount of energy was to stop TORQ. Once the human scientists were safe, Optimus blasted open the door, and a second wave of machines came pouring out. The Autobots quickly scattered, but nearly all of them soon found themselves facing off against a potentially deadly foe.
Wheeljack was no exception; he tried his best, but being low on energon and badly in need of recharge, his efforts were insufficient to the task. Within a few kliks he was trapped between the crushing jaws of a robot compactor – an unpleasant fate under any circumstances, but most especially for Wheeljack, who had learned all too recently what sort of misfortune could befall a 'Bot who was unable to move.
He began to panic.
"Wheeljack! Hang on!"
It was Sparkplug. As he craned his neck cables to look in the direction of the human's call, Sparkplug ran ran past him, a second machine following hot on his heels. Sparkplug halted alongside the robot compactor and the pinned Autobot, waving his arms.
"Hey, over here!" he called. The second machine – whose function Wheeljack couldn't immediately discern – veered sharply and charged, raising a pair of crablike robotic arms tipped with wickedly sharp-looking claws. Sparkplug held his ground until the last possible moment, then swiftly dove aside.
The robot compactor holding Wheeljack was struck instead, shuddering with the force of the impact as the vicious claws pierced its upper jaw with a horrid metallic screech, burying themselves deep within the compactor's metal hide. For a tense astrosecond the two machines remained frozen, locked together in a deadly embrace.
The compactor jerked violently as the crab-robot tugged, struggling to free its claws. A second, harder yank failed to release the clawed machine, but inadvertently caused the robot compactor's jaws to part briefly. Seizing the opportunity, Wheeljack squirmed free of its grip.
He fired one of his shrapnel-needle shells into the still-entangled pair the instant he rolled clear. At such close range, he didn't even need to aim. The resulting belch of smoke and shower of sparks was extremely satisfying.
He could almost ignore the way his intakes were heaving, his spark pulsing wildly in its chamber.
"Thanks," he murmured as he regained his feet, extricating himself from the mess. Wheeljack looked around, assessing the status of the battle. Most of the other Autobots appeared to have emerged unscathed. The remaining machines lay scattered around them, most of them now charred, smoking ruins or heaps of melted slag.
"Hey, I owed you one," Sparkplug replied with a smile. "You all right?"
"Sure," he said.
It was a lie.
Optimus Prime gave the order to fall back, and went in to face the crazed supercomputer alone, leaving Wheeljack and the others behind to await his return. Without the continued distraction of enemy mechanisms to fight, Wheeljack no longer had anything to buffer him against the flood of memory files assaulting his CPU.
He slumped against a nearby building, shaking uncontrollably.
x.x.x.x.x
By the time Prime emerged victorious from his battle with TORQ III, Wheeljack had managed to get himself back under control. The revelation that the tankers were still on a direct course to the Decepticon's undersea base in spite the supercomputer's destruction provided the distraction Wheeljack so desperately needed; he latched onto it like a lifeline.
He was so focused, in fact, he didn't notice Sparkplug watching him with a concerned frown.
Of course now the Autobots had no choice but to follow the course Wheeljack had most hoped to avoid: a direct confrontation with the Decepticons. It didn't help that Starscream showed up out of nowhere midway through the battle.
Wheeljack managed to get off a couple of shots, but highly doubted that he actually hit anything. The violent tremors in his hands made aiming practically impossible.
Nevertheless, they won the day with minimal damage, due largely in part the heroic actions of Optimus Prime. After returning to Quantum Labs with the hydrofoil, it had finally been time to head back to the Ark.
Wheeljack was grateful for that. By then he was so depleted he was almost willing to give recharging another try.
Sparkplug rode back with him. For several kliks they drove in companionable silence.
"You all right, Wheeljack?" Sparkplug asked suddenly.
"Sure," he replied affably. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"No reason," Sparkplug replied. "You just seemed a little…off, back there."
Wheeljack's spark clenched. "I'm fine," he said dismissively. "A little drained, maybe. I was just about to go and get some recharge when the call came in. Probably should've stayed behind, but I wanted to help."
"I hear ya," Sparkplug replied. "I'm not usually up this late myself, but when Spike said he wanted to go along…"
Wheeljack made an understanding noise. "I guess we'll both be glad to get back to the Ark for some rest."
"I'm glad you're okay," Sparkplug said sincerely. "I overheard Bumblebee talking to Spike the other day; he said he was worried about you, was thinking of talking to Ratchet –"
"Bumblebee should mind his own business," he interrupted, the words coming out sharper and colder than he intended. "I'm fine."
Sparkplug seemed taken aback. "Well…you did get damaged pretty badly during that mess with the Sub-Atlanticans," he said reasonably. "and the whole reason you got caught in the first place was because you were trying to save 'Bee and Spike. He probably feels kinda responsible. I know Spike does."
"It's all right," Wheeljack replied, chastened. "I don't regret doing it. I wouldn't have wanted anything to happen to those two."
"I know you wouldn't," Sparkplug replied. "You're a good friend, Wheeljack. We're lucky to have you."
"Thanks," he replied, his spark warming along with his tone. "I feel the same."
"If you want, I could take a look at you," Sparkplug offered. "I know sometimes Ratchet can be kind of…well, you know how he is. I don't blame you for wanting to avoid him."
"I'm fine," Wheeljack insisted, his tone chilling again. "There's nothing wrong with me that some energon and a few joor's recharge wouldn't cure."
Sparkplug fell silent, dropping the subject.
A few kliks later, he spoke up again. "You know, I fought in the Korean War, myself."
Wheeljack made a noncommittal noise, uncertain about the change in topics.
"Saw some pretty bad things, during the war. Got hurt pretty badly a couple times, too."
Wheeljack made no reply, but the level of tension within the interior of the Lancia increased noticeably.
"Stuff like that can get to you after a while," Sparkplug continued conversationally. "Make it harder to go back out and fight another day."
He made another noncommittal noise.
After a pregnant pause, Sparkplug sighed heavily, but made no further attempts at conversation.
They drove the rest of the way back to the Ark in silence.
It was no longer companionable.
x.x.x.x.x
Wheeljack stalked down the corridor, quietly seething. He'd dropped Sparkplug off at the entrance to the Ark with a curt farewell. Why did everyone have to keep questioning him all the time? Why did they all have to insist on poking and prying and just plain not minding their own slagging business? Why couldn't they just act normal, instead of constantly reminding –
His internal comm pinged, interrupting his thoughts. He opened a channel. *Yeah?* he replied absently.
*Wheeljack, this is Prowl. Optimus Prime wishes to speak to you in his office.*
His spark sank. Prime had to have received Ratchet's report by now.
Great, he thought. More questions.
*What about?* he inquired over the comm link, struggling to sound as blasé as possible.
*I didn't ask,* came the reply. *Prowl out.*
Wheeljack shook his helm, feeling almost amused. In the past there had been times when he'd found the tactical officer's brusque, official manner to be rude, bordering on offensive, but this time it was almost a relief. He found himself feeling strangely grateful to Prowl, for not engaging in the usual social niceties.
For not asking awkward questions.
He gazed longingly down the corridor, cycling his vents in a sigh. He'd planned to pay a quick visit the common room to collect an energon ration, and then to retreat to his quarters or his lab, someplace private where he could be alone for a joor or two.
Prime's office lay in the opposite direction.
"Just not my night," he muttered to himself, and turned around, heading back the way he'd come.
x.x.x.x.x
When he arrived at Optimus Prime's office, his query ping was answered with an invitation to enter. The Autobot commander was seated behind the broad expanse of his desk; he greeted him as Wheeljack stepped through the door.
"Hello, Wheeljack," Optimus said. "Thank you for coming."
"Sure, no problem," he replied somewhat distractedly.
There was a datapad lying on the desk next to Prime's right hand. Wheeljack couldn't take his optics off it. Did it contain Ratchet's report? Had Optimus read it yet? How much had Ratchet included in it? What sort of details had he thought necessary to provide–?
"I wanted to thank you for your assistance today," Optimus said, startling him from his thoughts.
Wheeljack tore his optics away from the datapad to meet his gaze. "Me?"
"Yes," Optimus said. "If you hadn't been there, we might have overlooked the circuit linkers. Without them as a clue, we might not have learned what Megatron was up to in time."
"It was Sparkplug who spotted the first one," Wheeljack replied uncomfortably, discomfited by the unexpected praise. "I just, you know, identified it."
"Nevertheless, we were fortunate to have you along. I'm grateful you chose to come with us," Prime said. "Especially since you weren't assigned to duty at the time."
His spark quailed at the observation. Did his audials detect a faint hint of disapproval in Optimus' vocalizer? Were his words intended as a reprimand?
"I just wanted to help," Wheeljack said weakly, his vocal indicators flashing fitfully.
Prime offered no response to that; he simply sat, quietly regarding Wheeljack with serious optics.
Wheeljack fidgeted nervously, feeling trapped beneath that steady gaze. "Was there anything else you needed, sir?" he asked.
"No," Optimus replied. "I just wanted to thank you, and…ask how you were doing."
Wheeljack's optics shifted back to the datapad still lying innocuously on Prime's desk.
"I-I'm fine, sir," he stammered, wincing inwardly the moment the words left his vocalizer. He couldn't lie to Optimus, not right to his commander's faceplate–
"I mean, I – I could use some recharge sir, but I'm – I'll be fine," he amended awkwardly.
"I understand," Prime said, triggering another involuntary flinch. "As valuable as your assistance is to us, Wheeljack, I would not have you neglect your own basic needs in order to provide it. In war, some sacrifices are necessary. Others are not."
"Yes sir," Wheeljack concurred.
"If you find you require lighter duties for a time, to allow yourself to…get caught up," Optimus continued gently, "you need only ask. I'll make the necessary arrangements with Prowl and Jazz."
"Yes sir. Thank you, sir," he replied stiffly.
"You're dismissed, Wheeljack. Go and get some recharge."
"Yes sir," he repeated gratefully.
x.x.x.x.x
He couldn't get out of Prime's office fast enough. It was only through sheer force of will that he managed to exit the room in a relatively calm, unhurried manner.
Of course the corridor outside it wasn't much better. There wasn't normally a lot of traffic at this time of day, but there might be some. For the moment it appeared to be empty, which was fortunate, because Wheeljack once again found himself leaning against a nearby wall for support.
"Keep it together, 'Jack," he whispered to himself, clenching his hands into fists to keep them from trembling. "Just…take a moment, get a hold of yourself. Go and get some energon, then go back to the lab. You're all right, you can do this..."
Optimus Prime knew. He knew. Wheeljack was sure of it. Optimus was far too tactful to broach the topic directly, but there was no question in Wheeljack's CPU that Prime had read Ratchet's report, that he knew exactly what had happened to him.
All the clues were there: The praise, the hint of a reprimand. The carefully chosen words uttered in soft, gentle tones, the look of concern in those caring azure optics.
A part of him was almost pathetically grateful to Optimus for his discretion. If Optimus Prime insisted Wheeljack talk about what happened, he couldn't technically refuse – he was, after all, the Prime. It was a huge relief that he hadn't. Breaking down in front of Ratchet had been bad enough. Doing it in front of Optimus…
Wheeljack shuddered at the thought, shame burning through his circuits.
But another part of him couldn't help but resent the careful treatment, the way Prime had behaved as if Wheeljack were still damaged, or as fragile as one of their human allies. It stung Wheeljack's pride, knowing that his leader thought he needed to be handled with such delicacy.
What would you have preferred, 'Jack? he thought acidly. That he said, 'Hey, Wheeljack, heard you got fragged by Starscream! Is it true you actually enjoyed it?'
The very thought made him wince. Optimus would never say something so cruel. The Autobot leader had always been kind and diplomatic.
His irritation was suddenly swallowed by a wave of guilt. Optimus Prime was doing his best. Wheeljack understood the burden his leader was under, his desire to protect and shield his troops from harm in spite of the war. He was willing to bet that Ratchet's report had been a blow to Optimus, that Prime was probably even now blaming himself for sending Wheeljack on that mission, knowing that he'd come to harm while following his orders.
He cycled his vents in a sigh. It wasn't Prime's fault, what had happened to him. Optimus may have been the one to send Wheeljack on that mission, but it had been his decision to allow himself be captured in an effort to ensure the others' escape. If it was anyone's fault, it was –
No, he thought. It wasn't my fault. Ratchet said it wasn't.
...if only he could make himself believe it.