Sometimes, Fireflight knew things. Maybe they were memories. Maybe they were just some innate knowledge he had. He could never tell which the case was, and it rarely occurred to him to try to figure it out. It didn't matter how he knew something, just that he knew it.
Right now, he knew something had happened. Some big, something that had made him not-him, but part and whole of Something More. He had experienced this before, the remembering of the Something More, but he could never remember actually being the Something More. These blank spots in his memory always had scary thoughts associated with them. Fireflight was at a loss as to why the Something More had scary thoughts with it every time he realized the Something More must have happened again, and this time was no different.
He couldn't even remember exactly how long ago he was the Something More. It must have been recently, because he still felt fuzzy and achy from it. He had gotten hurt because of the Something More, that's why he was in the medbay now. He and his wingmates had been in here for a while, ever since they had been the Something More. They wouldn't tell him what had happened to put them in the medbay, or even how they had arrived here from Iacon, but he got the impression that it had been a good thing that had landed them here, so he didn't press for a more precise answer.
Silverbolt was elsewhere in the medbay. Fireflight couldn't see him from where he sat, but the rest of the wing was nearby, and that comforted him in the absence of the wing leader. Skydive was sitting next to him on the table, quiet as always, while Slingshot and Air Raid perched on the table to his right, blocking his view of the rest of the medbay. Fireflight craned his neck, trying to see around them, curious about the room that was hidden from his sight. He had caught glimpses of other mechs in the medbay, and he wanted to get a better look at them. He liked seeing them because they were all ground-mechs, and he had never been near ground-mechs that he could remember. He was curious about them.
He asked for Air Raid and Slingshot to move so he could see, but they were not so enthusiastic about the ground-mechs, ignoring them and Fireflight's request in favor of huddling together on their table. Some part of him understood why they acted like that, some hidden part of his mind that said Seekers should not associate with ground-mechs. He didn't want to believe that. He liked ground-mechs, he thought.
Silverbolt was calling for them. The wing stood, the tables creaking as they were relieved of the weight of the Seekers atop them. The four mechs closely followed their leader as he made his way past the numerous tables of the medbay, weaving around the medics as they worked on repairing the ground-mechs. Fireflight wanted to stay and watch the goings-on, but his fear of being left alone overcame his curiosity, and he stayed with his wingmates instead.
Then he caught a glimpse of a familiar yellow-green mech. Fireflight paused, turning his head to look back at him. It was the same medic from beneath the roadway in Iacon, the one who had repaired him after the other Autobots had hurt him. He still didn't understand why they had done that when all he had wanted was for them to stay and talk with him, but the medic had made him feel better. The medic had fixed him.
His wing hadn't had a medic to care for them since before he could remember. But now there were medics. He watched this one as he walked around, busy with his work. The medic seemed tired, moving stiffly as he worked--injury. Fireflight knew, even with his broken processor, what it looked like when a mech was trying to not stress an injury.
He knew his processor was broken, but he didn't know why, or how it had happened, or when. Sometimes he had trouble even remembering that it was broken.
Medics fixed things.
He turned, purposefully striding towards the yellow-green medic, his desire to follow his wingmates suddenly trumped by his new goal. He didn't slow his approach until he was close to the other mech. "Ratchet." He wasn't sure why he said that word, or what it meant, it just came out of his vocalizer.
The medic stopped what he was doing, tiredly turning to face Fireflight. His blue optics were dim and distant.
The Seeker immediately hunched himself over so he would be at the medic's height and turned his head downwards, as if offering it to the other. "Fix," he said into his chest.
The medic didn't say anything, didn't so much as move.
"Fix?" he tried again. He tilted his head slightly, putting his view of his feet at an angle. "Please?"
"Fireflight..."
Why wasn't the medic fixing him? "Fix my head? Fix?" Fireflight took a small step forward and waited. Medics fixed things. Medics could fix his processor. They had to fix his processor! If his processor was fixed, he wouldn't have so many blank spots in his memory, and he could be a better wingmate, and he could fly better, and Slingshot wouldn't shout at him so much, and maybe, just maybe, Silverbolt would stop worrying about everything and be happy again. Fireflight felt he needed to tell the medic this, so he would understand how badly the Seeker wanted things to be not-broken any more. But he wasn't quite sure exactly how to tell the medic. "Seeker...Seeker Fireflight...put in stasis mode...repair lag?" Those words had been said in a medbay once, he remembered, although he wasn't quite sure what they meant. Surely the medic would understand. "Fix?" There. That should be enough. He clicked to himself, waiting for the medic to do his work.
The medic was silent for a long time. That was okay. Fireflight was patient. Finally, the medic spoke. "I can't."
'Can't? Can't?' He didn't move from his begging pose. He just needed to wait more, that was all...
"Fireflight!" It was Silverbolt.
'Silverbolt!' Fireflight's head snapped up as he whuffed happily, the medic forgotten as he trotted to his wing leader. He followed Silverbolt out of the medbay and into the hallway beyond.
This was a new place, he suddenly noticed. He didn't know these walls. There were several shining things along the wall and above his head on the ceiling. He curiously observed them, his optics pinning at their brightness. The shining things were bright like the sun, but they were not the sun. He pondered that for a moment. 'That's it, they're light panels, for indoors.' He remembered light panels from long ago, from faded memories that existed before any of his memories of the Something More. Light panels...inside...rooms...
His mind suddenly made the connection. They were indoors. Not under the street. Not in Iacon. Indoors where there were no Decepticon Seekers to badger them. No Seekers here but themselves. No Seekers!
They didn't have to hide any more!
"Silverbolt!" Fireflight squealed as he bounded to his wing leader. "Silverbolt!"
Silverbolt looked back at him. "Yes?"
He ran up close before stopping, his neck guard lifted in excitement as he stood on his toes. He still had to stretch his neck up to be on the same optic level as the larger Seeker. "We're inside!" The wing flaps on his shoulders fluttered gleefully. They were inside and safe and there were medics and no more Decepticons!
Silverbolt simply looked down at him. "We are, yes."
Fireflight strutted around in a circle, giddy with joy. So much delight filled his mind, he couldn't remember exactly why he was so happy to begin with. But it felt good. Whatever the reason was, it had to be very happy indeed because Silverbolt was letting him prance about like this.
"Come on, Fireflight. Off to the washracks."
He paused in his circle. What was a washracks? The word was bringing up faint memories, but he couldn't quite see them. No matter, that was where Silverbolt was going, and he would follow his wing leader. He briefly broke into a trot to catch up with Silverbolt once more.
Things were finally good again.
-Wheeljack, where are you?-
The engineer venter a soft sigh and rubbed the edge of his helm. The training rooms were off-limits thanks to his still-healing injuries. The lab and storerooms were off-limits due to the cryo needle incident. The medbay was off-limits as well, not that it was anywhere he wanted to go to begin with. He dared not go back to his quarters, no matter how badly he needed to recharge. The cyberhawks were still waiting there, just waiting for him to slip into recharge so they could carry him away over that energon-stained battlefield to the Pits beyond.
-Rec room, where else?- Wheeljack sent back to Ironhide. It was the only place he could get some semblance of peace, though with the way Sideswipe was acting now, the rec room was quickly becoming a much less agreeable place to stay.
-You're needed in the washroom.- The short tone Ironhide was using indicated quite clearly that he was not enjoying his temporary tenure as the Mech in Charge of All Things during Prowl's stay in the medbay.
-Ironhide...-
-Those slagging Seekers tear up this place worse than you ever could. Got three washracks out of commission now thanks to them.-
-I'm not fixing the damn washracks,- Wheeljack snarled.
-You're-- -
-Get Grapple to do it.-
-He's in no condition to be working right now, you know that.-
-We'll survive without three washracks until he's able to get to them.- With that, Wheeljack forcibly shut of fhis comm line and finished the cube of high-grade he unsteadily held in his hand. Even if he had been in an agreeable enough mood to work on the washracks, he wouldn't have been able to. Lack of recharge was starting to wear on him. As was the presence of a certain red mech.
'And here comes Sideswipe again.' Wheeljack barely glanced up at the gladiator, busy as he was with concentrating on not landing another punch on Sideswipe's pale face. 'Damn it, I'm not in the mood for this.' He cautiously reopened his comm line and was relieved to find that Ironhide was not waiting there to berate him for yet more insubordinate behavior. -Sunstreaker.-
The warrior's response was immediate. -What?-
-I'm not exactly happy to be talking to you, either.-
-Then get to the point or leave me alone.-
-Your brother is so overcharged, he's trying to solicit a bond from me.-
Sunstreaker gave a short, derisive laugh, not a particularly pleasant sound, especially over the comm line. -My brother, the whore! I was wondering if he'd ever get around to you.-
-Make him stop.- In his barely-contained ire, Wheeljack sent a burst of static through the line.
-Can't. Even if I could, I wouldn't.-
-Hate me that much, huh?-
-No. My reasons are not your concern.-
-He's your brother! Make him leave me the frag alone!-
-Primus, stripe-aft. Just ignore him. That's what everyone does. Or better yet...- There was a brief pause. -Ratchet wants you in the medbay.- The comm line clicked off.
Just the excuse Wheeljack had been waiting for to get away from an increasingly overcharged, and insistent, Sideswipe. Without a word, and still trying his hardest to not throttle the red twin, Wheeljack pushed his chair back and stood in one smooth motion, not flinching at the new wave of pain that wracked his body from the sudden movement. Sideswipe thankfully did not follow him as he left the rec room, and Wheeljack pitied whoever the gladiator chose to bother next.
Though many mechs, in various stages of repair, milled about in the hallways, the base was eerily quiet. It was the sort of uneasy silence that always followed something horrific or uncomfortable that everyone knew about but didn't want to discuss. Even those few mechs who had not been present at the battle against Shockwave's troops were subdued. Wheeljack hated it. He wanted to do something, anything, to make them talk again, like they had talked when he had first come to the base. Maybe then he could forget about the cyberhawks so he could recharge at long last, then his body could heal already and he could set his mind in order once more.
He looked up as he neared the medbay, just in time to see Sunstreaker exit through those infamous doors. The golden warrior's face was twisted into the deep scowl that had been his expression ever since he had arrived back on base. A quick glance at Sunstreaker's formerly crushed leg, which was still only partially repaired and minus its most beautiful armor, revealed the biggest reason as to why Sunstreaker was in such a foul mood.
Sunstreaker gave Wheeljack a glare as he neared the engineer, limping slightly on account of his armorless leg. Wheeljack returned the look. Neither of them felt it would be worth the risk to open their comm lines to engage in another discussion that was bound to turn into a nasty argument. Ratchet had already silenced their vocalizers thanks to their almost ceaseless bickering in earlier cycles. There was no telling what the CMO might do next.
They brushed past each other in silence, Sunstreaker disappearing down the hall and Wheeljack stepping into the doorway of the medbay. He hesitated there, unsure of what Ratchet's mood would be this cycle. Cautiously, he glanced over the medbay interior. Most of the tables were still occupied by those mechs who had been struck the worst by the brutalities of war, all of them offline until the medics deemed them stable enough to function on their own. All except for Prowl, who was sitting up on one table, leaning back against the wall as he read over a datapad. His curved wing panels were conspicuously missing, replaced by a handful of tubes and wiring that connected the lieutenant to medical monitors. Prowl looked up briefly as Wheeljack entered, then returned to his reading.
"Get in here."
Ah, so Ratchet was in a better mood today.
Wheeljack eyed the medic carefully before sitting on the edge of the indicated table. Ratchet followed him, his movements still slow and stiff. The medic hadn't had the time to fully repair himself before jumping right back into his duties as CMO upon arrival at the base. He hadn't even had a chance to construct himself a new arm, instead only able to take a few breems to deaden the sensors in his shoulder and stop the leaking of fluids from the torn joint so he wouldn't be distracted as he worked on other mechs. The lack of his right arm didn't detract from his skills in this slightest, but it sure did make him crankier than usual.
"You going to stop baiting Sunstreaker, or do I need to leave your vocalizer disconnected for another joor?" Ratchet gave the engineer a look that was some cross between irritation and exhaustion.
Wheeljack frowned and lit his resonators until they gave off a bright rosy light.
Ratchet sighed in exasperation, briefly shuttering his optics.
-I can't help that everything I say makes him want to kill me.- Wheeljack added, softly, -Can't help that the feeling's mutual.-
"I don't fragging care that you don't like him. I don't know anyone who does, besides his brother. If you're going to insist on picking fights with him, you're going to find yourself dead one of these times and it's going to be your own damn fault. But I'll be slagged if you--"
-Him trying to kill me in the middle of a fragging battle is my fault?-
The gaze Ratchet leveled at him was a cold one indeed. "How should I know? I wasn't there. Are you going to stop acting like a glitching sparkling or should I just remove your vocalizer and save myself the trouble later?" He waited for an answer; Wheeljack gave him none. "Then don't make me regret this." Ratchet tapped a finger against the underside of the engineer's chin. Wheeljack obligingly tilted his head back, and the medic set to work.
-Where the frag does he think he can get off with attacking other Autobots, anyway?-
The CMO slid a few wires into place in Wheeljack's neck. "It's not your concern."
-It is when he tries to kill me!- Wheeljack tried to glare at the CMO, but the look was totally lost, as he was staring at the ceiling.
"You just worry about doing what you're ordered."
Wheeljack winced as something gave him a small shock under his jaw. -I've spent most of my life in charge of the Etraum labs. Can't say I'm very inclined to enjoy having someone else lord over me. I'm not-- - There was another shock, and he felt a tingle of electricity as his vocalizer started up again. Ratchet stepped back, finished with the repairs, waiting for reassurance that he had done a satisfactory job. Wheeljack rubbed at his neck as he attempted to speak. His vocalizer only produced garbled static on the first few tries, then it snapped back into gear. "Can I go now?" Oh, it was nice to be able to talk again.
Ratchet's expression had changed from one of tired annoyance to something more thoughtful, as if the medic could see right through Wheeljack. "No," he said. "Well, you can, if you don't care that your arm is still half slagged to the Pits and most of your armor is too melted to be of any use. Then by all means, get out of my medbay. Otherwise, shut up and let me do my work." Again that penetrating gaze. "When was the last time you recharged?"
"Dunno," Wheeljack said off-handedly. 'Do you really think I'd tell you on the first asking even if I knew? Come on, you know I'm more ornery than that.'
"You're wearing yourself down, and I'll be slagged if you make more work for me yet again."
'He can tell that just from looking at my vocalizer?' The engineer eyed at Ratchet suspiciously.
"You're not going to be of any use to anyone if you don't get some rest."
"Can't." He didn't know why he just admitted that.
For a few moments, the CMO just continued looking at him. "You should talk with Bluestreak some time." And with that, Ratchet was back to his usual gruff mannerisms. "Lay down so I can fix your arm already."
He never did find out exactly why Ratchet had wanted him to talk to Bluestreak, partly because once Bluestreak was online again, he immediately set to making up for all the talking he had missed. Wheeljack very quickly gave up on trying to talk with him and settled into listening to the youngster's babbling once more. He was surprised to find exactly how much he had missed Bluestreak's company, and the comfort he found in the sniper's enthusiasm for everything. Despite this, it was still over two joors later before Wheeljack could recharge again. After he was rested, he was once again put to work fixing the random things that broke around the base, most of which lately could be attributed to the Seeker gestalt team that had moved in.
He still hated repair duty, but at least it gave him something to do.
In those times when there was nothing to fix, no Bluestreak around to listen to, no training to be done, Wheeljack found his mind still drifted back to the battle, and those cyberhawks would come back. They circled just around the edge of his perception, crying out to one another as they drifted through the air, plotting amongst themselves.
It was during one of these quiet times that Wheeljack found himself in the lab, despite still being barred from it. Why he had chosen such a quiet place when he didn't really want silence, he didn't know, but it seemed to be a better idea than dealing with the other Autobots at the moment. So he simply sat in a chair, his back to the door as he slouched in the seat, finding some sort of companionship with the near-darkness of the room. How long had it been since he had been able to do anything in here? Or anything besides repairs and training?
'Primus, I need something to do before I go crazy.'
On a whim, he opened the hold on his side and withdrew the datapad within, lighting it. A string of glyphs scrolled across the top of the display before bringing up the first of many screens of such glyphs, complete with a simplistic holographic diagram of a massive Jhiasian Seeker-hunter that hovered above the screen. Wheeljack just looked at it tiredly for a few moments before turning off the hologram and idly tapping the datapad against the table to his right.
'Why him?'
War touches even those who should not be touched by it.
Wheeljack frowned. Every so often, that voice that had been with him during the battle would still whisper to him, and he never liked it any more each time it did. 'But he accepted it. Why the frag can't I? I should be able to, I'm a fragging...'
He heard shouting through the wall that separated the lab from the medbay, and he glanced in that direction. Ratchet, as usual. Sounded like he had caught Red Alert linking to the network again, even though the security director was under strict orders to please refrain from doing so or I will remove your sensor nodes and may just forget to replace them later.
A clank, a yelp, more shouting. Silence.
Wheeljack hoped the CMO hadn't thrown something at Red Alert's head, seeing as that was the only part of the mech that was useful.
A shaft of bright light suddenly streamed across the lab floor, accompanied by the soft hiss of the doors opening. Wheeljack squinted against the light. He thought he heard someone call his name, but he wasn't sure. Maybe it was just the hydraulics in the doors. There it was again. Definitely someone calling him. The engineer lifted his head as a large form entered the room to stand at his left. "I thought you were banned from being in the lab," Optimus Prime said softly.
"Banned from working in the lab," Wheeljack said sullenly. "I'm sitting, not working."
Optimus shifted, his heavy footsteps making the floor tremble slightly, until he was standing in front of the engineer. "Jazz was telling me you had some project in mind involving drones and Seekers."
Wheeljack looked up at the Autobot leader. Yes, he did have such a project planned. Kree had...was...Kree was dead...
"Care to elaborate?"
All that was left of him was in the datapad. He tapped the pad against the table a few more times. He had read through the whole file several times. There were still so many things he wasn't quite clear on, some strange word usage that he was sure must have made sense in Jhiasian but didn't so much in Cybertronian. There were enough of those odd turns of phrase that many parts of the file were unintelligible to Wheeljack.
He wasn't sure how much time had passed between the Prime's question and now, but he was getting the impression that Optimus was a rather patient mech.
"Kree told me how Jhiasians hunt coneheads," Wheeljack said at last. "I was just...thinking about how to make a drone that did the same thing."
Optimus raised an optic ridge, clearly intrigued. "You think you could do that?"
"I don't know. I've never made a drone that specialized or complex before, and definitely not as big as these will have to be."
"There's other mechs who could help."
"Who, Perceptor?" Wheeljack laughed, though it sounded strained even to his audios. He could only imagine the carnage that would ensue if he was forced to work with a scientist. "I'm not sure he has the kind of knowledge and experience needed for this project. Besides..." Wheeljack lifted his hand, showing the datapad to the mech in front of him. "I can't understand some of this. Kree...wasn't so great with Cybertronian."
"There's a few mechs here who are good with language. They could probably clarify it for you."
"Really."
If Optimus heard the sarcasm in that, which he probably had, he didn't make any indication of it. "Sideswipe would be your best bet."
"Sideswipe?" Optimus only nodded slightly. Wheeljack felt his grip on the datapad tighten. "I doubt he would be very willing to help me." 'And whose fault would that be, you glitch?'
The Prime shrugged. "I'm sure you could find some competent help, which you may need since you are still banned from doing work in here." He gave Wheeljack a small, mysterious smile.
"I wouldn't have called half the engineers in Etraum 'competent help'." 'But Primus, what I wouldn't give to have them around now.' He glanced up at Optimus again. "Wait, is this your way of saying I can work on this project?"
"If you can get me a plan for such drones by the end of the joor."
"The end of the joor? Is that a challenge?" He mulled it over briefly. "I can do that."
Optimus nodded. "Then I'll be sure you get what support and materials we can give. You're welcome to use whatever you find in the storerooms."
"I'm still banned from the storerooms, remember?"
"And half of the rest of the base, yes." Optimus waved a hand dismissively. "I outrank Ironhide, you know. Consider the bans lifted."
Wheeljack smiled then. "Thanks."
"But if I hear of anything exploding or you injecting yourself with dangerous chemicals again, I'll be forced to restrict you to the east wing of Level 2 until I feel like letting have free reign of the base again."
The engineer quickly ran through a schematic of the base in his mind. "The barracks and washracks? Not even going to give me the rec room?"
"The rec room has the high-grade. You're not going near that stuff if you're going to insist on causing nearly-lethal accidents every joor."
Wheeljack had to chuckle at that. It wouldn't be the first time he had been barred from consuming high-grade.
"I want the plans in my hands by the end of the joor," Optimus said, much of the levity gone from his voice as he stepped to the side, then made his way to the entrance of the lab.
A project with an actual deadline. 'It's been too long.' "You'll have them."
The large mech's footsteps slowed, then stopped. "Wheeljack?" he said after a moment.
"Hmm?"
"What do you know about Epsilon-class hyperdrive engines?"