Author's Note:

Happy New Year! :)

Warning, lots of Arcee and Wheeljack fluff ahead! ^^ I also decided to keep it PG. It suits the mood of this fanfic

"Truth or dare."

"Miko, I don't think this is a good idea . . ."

"Oh please, it's just a little fun."

"C'mon, Babe, you remember where a little fun left us last time?"

"Eh, I think I've forgotten."

"It ended with me covered in dents. I don't want a repeat of that."

"Then don't be stupid enough to do a dare like that again."

"You were stupid enough to challenge my Wrecking pride."

"Touché."

There was a pause. "So, truth or dare?"

Wheeljack groaned at the red light they sat at on the way to the base. Miko was on the phone with him, chatting away happily and then she sprung this. "Miko, it's not even going to work. You won't know if I did it or not."

"So it's a dare?"

"Miko."

"All right! I dare you to . . . honk your horn in the Jingle Bells melody."

Wheeljack decompressed a sigh from his pistons as the light turned green. He pulled forward, saying, "Fine. Dare accepted."

HONK HONK HONK! HONK HONK HONK! HONK HONK HONK HONK HONK!

Miko whooped happily from the other end of the phone and Wheeljack just rolled his optics as he did so. Several people gave his hologram some weird looks, but he honestly couldn't care. He'd been chatting with Miko for an hour in the privacy of driving wherever, and he was a perfectly happy bot. Four more days, and she'd be back.

"All right, truth or dare?"

"Dare."

Should have known with Miko. "Ah, okay, let's see, something horrible for you . . . How about you . . . I dare you to apologize to me."

"What? Apologize for what!"

Wheeljack revved his engine to muffle a laugh. "Apologize for the first time we played Truth or Dare. I want you to apologize for making me do that dare where Ratchet beat me to slag because it was true that you had a crush on Jack. Yeah, I want you to apologize and admit it."

There was a heavy pause from across the line. "It's not true, so it's invalid."

Wheeljack laughed, amazed at her stubborn nature. "Miko, c'mon. It's been out of the bag with us for a long time now. Just admit it. Fine, I take it back, I don't need you to admit it to know it's true. Just tell me you're sorry."

"I'm sorry."

"Like you mean it," Wheeljack pressed with a chuckle.

"Fine. I'm SORRY."

Wheeljack snickered. "All right, I'll take that."

"Ha!" He heard Miko hum thoughtfully. "Truth or dare?"

He barely made a yellow light. "Dare."

"Okay, um . . . run your next red light!"

Wheeljack tutted his glossia and shook his head. "No can do, Miko. Fowler would have to pay for that ticket and would beat my processor in. Besides that, I'm already on the interstate on the way to base."

"Oh! Drat, okay . . . Can you do a doughnut?"

Flicking his rearview mirrors around, Wheeljack took advantage of the lull in traffic, slung into a doughnut that had his tires screaming, straightened out, and got back to full speed by the time the car behind him was breaking and giving him plenty room. He heard Miko laugh.

"Wish I had been there when you did that!"

"Doughnuts are easy," he said. "We'll go street racing when you get back."

Her squeal nearly splintered his audio receptors. "We will?"

"Sure thing, just don't tell the Doc or Prime. Come to think, don't tell Bee or C either. They'll rat us out."

"Our secret!"

He rolled his optics again because she was WAY too excited. Then again, it would be her first time. Come to think, he kinda missed racing . . . "All right, truth or dare?"

"Dare!"

"Do you ever do truth?"

"No."

Should have figured that one too. "All right, I dare you to do a truth next turn."

She huffed from across the phone. "Okay. Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"What? You just took the fun out of this!"

A laugh rumbled from Wheeljack's chassis as he got off the interstate and onto the dingy back roads to base. "C'mon, Babe, ask me something."

"Hold on, let me think . . ." She hummed the whole time she thought. Wheeljack cruised without much care. "Okay. Okay! Why don't you like Optimus?"

Wheeljack heaved a heavy decompress, deliberating this question. "Why? Cause he's a stuffy, know-it-all, presumptuous leader. That's why. But . . . He's really not as bad as I make him out. He's just too worried for his own good."

Miko muffled her laughter from across the line. "Is that it?"

Wheeljack paused. He sank on his suspension. "No. I also think it's cause he reminds me just a little too much of Ultra Magnus."

Miko stopped. "Really?"

"Yeah," Wheeljack said back, rumbling thoughtfully. "I miss Magnus. And the Wreckers. I miss being with them and Magnus beating the scrap out of me when I got out of line. Optimus just . . . I don't know. It's hard to explain."

"All right . . . You're turn."

Ah, that was right. "So it's a truth, right?"

"Yeah . . ." The sound of her grumbling made Wheeljack chuckle.

"So tell me, why didn't you want me to know about this thing with your parents?"

He could practically FEEL her shift uncomfortably from across the line. "Well, I . . . didn't want you to think less of me."

Wheeljack felt his ever-abused spark sink to his stomach. "Miko, I don't. I wouldn't ever. In fact, I'm almost certain this has only made me more impressed with you. You're determined and resilient enough to do all of that? Yeah. You're impressive."

He could imagine the unwilling smile tipping her lips. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well Ms. Impressive has to get off. Mom's calling that I have to go to bed. You know the ball thing dropped two hours ago?"

Wheeljack watched the base draw into sight. "You mean you're up at 2? Have fun getting up tomorrow. Besides, I gotta go too. I've gotta go pick on Arcee some more."

"Ha! You do that. See ya!"

"Till next time."

Man, that left him five more hours to kill until the New Year hit. But, this particular holiday was giving him wonderful ideas . . .

If Arcee didn't skin him alive first, that is.

Wheeljack transformed up, booming out, "Arcee!"

She turned from the video games the boys were playing. "What?"

He waved a hand, walking across the silo. He patted Ratchet's shoulder. "Sup, Doc." The grumble that ensued was instantaneous. "So, Arcee, I've got a deal for you. Don't look at me like that, we're going to have some fun."

She arched that skeptical brow. "I don't think I want to have anything to do with your plans."

Wheeljack grinned when she turned her back on him. He leaned his forearms on her shoulders, and she stiffened. "Lighten up," he said to her. "I'm here with a truce."

"A truce?"

"And an apology for kissing you like that last week," he said. He thought he could detect a slight rise in her temperatures. "I'm gonna take you up to the Jackhammer and we're gonna have a few drinks, talk some things out."

She pushed him off her shoulders, turned, and glared. "Wheeljack, I've told you already numerous times that I'm not going to drink with you."

He waved a nonchalant hand. "I'm not saying we're going to get drunk. Just a couple drinks. Y'know, chill and relax, get real happy—"

"Wheeljack, drinking is against protocol."

"And protocol was made to be broken."

"Made to keep order."

Bumblebee inched over and nudged him. *I'd love to drink with you* he chirped softly.

Wheeljack laughed and gave the kid a noogie. "Yeah, kid, in your dreams. Maybe when you're older than a vorn."

*I am too old enough!* Bumblebee fought, flushing with indignation. Then, quick as the spurt of anger was, it was gone and replaced with a pair of puppy dog eyes. *Not even for my first drink?*

Wheeljack chuckled and punched him affectionately. "Maybe next time. Right now I'm trying to swindle Arcee into this."

"And it's not working," she said flatly.

Wheeljack shrugged without worry and put his hands on his hips. "Sure thing. Look, Arcee. It's only once, and it's only for tonight. After all, it's New Year's Eve, and this was a human holiday made for the hell of getting drunk. Now, I've already promised you we won't get—"

"Wheeljack, I'm not impressed."

"What? Scared I'll drink you under the table?"

Arcee's optics narrowed to slits. "Wheeljack, you just said we weren't getting drunk—"

"Oh, so you just can't hold you're drink. I understand."

Her face began to burn. "I didn't say that."

"Then I don't see the problem here."

Arcee's lip curled. "Look. I'm not—"

"And why not?" Arcee's optics widened, and she turned around and looked at Jack. The human shrugged with his controller nonchalantly in hand. "It is only once a year, and you do need to wind down some. Relax! Go have some fun! I can cover for you, and Bee can give me a ride home. Right?" The scout chirped in a positive.

Wheeljack shrugged and arched a brow at her.

Arcee scowled. "Just this once . . ."

Getting her up to the Jackhammer was a tense walk and her drinking the first cube was like giving her poison. Then, as he slowly talked her down, she got tipsy, much easier to talk to and get her coming out of her shell.

Then, he found out Arcee was a light weight.

He couldn't blame her, honestly. Her little size was working against her, and he bet the Prime never let them drink high grade. But like PIT it was funny when she loosened up! She actually grew a personality and had some fun! When Wheeljack mentioned the stupid Solja-Boy dance Miko hated so much, Arcee declared she could do it, told him to hold her high grade, and proceeded to, eh, flail as much of the dance as she could.

By Primus, they were doing this again!

They sang some songs. She cried. They laughed. They swung around for more drink. Wheeljack promised another wasn't going to hurt and her processor was so fritzed she didn't mind at this point. Still, he had a feeling this was going to be her last drink—after all, he didn't want her upheaving it all tomorrow morning on his floor. He'd have to clean it up.

"I'm gooooooing ouuuuuut! I'm gunna . . . drink myself to death! And in the crowd I—ha, hee hee . . . I see you with someone else! I brace myseeeelf—!"

"Gorgeous, sweetspark, gorgeous," Wheeljack said idly as he watched Arcee trying to sing some song, voice shrieking on some notes because she was having fun. At him calling her gorgeous and a sweetspark, she collapsed into a fit of giggles and rolled her optics. "Really? You're just saying that to get me riled up . . ."

Wheeljack took a long drink, sitting across the floor from her from their last dance romp. "Am not. Well, I used to. But now the high grade's loosening my glossia. I'm spouting off truth every which way."

Arcee laughed, shaking her head so much she almost tipped over. "Yeah, handsome, I believe that. Do you know what size shoe Miko has?"

"Sure do," he said positively. "Size seven and a half. Good size. All the shoes come in that size. She's easy to shop for."

"I bet she'd like some, uh . . . some pink boots. With skulls. Yeah," and Arcee wrinkled her nose, "skulls are her sort of thing . . ."

Wheeljack snapped his fingers, pointing at her. "Y'know? I saw some boots like that. Yeah, they were snow boots. Poofy and black, but they had pink skulls and pink fur on them. I nearly got them for Miko, but then I found the tickets to that concert."

"Yeah, she sent Jack some stuff've that," Arcee slurred a little. Wheeljack watched her take another drink and sigh happily. His lips tipped into a grin. "Sounded crappy."

Wheeljack chuckled. "So? You're glad you came out and had a drink with me?"

She scowled then. "Yeah. Until you got me drunk."

"You're not drunk, just a little tipsy."

"Kiss my aft."

"Gladly."

He didn't make a move to get up, but it was enough to get dagger eyes from Arcee. "Oh yeah? Yeah, I can still take you on, still knock some . . . holes . . . some dents in you! Watch it," and she swung her arm which in turn nearly wobbled her to the floor, "I can still kick you up yours!"

Wheeljack chuckled. "I don't doubt it."

"You know? You never did tell me how you were before the war. What were you like before the war? A pansy?" She laughed at her own joke.

"Pathetically a pansy," Wheeljack agreed. It made her laugh harder, but he could only grin, content and happy that she was finally relaxed. Maybe a little over relaxed . . . "I was a real gentle bot. I opened doors for people, can you believe that?"

"Slam it in their face. Ha! That's what I'd do . . ."

Wheeljack finished his glass and reached for another. If he wasn't careful, he was going to start running low in his stash. "Yeah, that's what I'd do now. I was a scientist."

That made her laugh even harder. She shook her head, wiping tears from her eyes. "Oh yes! That's rich! What else? Did you make the greatest inventions?"

"As a matter of fact, I did!" Wheeljack said. He jutted his chin up proudly. "You mock me, but I'm serious. Granted, a lot of them might have exploded . . . but I certainly made some of the best things! I fashioned the guns for the femmes."

Arcee laughed, transforming her arm into her laser. "Oh? I bet you made this, didn't you?"

Wheeljack winced, waving a hand. "Maybe not the exact one, but the uh . . . blue prints. Don't wave it around."

She grinned. "Yeah? You afraid?" She waved it more for good measure.

Wheeljack crawled across the floor, carefully keeping his cube from spilling as he reached over and pointed her gun downwards. "Not for me," he said smartly, and raised his glass. "I'm afraid for the drink. You let a shot off in here and BOOM. There goes my stash . . ."

Arcee wrinkled her nose and transformed her servo back. "Yeah, that'd be bad. BOOM. Heh . . ."

Wheeljack collapsed next to her, and when a slightly lull in conversation hit, he filled it with, "So, tell me. Two partners, right? Tailgate and the talkative guy."

"Cliffjumper," she said on a sigh. She leaned against his arm. "I miss him. Both of them. They were good partners, though Cliff never knew when to shut up."

Wheeljack's optics softened. He slung an arm around her and cuffed her shoulder. "What happened to him? You never did tell me?"

"Screamer," Arcee muttered. "Ugly as slag dirt kisser . . . Cliff got in over his head, and . . . I don't know . . . We didn't get there in time. So he was captured and," she popped her fingers open, "poof. His life signal falls off line. Screamer gloated to me one day." She scowled. "I should have killed him instead of letting him go . . ."

Wheeljack felt his optics widen. "You mean—but he killed your partner! Didn't you want, well, revenge?"

"Sure," she agreed easily. She yawned before taking anther drink, finishing it. She threw it across the berth room. "But Bee looked at me. Got me feeling bad. And Optimus always said to uh . . . yeah, said not to kill in revenge. I don't know if I believe him."

Wheeljack frowned. "So Screamer killed Cliffjumper. You said you were in the torture chamber when Tailgate was killed. Who killed him?"

Arcee's tired face scowled. "Airachnid."

Clearly, that one was still a very sore spot—Wheeljack could sympathize. Arcee gave a little, bitter laugh. "Look at us. We're kinda pathetic, aren't we? Both been tortured, human partners we need to protect, bots we're out for revenge on . . ."

"Don't forget we both disobey Optimus."

Arcee gave a giddy laugh, helm resting on his shoulder. "Yeah, that too. And we're both sexy as hell."

"Ooh, a human phrase? Been living here too long. And I'm sexy?"

"Yes, you are," and she flopped down tiredly into his lap. "All the way down to your creaky pistons."

Wheeljack, affronted, took a deep drink of his high grade and narrowed his optics down at her. "The only one with rusty pistons around here is the Doc."

"Mph."

Wheeljack's lips pulled into a lazy smile, and he took the chance to nudge behind her helm. She sat up woozily then, demanding, "I want another drink."

"Not unless you want to throw it up all over the floor in the morning."

She laughed. "It's already morning."

Wheeljack checked his chronometer. "No it's not. You've still got a few minutes."

Arcee rolled her optics and leaned against his shoulder again. "Okay. This New Year's business is fun."

"Sure is."

They were silent for a moment. Arcee yawned again. "Hey, Jackie?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't tell Optimus."

He chuckled. "Our little secret."

"Big secret."

He cast a glance around the room. "Yeah. Okay. Big secret."

They were quiet for a few more minutes, and Wheeljack heard Arcee's breathing deepen as she slipped into recharge. He took another drink, and as his chronometer read the New Year, his gaze slipped down to Arcee. He leaned down, putting a small kiss on her lips.

"Happy New Year, Arcee."

Wheeljack was awake. His glossia was a bit thick in the morning after the night of drinking, but his optics were glued to Arcee who was still asleep, cuddling up against his side.

Empty cubes of high grade littered his room. The berth was untouched, but Arcee was a little more than cuddled up. The high grade had made her extremely affectionate, and she was quite literally sitting in his lap, straddling his waist, helm resting against his shoulder. Wheeljack had his arms around her, one hand behind her helm.

His throat felt tight. For once, after losing his Wrecking team, Wheeljack didn't want to be alone. He loved the feel of her in his arms, breathing softly and leaning on him, loved the feeling of comradeship. He missed it. He missed femmes. He missed . . . more than just that, though. He missed . . . a little something more . . .

Arcee stirred. Wheeljack let her since her optics were fuzzy when they flickered on, effects of the high grade, but her optics would recalibrate and fix that. She snuggled comfortably closer with a soft sigh, and then, she stiffened like she'd be petrified.

Arcee pushed him away, jolting to her feet like she'd been shocked, optics wide and dancing brightly. "Wh—Wheeljack? What happened? I so swear, if you took advantage of me while I was—"

He jumped to his feet. "Easy, Arcee," he interrupted. She trembled a bit she was so worried. "Easy, I didn't do anything."

"They why in Pit were we . . ." She gestured indefinitely. "Like THAT!"

He shrugged his shoulder. "You fell asleep against me. And, contrary to the popular thought, you're a cuddler."

She blinked. "A WHAT?"

He nodded. "A cuddler. That's what happened the night of the sleepover. You cuddled up against me. I'm not doing a thing."

Her optics narrowed to slits. "Whatever. We're not ever doing this again."

Wheeljack blocked her path. "Say what? You just said last night that you had fun! What's the big deal?"

"Nothing!" she snapped. "Get out of my way!"

Wheeljack grabbed her shoulder and pushed her back when she tried to pass him. "No," he said. He narrowed his optics right back. "Arcee, I'm sick and tired of this attitude you're giving me."

"My attitude?"

"Yes, you're attitude!" Wheeljack growled. He stepped forward. "You've treated me like the dirt under your feet for the longest. Whenever things start to get friendly between us, you always say something that riles me up or shuts the door on me—I don't know! You keep pushing me away! Why?"

Her face flushed. "It's none of your business!"

Wheeljack grabbed her arm again, refusing to let her go. "No. Arcee, I want answers. You afraid of what I'll think?"

"No!"

"Then spit it out!"

She yanked her arm from his grip and backed away, shouting, "I don't want to risk caring about you because everyone I care about dies!"

Wheeljack recoiled, her words hitting like a slap in the face. She shook, jaw clenched tightly, optics fuzzy from the high grade and throat bobbing. He took a step forward.

"Caring about me . . . So you do care."

She neither shook her head nor nodded. But, the look in her optics confirmed it for Wheeljack, and his spark roared to life.

He had known it.

And by Primus, he returned it.

"And the reason you don't want to care about me is because you think everyone around you that you care about dies?"

A faint nod.

Her blue optics danced with passion laced deep in her veins. Wheeljack studied her, this femme he had laid the night with, holding her so unsuspectingly tender—a gesture he hadn't been sure he actually had in him. She trembled from the pain of her past and the haunting of her present, exactly like Wheeljack—broken, afraid, and wishing she was better.

She touched places in his spark he hadn't known were there. But now . . . he did.

"That's a stupid reason."

Her optics widened, and before she could react, Wheeljack had grabbed her and drug her close, kissing her forcefully, hungrily. She gasped and pushed at him, but he let his servos roam over her smooth metal plating, mapping the contours of her body for his memory banks and relishing in a different kind of release than he was used to. It wasn't just physical, like it had been before with any other femme, this time he felt it tugging deep from his spark, filled with a desperate emotion that clawed its way to the surface. She protested verbally, but her body melted into him, willing to be taken.

Wheeljack led her to his berth, a place they did not leave from all morning long.

Author's Note:

That song Arcee was singing? Hurricane Drunk by Florence + The Machine