Author's Note:
Over 100 reviews! :D Thanks so much you guys and gals!
Okay, I'm taking two ideas people have said in reviews into consideration and writing them.
1: get Miko sick. Looking through the reviews, a guest calling themselves "lalaland" and another "nightfury97" suggested it. Your wish was my command!
2: talk about the Wreckers. ZephyrX9 was the one who suggested that, but it won't make an appearance until the next chapter. I'm still sorting a slew of Wreckers and wondering how to incorporate them all. XD
School starts next Tuesday. Unfortunately, updates WILL slow.
But have you guys seen it? I was on DA and saw a picture of Wheeljack and Miko! A TEASER photo! Check it out, the Hub on facebook let out a teaser photo! :D Remove the astriks, the little star thingys (*) THey's so BEAUTIFUL together! I nearly had a heart attack!
http*:/*/www.*facebook.*com/* ?fbid=402271403155281&set=a.155347071181050.33326.119249468124144&type=3&theater
Alas, Wheeljack . . . your torture starts NOW.
I got detention
Monday afternoon and Wheeljack was on his way to pick up Miko when she sent him that text. He sent a data burst of the same frequency back to her.
For how long?
An HOUR! Pick me up?
Wheeljack frowned at the message.
Whatd you do?
Her message took longer, and he purposefully drove wide around the school as he stalled for time. Surely it wasn't that hard to keep from getting detention?
Nothing
Wheeljack chuckled to himself. That didn't sound too convincing.
Fess up. Whatd you do?
Her message stalled again.
I shouted at a teacher
Wheeljack paused. He frowned. That was it?
Whatd you shout?
This particular message took even longer than the ones before.
I told her to frag off
Wheeljack grumbled to himself. All right, here we go. We're getting somewhere.
Why?
This message was the longest yet. It was also a long text message to begin with, but he had a feeling she hadn't wanted to send it.
Cause the teacher was mad I didnt do my homework and I told her I didnt feel like it and she asked why and I told her to frag off
Wheeljack studied the message closely. After reading it over just to make sure he had read it right, he sent back:
Why didnt you do your homework?
He knew that the slumber party had been Saturday night, but Sunday she could have done it. He had a feeling he knew, and he found out he was right when she sent him her next text message.
Bulkheads been dead a month
Half a second later, another text hit him:
A month and a day
Wheeljack sighed to himself, turning down the way to the school.
Howre you going to get out?
He could almost hear her devious tone as she sent back:
I have my ways
Wheeljack chuckled to himself, parking in front of the school to wait for her. She didn't make him wait long. She tossed her bag and guitar in the back and hopped in with a grin.
"Let's go!" she shouted.
Wheeljack pulled out when she finally settled down and buckled up. Her spontaneous façade wasn't going to keep him out this time—he could see it in the shadow over her eyes, the pain she hid.
No need to beat around the bush. "So Miko. How're you holding up?"
She scowled, knowing he was talking about the text. "I don't want to talk about it. Can you play some Slash Monkey?"
He grunted as they waited at an intersection. "No, I think we need to talk about it."
She wrinkled her nose and crossed her arms, sitting sullenly in the seat. "What else is there to talk about?"
He kept quiet until the light turned green. "I don't know," he finally said. "But considering you're yelling at your teacher for even the slightest reminder of Bulkhead, clearly I haven't done a good job in helping you feel better."
Miko gave a defeated sigh, curling up in a ball. "Jackie," she said softly, "don't talk like that. It's not your fault."
"I never said it was," he corrected her as they drifted out to the interstate back to base. "I just feel like I should be able to . . . you know . . . take the pain away." When Miko was silent at that, Wheeljack gave a troubled sound. "What am I saying. I can't take away the pain of Bulkhead dying. That'd be like trying to erase him. I feel like I should be able to help you cope with it better. You know . . . So you're not getting detention."
She cuddled into the seat, staring out the window. After a moment, she asked, "Will the pain ever go away?"
Wheeljack paused. Thinking about Seaspray, he felt his spark tighten. Primus he wanted to be truthful, but he didn't want to hurt her . . .
"I don't know," he finally said quietly. "It may never stop hurting, but . . . I think, if we've got each other, we can rough it out."
Suddenly, he felt some stress roll from her shoulders. She relaxed more in the seat, a soft smile playing with her lips. "Thanks Jackie."
He felt his spark swell until it wanted to burst and shower her with love. Miko let a small grin twist up her features. "NOW can you play some Slash Monkey?"
"You know, you ought to do something for me considering how many times I've let my audio receptors bleed for you . . ." he muttered suggestively.
As he turned up the music, he heard her snicker, "Well I AM helping you get these dents out today . . ."
"Touché."
Getting dents out of Wheeljack was like pulling teeth.
Only . . . worse.
After an afternoon full of Wheeljack cursing both at Miko and Arcee—who had been willing enough to help—he was mercifully dent free.
Though, Arcee seemed to have fun tormenting him every time a dent popped out and irritated his soft protoform.
But, if Wheeljack thought his woes stopped with Miko getting detention, he was wrong. OH SO wrong. He got a phone call that day from her cell during school hours.
"Miko?"
Looking up from the wing of the Jackhammer he was upgrading, Wheeljack heard her voice rasp in his ear, "Jackie, I feel sick . . ."
Wheeljack stood up straight in a spark beat, optics widening. "Are you all right? What's wrong?"
"I don't feel good . . . I blew chunks. Can you pick me up?"
He all but dropped the torch he was holding. "I—But Miko, shouldn't you be calling your mom?"
"Mom's in Tokyo," she said with a faint laugh in her raw voice.
"W-Well, shouldn't you call your host parents?"
He heard her give a tired sigh. "I don't want them, I want you."
His spark melted. He was already shoving things away. "All right, Babe, I'll be there in . . . give me ten minutes. I'll be there. Okay?"
"Okay . . . Thanks, Jackie."
Wheeljack amazed himself at how quickly he could gun himself to the school. He was sure he had broken several speed laws on the way, but he honestly couldn't give a frag. Pulling up to the curb, he shot her a text that he was there in case she didn't see him, and then, she stepped out from the school.
Wheeljack felt himself sink on his suspension. She looked awful. Her backpack looked like it weighed a ton, and she lugged her guitar like she were carrying bricks. His spark groaned in compassion—if only that accursed hologram was of physical form so he could help her!
Instead, he could only watch helplessly as Miko hefted her things into the back seat and sat tiredly in his front seat. Wheeljack closed the door for her and buckled her up.
"My little trooper doesn't look like she's doing too good," Wheeljack said gruffly as he pulled out as smoothly as he could from the curb.
Even in her apparent distress, Miko managed a furious scowl. "I feel like crap," she groaned, letting her head loll tiredly against the seat.
Wheeljack grumbled quietly, performing a small scan on her. When he did, she immediately reported, "I'm running a 102.2 according to the nurse, I've thrown up my lunch, my throat feels like sandpaper, and my stomach is rolling. On top of that, I'm on my monthly and I've got terrible cramps, my hormones are way out of whack, so if I jump down your throat, I apologize in advance." She groaned again, leaning her forehead against the glass of the window. "Wheeljack, I'm hot. Turn on the air conditioning."
He did so immediately, duly noting that mood swings were a part of this "monthly" she had, and he briefly wondered how to combat her sickness. He'd never dealt with a sick human before. Not to mention that she was on her monthly so she was bound to be twice the hassle . . .
Miko grunted. "Gods, I'm so hungry . . ."
Wheeljack paused, stopping for a red light. "Well . . . Do you want something to eat?"
Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say.
"I'm hungry!" she exploded suddenly, dry throat cracking under the stress. "Of course I fragging want something to eat! But can I eat something? NO! Of course not! Not while I'm freaking throwing up everything I eat!" The instant she laid back in exhaustion, she slumped completely against the seat. "I'm tired, and I want to lay down. And I'm freezing. It sucks."
Wheeljack paused again. What? "Do you want me to turn down the air conditioning?" He had just turned it on because she was hot!
She waved a tired hand, curling up in a painful ball. "No, it feels good . . . God, I hate riding in cars when I'm sick, the motion just makes it worse . . ."
Wheeljack sighed inwardly to himself, wondering just what the hell he had gotten himself in to. "Well, uh, you're house is closer than base."
She shook her head, shifting uncomfortably in the seat. "No, I don't wanna go home, I wanna be with you . . . Just don't let Ratchet the Hatchet get me . . ."
An overwhelmed laugh spilled from Wheeljack. "Sure thing, Babe. I won't let him touch you."
"Mmh . . ." After a moment of squirming in pain on his seat, Miko finally said, "I'm craving some chocolate . . . Real bad. Any chocolate. Chocolate bars, chocolate cupcakes, chocolate ice cream, chocolate on chocolate on chocolate . . ."
Wheeljack hesitated. "Well, um . . . Tell you what. Since you can't keep anything down yet, when Jack comes in from school, I'll have him bring you some chocolate. Deal?"
She perked up considerably with a little smile. "Yeah! That sounds SO great . . ."
Wheeljack just chuckled, taking in her rasping voice with critical thinking. Her throat was dry and raw. She needed something to drink. "Well, let's swing by KO Burger and get you a Sprite. You need something to drink."
She just nodded tiredly in agreement, and after some serious jumping through hoops to conceal that he was just a hologram AND taking the Sprite from the window man's hand, Miko was sipping on it, a hand constantly crossed over her stomach.
Wheeljack eyed Miko critically through his mirrors. Her normal sparking brown eyes were drained lethargically, and her moves were much more sluggish than they should be. After a minute she completely sat the Sprite down in the cup holder and simply rode in a ball, twitching and squirming with discomfort.
Wheeljack sighed to himself. Poor girl—
Miko suddenly lurched up, and before Wheeljack knew what was happening, she coughed violently before gagging and retching up slimy liquids and the last little chunks of whatever she had for lunch.
OH MY PRIMUS, IT'S DISGUSTING! HOLY PRIMUS—OH MY PRIMUS—!
When her episode finally passed, Miko looked up with teary eyes, wiping her mouth on her arm. "Oh, yuck—Jackie, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—"
"No, no, no," he interrupted her, inwardly squirming, "it's all right. You're sick."
But to no avail, she began to cry bucket of tears, the hormonal imbalance of her period setting her off. "It's all my fault!" she wailed pathetically, gushes of tears streaming down her cheeks. "I heaved all over your floor mats, I'm sorry, Jackie! It's so nasty—I'm sorry—I'm sorry—"
When she began to breathe in irregular breaths, Wheeljack tightened the seatbelt on her in some sort of a sympathetic hug. "It's all right, Babe, calm it down. You're sick, I understand. It's okay. Just stop crying . . ."
Oh dear PRIMUS it's disgusting . . . Oh Primus, and it's oozing! Ugh, it's soaking into the floor—! Primus, I'm never going to get this smell out . . . Oh Primus . . . Oh my Primus, smite me now . . . !
Still, his soothing words did the trick, and she slowly brought her sobbing down to guilty hiccups, feet hovering uncertainly over the mess before she scrunched up in a ball again. "I'm sorry, J-Jackie," she hiccupped, wiping her running nose and sniffing. "I didn't mean to . . ."
Dear Primus, this was like a nightmare . . . "It's all right," he soothed her again, his own tanks inwardly rolling as the smell of vomit permeated the cab. He rolled down each window a fraction to help air out, and as he looked down the stretch of road, he realized the base couldn't come quick enough for him. "Just take the drinking thing a bit slower next time, all right? You've got all the time in the world to get better, don't stress it."
Miko nodded pitifully. "O-Okay . . . I'll clean it up—"
"Don't you worry about it," he told her even though his spark was singing at the thought. "Maybe when you're better, but first thing we gotta do is make sure you're going to be okay. Right?"
She nodded again, sinking into his seat like a dead weight. "Okay . . ."
Wheeljack inwardly heaved a sigh of relief that he finally had her pacified for the moment. They finished the ride to the base in silence without any more mishaps—thank Primus—and Ratchet pinned him down with a suspicious look until he transformed up with Miko in his hand.
"Miko! Are you all right?"
The fire of irritation was back in an instant. "Does it LOOK like I'm all right!" she snapped, voice cracking again, and Ratchet had performed a scan even before she was done with her sentence.
Wheeljack shielded her from the medic when he burst that she was running a fever. "I know that, Doc," he grumbled, brushing past the worried medic. "I've got it under control."
Ratchet gave a scoff. "YOU have it under control? Then why are my sensors picking up the smell of human refuse all over you?"
Miko's lips quivered again, and her hands clenched tight on her Sprite. "It's my fault," she started to say again, but Wheeljack cut her off.
"Shut it, Babe, you're fine." He jabbed a finger at Ratchet angrily for making her remember what had happened. "You on the other hand can back it off. She can't help it that she's sick. And, I'm under strict orders to not let Ratchet the Hatchet get her. So back off."
Stalking past a sputtering Ratchet, Wheeljack laid Miko down on the couch. She shivered at the loss of contact with his hand and stated, "I'm cold."
He fished the blanket from the back of the couch and laid it over her. "Better?"
She wrinkled her nose and curled up in a ball again. "Kinda." She pulled the blanket up to her chin.
Wheeljack's worried optics blinked down on Miko. "Shouldn't you be taking some sort of medication for this?" he asked. He honestly was new at this and picking it up slowly. He fished her backpack and guitar out of his chest and was lucky none of the congealing vomit had gotten on them. He set them next to the couch in easy reach.
She frowned again. "Oh, yeah . . . Some type of antacid or something . . . My mom uses Pepto-Bismol but I hate that pink crap . . ."
Wheeljack returned her frown. "But, shouldn't you be taking it . . . ?"
Miko snorted before coughing. Her brows puckered. "Please. Sometimes I'd dump it down the sink instead of taking it and I'd still eventually get better. I hate medicine."
Dear Primus she was going to be a hassle . . .
When she made a particularly fierce face of pain, writhing on the couch, Wheeljack's optics widened in alarm. "Miko? Are you all right?"
"Cramps," she said airily, voice rasping with abuse. "Comes with the freaking periods."
Utilizing the internet in a heartbeat, Wheeljack sought out ways to relieve cramping. Rest, walking, abdominal massaging, yoga—orgasmic sexual activity? Wheeljack shuddered immediately and skimmed the rest of the list. He didn't even have a heat pad to help her with.
"How about you walk some? Exercise is supposed to help."
Her face pinched pathetically. "I don't FEEL like walking . . ."
He wondered belatedly if he could make a heat pad for her without blowing it up. Honestly . . . HOW was he supposed to blow up a heat pad?
"Stay right here, Babe, I'll be right back."
She looked up with tired and angry eyes. "What? Where are you going?" she asked accusingly, abused voice dryer than the desert outside.
Wheeljack reared back—THAT he hadn't expected. "I was just—"
"Fine, whatever," she interrupted, scowling furiously. "Just GO then! I don't care! Leave me alone! Let me rot!"
A depression of air hissed from Wheeljack's vents. "Miko, I'm sorry. I'll stay—"
She waved her arms before curling back dejectedly under the blanket. "Oh, so NOW you're willing to stay? Jeez—just get out! Leave me alone! I don't care!"
After a pause of thought, Wheeljack just assumed it would be better to just let her stew—at least it would keep her off of him. He sighed. "Okay."
He turned to go, but not before he heard her rage, "Okay? That's all he's got to say now! I'm having the worst day of my life and all he can do is say okay! Doesn't even offer to be nice to me or comfort me . . ." To Wheeljack's utter carangid, he heard her start to cry again. He groaned on the inside, turning back to her.
"Miko, wait," he started to say. He reached out a finger to touch her and offer his comfort like she wanted, but she pushed him away.
"Well you know what? I don't WANT your sorrys!" she wailed, burying her face into the couch. "You can be sorry to the grave for all I care! You stupid, mean, jerkish robot! Just leave me alone if you're not going to help!"
Wheeljack hovered uncertainly, unwilling to leave her alone when she was so distressed, but Ratchet's amused voice echoed out, "She's PMSing, Wheeljack. You might as well leave her alone."
Wheeljack rolled his eyes and finally upped and left Miko. Dumb Hatchet was taking pleasure in his sufferings.
Instead, Wheeljack heaved a sigh in the back room as he fished around for the parts he needed. Dear Primus, if this happened EVERY time she got sick, she could have her mother suffer it, not him. Flattering that she wanted him and no one else, but Wheeljack wouldn't be able to handle it!
Working quickly on the simple contraption, Wheeljack sighed to himself again and texted Jack.
I need a favor
Surprisingly, Jack texted back immediately. Wheeljack frowned. Wasn't he in school? He texted in class? Thought he was the stiff, goody-two-shoes . . .
What is it?
Wheeljack went over the list of what he needed in his head, considering every angle of Miko's sickness—and period.
Mikos sick. Come by after school and bring some chocolate flavored popsicles, ginger ale or ginger tea, Ibuprofen, Pepto Bismol, soup, and a blanket
Wheeljack pieced together the small heat pad diligently. This could work—if it didn't explode.
Thats a big list. She needs all of that?
Unless you want to explain to her why she doesnt have it while shes on her period. Shes ripping heads off today. Ill tell her its your fault
Jeez! No need to threaten! Ill get it!
He chuckled at the indignant tone the text message induced. Even better news came when Wheeljack had the heat pad thrown together in a manner of minutes. And, oddly, it worked perfectly this time. He inwardly breathed a sigh of relief—at least he wasn't blowing up stuff today.
Making his way back to the main silo area, he prayed to Primus Miko would be in a better mood when he got there. Clutching the tiny heat pad in his fingers, Wheeljack peeked into the silo.
Miko had heard his heavy footsteps of course, and the instant he looked out Miko was staring square at his face. Instead of harping at him for hiding from her, he was more pleasantly surprised when she reached an arm over the couch towards him with a small smile.
"Jackie!"
He nearly groaned to himself. She was in a much better mood now, but for how long? Instead, he came up to her and held up the small contraption. "Here you go. Homemade heat pad number one."
Ratchet whirled as Miko took the heat pad with a delighted squeal. "Wait just a minute!" he growled, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Have you tested it? I don't need you blowing Miko up! I wouldn't know where to BEGIN to explain to Optimus . . ."
Wheeljack rolled his optics. "Chill, Doc. It's not gonna blow."
Miko even cheekily poked her tongue out at the worried Autobot. "Yeah. You act like everything he touches explodes!" She laughed and stuck the small pad beneath the blanket, turning it on, and she gave a small moan.
"Christ, Wheeljack, you're God's gift to earth . . ."
Yeah, well, five minutes ago he was a stupid, mean, and jerkish robot. He sighed to himself. He'd never be able to get through this.
"Hey Miko, you been drinking?"
She wrinkled her nose then. "No. Considering last time I puked it up all over you."
Wheeljack shrugged. "Don't worry about it. I need you drinking though. Can't have you getting dehydrated. Right?"
Miko's lips quivered a moment. Wheeljack silently began to pray to the gods above again that she didn't start crying again . . . "But I don't want it," she said pitifully. "What if I throw up again?"
Wheeljack rested his hands on the railing. "Well, tell you what. If you throw up again, I'll let you throw up all over Ratchet. Deal?"
Her eyes sparked then. "Deal."
It took the medical officer a moment longer to realize what they were saying.
"OH NO YOU DON'T—WHEELJACK!"