-Dancing Wheeljack
"Oxygen mixture percentage at optimal levels—check. Pressure gauge reading between point zero five and point zero eight—check. Power light green—check. Fuel levels sufficient—check. Triggering mechanism present—check. Firing pin set in place—oh. That's odd. Where'd it go?"
Wheeljack didn't have long to ponder the location of the missing firing pin before a gust of wind rocked his latest contraption just so. Ka boom! The steady breeze carried away the resulting cloud of smoke and debris quite nicely.
On the other hand, the odor of burning fuel and chemicals—after spreading for some distance—settled in the air and lingered. Jazz had commanded a mock reconnaissance drill earlier that day, and now he led the small group back to base. Hound's very keen sense of smell caught the scent of the explosion in the air immediately as they drove into the area. Bumblebee's equally sharp vision spotted the remaining wisps of smoke and bits of flaming wreckage that was all that remained of Wheeljack's newest invention.
"There's been a recent explosion in the area and something is still burning," Hound told Jazz. "But it's still too far away for me to see what it is."
"I've got it covered, Hound. I can see some kinda metal object out there—no, wait, there are several objects, and they're on fire. Something else is out there too, but a smoky haze is covering it up. There's too much damage to really identify anything," Bumblebee informed the others.
"Sounds like some potential trouble brewin' up," Jazz decided. "We'd better investigate."
"Decepticons," Brawn guessed.
"Could be," Jazz responded. "Anyway, th' humans won't want their forest set on fire, so we'd better go put it out. I don't need ta tell ya ta be careful. Anythin' movin'?"
"Nope," answered Bumblebee.
When they arrived on the scene, they surveyed the devastation. "Wait—isn't that Wheeljack?" Brawn asked, pointing and already somewhat concerned.
It was apparent that something was wrong with Wheeljack, who lay sprawled on his back. His optics were dark and his chassis was smoking. Parts of him were blackened and in other places he was covered in light gray foamy goo.
"This doesn't look good." After Bumblebee turned his optics in the direction Brawn indicated, he sounded even more worried.
They hurried over to Wheeljack's still form, where they transformed and stared down at their friend. "Shouldn't we let Ratchet know; tell him we're on our way?" Hound questioned Jazz.
Jazz instantly took charge. "I'm already on it." He activated his comm. "Ratchet, Wheeljack's down. While none of us is an ambulance, we're gonna transport him th' best we can on th' double. Do ya wanna meet us half way or should we send 'im directly ta th' med bay?"
"Well?" Brawn asked impatiently when Jazz was done speaking to Ratchet.
"Th' doc says he already knows Wheeljack's been injured and ta just bring 'im in. We're not far from th' Ark. I guess Wheeljack let Ratchet know about his explosive experiment ahead a' time."
"So, how are we going to transport him? He's too big for me and Brawn to move," Bumblebee wondered anxiously.
"He ain't gonna fit inside me either." Jazz gestured to himself, reminding them that a Porsche race car wasn't the best choice for moving damaged Autobots. "Hound, transform and we'll load 'im up. Your vehicle mode is open, and I think I have somethin' here ta tie 'im down nice an' tight."
After Hound converted into his jeep mode, Brawn and Bumblebee set Wheeljack carefully down inside Hound's open passenger compartment. Brawn, being the strongest, easily lifted the engineer, but Wheeljack's larger bulk meant that Bumblebee had to help position him. There were still parts of Wheeljack hanging off the back end of Hound—an arm here, and a leg there.
Bumblebee tried to tuck in as much as possible. "Hey, Hound? Do ya think you can shift around a bit so I can fit more of Wheeljack on you?"
"I'll try," Hound replied gamely. He moved about on his tires until Wheeljack settled deeper into the jeep's interior.
"Easy does it. Don't jostle him too much. He looks badly damaged," Brawn warned Hound.
"Aw, are you worried about him? That's sweet. I promise to be really gentle when I take him back," Hound teased.
Brawn folded his arms across his chest plate, which he stuck out in a macho pose. "Don't go getting sappy on me now. I was just saying," Brawn commented gruffly.
"Ah ha, got it!" Jazz exclaimed.
He had been digging around in his subspace pocket. Now he walked up to them in triumph. Jazz carried some strong cables with hooks on the ends over to them.
"The extra parts from my grappling hooks ought ta keep Wheeljack in place." Jazz tied him securely to Hound, wrapping the cables around his chassis several times. "Now go take a test drive an' see if it works."
Hound took off slowly and circled back to them. "Roger. He's not falling off at all. I'm going to start back to base now."
As Hound left, Brawn noticed various parts of Wheeljack spread all over the ground. They were mixed in with the remains of Wheeljack's invention. Brawn picked up one of the slightly larger pieces.
"Take a look at this. Wheeljack has left quite a bit of himself behind. We ought to gather as much as we can and bring his parts to Ratchet," Brawn suggested.
Bumblebee looked a little squeamish. Jazz noticed this and came to a quick decision. "Why don't you provide an escort for Hound, just in case he runs in ta trouble. Brawn and I'll stay an' scoop up whatever bits a' Wheeljack he left behind."
"If you're sure," Bumblebee replied with hesitation. He transformed and drove off after Hound.
"You know, this is going to take us hours to find all the parts Wheeljack managed to blow off himself," remarked Brawn.
"Or longer," Jazz slyly informed him.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means that we have an excuse ta be away from base all day, an' maybe, if we play it right, alllll night," Jazz explained. "Do I need ta spell it out for ya?"
"No, you're coming in loud and clear," Brawn answered with a huge grin. "I mean, most of the pieces are really small and they are scattered far apart."
"Uh huh. An' there sure is a lot a' debris ta sift through around here." Jazz made a sweeping motion encompassing the blast area.
"I like the way you think."
"So, you knew to expect Wheeljack? Did you make arrangements with him to go pick him up if he didn't tell you the experiment went all right?" Hound asked Ratchet.
"I have my ways," Ratchet answered. "Bring him over here."
Hound drove him over to the berth indicated. Ratchet untied Wheeljack. Then, Ratchet gently picked Wheeljack up and held him for a moment, as he surveyed all the injuries Wheeljack had sustained. With an odd mechanical sound of disgust through his vocalizer, Ratchet set him on the berth and began applying a solvent cleanser to the areas needing repair.
"Too many times, 'Jack," Ratchet said quietly to the inert form of Wheeljack under his hands.
"What's that grayish-white goop all over him?" Bumblebee asked.
"Fire retardant foam. Wheeljack has a fire suppression system built into his arms. His hands convert to extinguishers and normally this has to be under his conscious control. But we finally finished modifying him with some sensors that'll activate the foam independently. Good thing, too. It saved him from further damage," Ratchet informed Bumblebee.
"Oh, yeah, that's right. I remember the extinguishers," Bumblebee said, snapping his fingers with a metallic click. "Only it doesn't look much like foam right now—it's more like a big mess. Is Wheeljack gonna be okay?"
Two sets of optics stared at Ratchet expectantly. He pulled out some tools and prepared to work before he answered. "He'll be fine. It'll just take a while. He's missing quite a few parts, but nothing that'll terminate him. I probably have enough duplicates lying around to fix him up. The way he keeps going I have to have a supply drawer just for him." By now Ratchet was very absorbed in his task of tending to Wheeljack.
"Uh, about those parts. Jazz—" Bumblebee started to explain, but was interrupted.
"What?" Wheeljack popped up like a jack-in-the-box and glanced around with a startled look in his optics. "Ooh, that smarts," Wheeljack groaned, clutching his waist.
"Are you surprised? This is what happens when you play around with things that go bang. Now lie back down and rest while I patch you up," Ratchet instructed. He carefully pressed Wheeljack back down on the berth and injected something into Wheeljack's neck.
"Really? Ya know what that means? It works perfectly! Isn't that great?" Wheeljack raved with sky-blue joy, and almost wriggled in glee.
"Just because I blocked your pain sensors doesn't mean you get to squirm around as I work on you," Ratchet groused, a red metal hand pressing down firmly on Wheeljack's uninjured shoulder. "Since that put you in such a good mood, you'll be glad to hear that your new fire detectors functioned like a charm too."
"Fantastic! I was plannin' on testin' that out soon. Now ya know all our hard work paid off," Wheeljack said.
Hound looked puzzled. "So, how were you going to test it, anyway? Set yourself on fire and then knock yourself unconscious?"
Ratchet shook his helm and grumbled, "Don't ask." He continued to weld a cracked plate together.
"What I don't get is why you're happy about blowing up and catching on fire. Was that on purpose?" Bumblebee questioned Wheeljack.
"Not this time. It was just an accident. A lucky one too, because now I know that both of my inventions work great! Well, except for it detonatin' early, but I already got that figured out," Wheeljack said.
"What's lucky," Ratchet said, irritated, "is that you're still mostly in one piece! I ought a' take this wrench to your cranium! And that's another thing. You're missing some of your connectors in your right shoulder. That's more parts I gotta go dig outta the bin." Ratchet brandished his wrench threateningly.
Wheeljack stared back at him calmly, totally unconcerned. "You're not gonna hit me."
Ratchet lowered his arm and jerked a bolt tight. "Wouldn't have worked anyway," he muttered.
"About those parts," Bumblebee repeated, "you'll be happy to know that—" Yet once again he was cut off early by a loud, steady beep sound coming from the med bay's comm. station.
"Would one of you get that? I'm busy," Ratchet said.
Bumblebee went and pressed the switch to answer the call. He made sure to broadcast the conversation over the speakers. "Hello?"
"Bumblebee? Is Ratchet there?" asked Jazz. His voice was only slightly distorted.
"Yeah, what d' ya want?" Ratchet responded.
"So, I take it Wheeljack made it back ta base all right," Jazz said.
"If you consider 'all right' to mean blown to bits, then yes," answered Ratchet, snarky.
"We've got ya covered, Doc. Me an' Brawn are busy out here in the forest gathering all sorts a' pieces a' 'Jack he left behind."
"Don't bother, Jazz, I'm sure I have plenty of extras to get the job done," Ratchet let him know.
"No need to use up your spares, not when we're more than willing t' lend a hand. We'll stick it out all day if that's what it takes," Jazz breezily countered.
"For many, many Earth hours, searching, away from the Ark—no problem!" Brawn's distant, tinny voice had an eager note to it.
"All day," Hound murmured in wonderment, a faint smile appearing on his face plate. "Outdoors, in the woods…that sounds lovely."
Hound looked at Bumblebee. As comprehension dawned in the Minibot's optics, a similar grin formed and grew to match. "Yeah, that does sound like fun. I'd love to help find Wheeljack's parts," Bumblebee agreed.
"You would?" Wheeljack asked.
"I bet I can guess why," Ratchet told Wheeljack.
"We'll come out and help you, Jazz," Hound called out to the comm. station.
"Then that settles it. This is Jazz signing off, over an' out," he said with a flourish.
Bumblebee and Hound ran out of the med bay like their tires were on fire. As they left, Red Alert entered, observing them with interest. "Where are you two mechs headed?" Red Alert inquired.
"To retrieve some of Wheeljack's missing parts," Hound replied, distracted. "Hey Beachcomber," he yelled, "do you want to accompany me into the wilderness? I'm on a…ah, recovery mission."
"Say Spike," Bumblebee shouted at the same time, "we're going out for the day! Make sure you bring your roll of quarters!" The med bay door closed behind the retreating 'bots.
Red Alert approached an unoccupied medical berth and hopped up. He looked over at Ratchet, still working intently on Wheeljack. He also noted Wheeljack's distinctly scorched appearance.
"I'm here for my mandated check-up as required, Ratchet," he said.
"It'd have to be mandated to get you to come in," said Ratchet. "Just wait there for a while until I'm done with Wheeljack."
"I suppose Wheeljack got himself blown up again. Isn't that nice how Bumblebee and Hound want to bring back some of his misplaced pieces?"
Wheeljack just chuckled. "Now I get what's really motivatin' them to leave in such a hurry."
"Their true motivation? What on Cybertron do you mean?" Red Alert demanded to know.
"Just run the facts through your processors. Four mechs—five if you count Beachcomber, unsupervised, allowed to stay away from the Ark for as long as they can justify, with what they consider to be an ironclad excuse…" Ratchet trailed off meaningfully.
There was a significant pause as Red Alert considered this information. "They aren't coming back any time soon, are they?" he finally said.
"Nope," Wheeljack answered cheerfully. "Good thing you do have some spares, right Ratchet?"
Bumblebee and Spike returned by early evening that day. "Uh, sorry we didn't get here faster. This is all I could find," Bumblebee said, sheepish, as he deposited some random parts on one of Ratchet's supply cabinets.
"Did you two have a good time?" Ratchet questioned pointedly.
"Yeah, until Bumblebee kept getting the high score," Spike answered.
"Ha, what Spike means is that we were playing a game called 'who can find the most pieces of Wheeljack,'" Bumblebee quickly added.
"No, it was called 'Missile Command,'" Spike contradicted.
"Did I just hear Sparkplug calling us? Time to go!" Bumblebee grabbed Spike and left.
The night was almost over before Jazz showed up in the med bay. The other two could hear him oh-so-faintly singing as he arrived. He waltzed in, glided backward over to Ratchet, and casually dropped some parts into the medic's hand. He leaned against the berth Wheeljack was reclining on. Ratchet had completed most of the repairs earlier.
"Here's a humble little contribution to Wheeljack's spare parts fund," Jazz explained with a saucy grin.
"And so timely too," Ratchet sarcastically commented.
"I do my best," Jazz said, unperturbed. "'Course, there was the matter of a slight detour to a rock concert. All courtesy of Wheeljack here. Anytime you need someone t' snatch ya back up, I'm your man, 'Jack."
"It's nice ta know I made at least one 'bot happy with my explosions," Wheeljack said, laughing, his helm fins flashing brightly.
"Humph. Jazz isn't the one who has to worry about you," Ratchet said.
"Why worry? It looks like you did a bang up job fixin' him. In fact, looks ta me like Wheeljack is ready ta dance," Jazz declared, pulling Wheeljack up into his arms.
"What corrosion has entered your circuits this time?" Ratchet snapped, annoyed. "Dancing?"
"I'm just showing my appreciation. Besides, 'Jack doesn't mind," Jazz said, twirling Wheeljack around. Jazz tugged Wheeljack back in next to him and guided him across the med bay floor. "When I'm dancing close to him I can smell the chemicals. Science!" Jazz sang.
"The chemicals are probably leftover residue from the blast and the solvent I used to clean him up," Ratchet muttered, shaking his helm in disgust.
Jazz ignored Ratchet and continued to dance with Wheeljack. His partner was less graceful, but quickly catching on. "Mmm…but it's poetry in motion. When he turned his eyes to me—as deep as any ocean, as sweet as any harmony."
Wheeljack obliged Jazz and stared right into his visor. But he couldn't hold the pose for long before he fell into helpless giggles. Instead, Wheeljack leaned against Jazz's chest plate, shaking with mirth.
"When he's dancing beside me—blinding me with science—I can hear machinery!" Jazz continued to vocalize with enthusiasm. He spun Wheeljack out and back again.
"Of course you can hear machinery, you glitch-head!" an irritated Ratchet swore.
"Mmm… He blinded me with science and hit me with a blast of technology." Jazz dramatically placed one hand over his front racing stripe. "Good heavens Wheeljack, you're beautiful!" Jazz dipped Wheeljack back over his arm and then handed him off to Ratchet.
"You shouldn't exert yourself so soon after being repaired," Ratchet scolded Wheeljack. He had a sour expression on his face plate.
Wheeljack was giggling too hard to notice, his helm on Ratchet's shoulder. After a moment he was able to look up at Jazz. "Someone must a' enjoyed themselves a whole lot at the rock concert."
"Don't you know it! You should come next time, 'Jack. You'll have an excellent time! There's almost nothin' better," Jazz stated.
"Do I have ta blow myself up first?"
-END-
Note: I will catch up with all my review responses, PM or not, I swear. But right now I want to say thanks to Thomas Dolby for the inspiring song which I—excuse me, Jazz altered. It seemed like something he would do, and it fit Wheeljack so well! I did write in an opening for your prompt suggestion, Fire From Above, so thanks for that.
I also want to thank those who supplied me with Transformer names for necessary original characters. That really is a difficult thing to come up with. I might actually be able to finally start my other story (independent from 35 WJs) that Fire From Above suggested, Intern Wheeljack. It's been living in my head so long I'm really eager to begin typing it all out.
Thanks to everyone who reads and reviews! I hope you like this latest bit of silliness.