Author's Note:

Yay! Super long chapter! :D

Much love to the newest ones to jump on the OHOS train! Transformersfan101, bluejayblues0895, TheIrishPixie, and GINGER216! :)

Also oodles of love to my reviewers! GINGER216, Transformersfan01, Xireana Zetsubou, Kuurankukka, Sounddrive, Grace, Mercedes Wolfcry, Lewascan2, Zypherion-DeathNova, Spiritstrike, ZabuzasGirl, ZeDancingHobbit (btw, love your name!) LynxbyLynx, and Fanatic97!


"Commander. Commander. Prime, pick up. I know you can hear me."

He tried to ignore it. He really did.

"Optimus Prime. I will not stop contacting you until you pick up."

Did he really have to do that? He could just block his number, but his processor would still pick up him trying to contact him, like an annoying buzz in the back of his mind.

"Prime. Please respond. I know you are there. Commander. Commander."

With a long-suffering groan, Optimus finally gave in. Lifting his hand from tracing illicit shapes in the white protoform of Elita's back, he wearily touched his audio. "Prowl . . ."

"Yes, Prime?"

His optics dropped to where Elita was idly pressing affectionate kisses to his chest. He trailed his fingers up the curve of her back, relishing in the sight of her protoform glowing in the sun peeking over the horizon.

"Prowl . . . It's far too early for this."

Elita's lips pulled into a wide smile at his words. Her hands slid upwards, and Optimus breathed out slow and controlled when she slid her fingers over his sensitive audio receptors.

"You have yet to do anything."

He heaved a sigh, not wanting to leave this haven. Not to mention, his optics had already scoured the area and he didn't see Elita's chest plate. How far had he thrown it? Then again, some thigh plating of his was missing too . . . "Exactly." He let his lips pout a little for Elita's benefit when her adventurous fingers feathered around his mouth. "I am not a morning mech. Perhaps if morning started around noon, but not now."

That made an audible giggle slip from her lips. Giddy herself that morning after a frolicking night, Elita pressed several more kisses to his face. Her legs shifted, pulling up so they could straddle his waist again. Heat pooled in his abdomen.

"Well. Fortunately, for a Prime, your noon morning starts now."

Optimus groaned softly at Prowl's witty admonishment. He shifted positions, tilting his helm back for Elita's easier access. "Prowl, what do you want."

"It is morning," his momentary second-in-command reported. As if it wasn't obvious. "Agent Fowler has come with our new alternate modes. Twin Twist is being stubborn about taking his. Wheeljack is already looking for trouble."

He vented slowly, resisting the urge to roll his optics to the sky. Instead, his hands ventured more and more over Elita. "I can't trust you to handle this, Prowl?"

"I would appreciate it if you came directly," Prowl stated tighter than before. "Both Ratchet and I are ready to strangle the mech in question, and Twin Twist's childish behavior is beyond immature. Unless you would like them both in the brig," and he didn't elaborate.

Optimus's hummed at Elita's attentions. What was he talking about? Oh yes. "No one will be going to the brig," he told the unsettled Prowl. "Tell Twin Twist we'll settle his alt mode when I get back, and bear with Wheeljack. He would bother you either as Autobot OR Decepticon."

He was just about to hang up when Prowl stated, "Commander, you ARE returning to the base, directly? There is much work to be done, energon to be scouted, and we cannot let our guard down to the Decepticons."

He stifled a moan when Elita suckled on one of his neck wires. His silver protoform gleamed in the sunlight with an almost Decepticon purple hue, something Elita loved to tease him about. "Prowl, we just destroyed Megatron's toy castle yesterday. Am I not allowed a little while longer with my spark mate?"

There was a pause. "Respectfully, you have had all night, and—WHEELJACK! Stop harassing her right now!" There was another brief pause and a, "Oh you really—" and then Prowl caught his tongue. A strained vent. "Optimus, unless you want him locked in the brig, I suggest you come directly."

Optimus growled when Elita tongued over his chest. He rolled over her, saying brusquely to Prowl, "Tell Wheeljack that if he does not behave himself, he will not enjoy what I do when my time with Elita is interrupted. You will not throw him in the brig, you will control your own temper. I will settle all the problems, but I had hoped you all could manage without me for just a few hours."

He hitched Elita's leg up around his hip and pressed a hot kiss to her lips before he managed to finish. "Now, Prowl, I'm going to ask you a very difficult thing for you. Do not contact me for the next hour because I will be enjoying one more round with Elita—"


"—And if you contact me one klik sooner, the only sound you will hear from me will be more provocative than you want in your memory banks."

Prowl stood shock still at the attitude Optimus suddenly flaunted at him. His logic circuits nearly shorted out at the horrible thought Optimus threatened him with, and his door wings twitched. Once. Twice. And then he finally released a frustrated vent at the almost petulant behavior of the Prime.

He had forgotten how impertinent Optimus could get about his spark mate. And how territorial. And stubborn. He knew he had been asking him a lot. To relinquish the last little bit of time he had with his spark mate. But by PRIMUS he couldn't deal with Wheeljack. Not now. Not ever. He was as bad as those devil twins, pranks and cruelty all rolled into one. His morning had just gone from bad to worse.

Ratchet snorted at him. Prowl lifted optics with thinly veiled irritation. "He's not coming, is he?" Ratchet asked cheekily, knowing very well there was no way he could tear the Prime away from Elita until he was ready.

Prowl cycled the hundredth steadying breath for the morning. "You are not being of much help either, Doctor."

Ratchet gave a shrug. "Wheeljack is not my problem." He lifted his servos in surrender. "I wash my hands of him. My problem lies here with Ultra Magnus." In saying so, he turned to his work, vainly trying to ignore the hullabaloo in the room.

Twin Twist currently hand his arm in between Miko and Wheeljack who was currently harassing the poor human. "Lay off, Wheeljack," he told him with no amount of veiled threat.

"Or what?" Wheeljack said cockily, hiking a brow up and crossing his arms self-righteously. "Gonna stop me like you did with your brother?"

A stricken look crossed Twin Twist's face, and it was Miko's turn to explode at the low blow. "Wheeljack, stop it!" she snapped. "Fine! I don't care what you say to me! But you leave Twin Twist out of it. If your problem's with me, then fine!"

"I've got a problem with ALL of you," he snarled back. "So don't flatter yourself, fleshy—"

"Wheeljack." The rogue Decepticon whirled. Prowl kept his face carefully neutral as he said, "Optimus says to behave yourself so you do not intrude on his time with Elita or else you will not enjoy what he will do to you."

He gave one hard, flat laugh. "Yeah? I'm not afraid of him. And I have been on my best behavior!" He held his hands wide, turning as he said sarcastically, "I haven't tried to gut anyone yet! You ought to grateful for that, you ugly trash compactor."

Prowl drew in a slow, careful vent at his brash behavior. "I meant in regards to your harassment of Miko, Arcee, Twin Twist, and every other person in this room. You are blatantly looking for a fight."

"Then why don't you accommodate me, Tight Aft?" He waggled his brows, grinning with rakish malignity.

His cool front didn't change. "Wheeljack, I am asking you nicely."

"Then ask a little LESS nicely, sugar, I don't have all day."

The Synthen was rushing. It was burning, and it hurt to keep himself in check. He wanted to trash the place. He wanted a fight so badly it felt like the need was reaching up and choking him where he stood. And still, still, yet still Prowl's will did not break.

"I am afraid that would be against protocol, and as much as I would like to shackle you and leave you in the brig to rot, you have Optimus's favor, though you tread on thin ice with his patience as well."

Wheeljack grinned brazenly. He was getting to him. Cold anger dripped from the mech's voice. He was so ready to push the calm and collected one's buttons. He just had to find the right ones. Or wear him down so much he couldn't help but snap. It was a personal challenge now to piss him off.

"C'mon. You know you want to put me in my place. And you've got the rank to do it." Wheeljack curled his fingers. "Let's dance, kitty cat. Lemme see those little claws of yours."

His lips thinned. His door wings twitched. Wheeljack's lip curled at the sight—that was it . . . "I am afraid I am not in the position to abuse my power," he finally said tightly.

"Aw, what do I have to do to get you to crack, you moronic glitch? Maybe step on one of your precious humans?"

His icy cold optics grew colder. "Temper your aggression, Wheeljack," he stated flatly.

"Well, maybe I don't feel like it," Wheeljack replied flippantly, optics glinting right back. "Maybe I'd like to tear your manifolds out and stuff the little one up your afterburner," and his thumb jerked to Raf who visibly paled and ducked out of sight. Bumblebee trilled angrily.

"Wheeljack," Arcee tried vainly to intervene, "stop—"

"Shut it, glitch!" he snapped at her. He turned to face Prowl again, an incensed smile pulling his mouth plates apart. "This is between me and the dog." His door wings twitched again. Wheeljack's cruel grin grew. That was it. He had him.

"Wheeljack," Prowl finally managed to say without shouting, "per Optimus's order or not, if you continue to show such hostility, I will have to put you in cuffs and take you to the brig."

"Then do it," Wheeljack said, dentures flashing. "Use some FORCE, Prowler. Show me you're not messing around." When the mech with the police car alt mode had to take a deep vent, Wheeljack got up in his face. "C'mon, you little valve opening. You're gonna just take this disrespect?" He hit him in his chassis, making him step back. He thought the mech would grind his dentures into dust. "C'mon! Take it out on me! Hit me! Do it, I know you want to!"

Finally, Prowl unlocked his jaw. "I am afraid I am in no position to do so," he stressed tightly. "I refuse to raise a hand to you when I know that that is exactly the rise you are looking for. Please take a deep breath, step away from me, and do not lay another hand on me."

Wheeljack's blazing red optics blinked at him. Prowl really had bested him this round. For some reason, he hated that. He hated it so much. Bested by this aft licker? Fueled with sudden rage and still wanting that fight, Wheeljack whirled to the nearest gangway, and luckily, no humans were on it. He grabbed the long steel bar holding the gangway up and broke it free with a loud screech and snap. The gangway dipped and leaned horribly without the strut.

Then, as Prowl reeled up defensively, Wheeljack stalked over and laid into the alt mode Prowl had scanned.

He smashed the windshield first with a stunning shatter of glass. Then he crushed in the top of the car with a satisfying crunch of metal. Fowler was shouting about the government having to pay for that—but Wheeljack didn't stop. He busted both headlights, jabbed holes into all the windows, and mimicked the damage to the taillights. He slammed the steel beam into the back windshield, and the glass broke in a shower of tiny lethal pieces. He grabbed the top of the car and RIPPED the top off, throwing the remains of that piece back at Prowl's peds.

He snatched up the hood, snapped it in half, and gouged one half into the engine. He took the other half's sharp edge and stabbed into the leather seats, ripping up the expensive police car's interior. The base was completely silent except for the sounds of Wheeljack's violent destruction to the car.

After thoroughly skewering the insides, Wheeljack stabbed the sharp edge into the engine and then proceeded to beat it in deeper so it popped through vital components. The car leaked its bloody viscera all over the floor in black sticky oil, but Wheeljack still wasn't pleased enough. He slugged the car over and over again with the metal beam until he had worked himself quite warm with the vigorous exercise. When the Dodge Charger barely resembled itself anymore, Wheeljack brought his foot back and kicked it out of the doorway of the base. It sailed before crashing, tumbling, and flipping several times before it landed on slashed tires again, nearly squashing several humans along the way.

Grunting in satisfaction, Wheeljack threw the metal beam at Prowl's peds to collect with the crunched top of the car. He saluted mockingly to the second in command, drawling, "Just 'cause I felt like it," and plopped his fuming and sour aft down on the hood of the vehicle that would become Optimus's alt mode.

Still, they both knew without a shadow of a doubt that that show had been the least of what Wheeljack would like to do to him. Still as a statue, Prowl stared at the leftover glass and oil on the floor as well as one side view mirror. His face had ruddied up with muffled outrage, and he found he had nothing suitable to say to the Decepticon's petulant temper tantrum. Instead, he turned sharply on his heel and stalked away, trying to keep a lid on things.


Oddly, when Optimus and Elita came back to the base, it was quiet.

Raf and Bumblebee were playing video games with the volume low. Twin Twist was quietly placated by Miko sitting on his shoulder, plucking at her unplugged guitar. Jack was carrying on a docile conversation with Arcee, Ratchet was humming to himself as he documented Ultra Magnus's condition, and Prowl was sifting through a datapad.

Wheeljack just lounged half in recharge on, apparently, Optimus's alt mode.

Optimus sat Elita down—both thankfully fully armored after a teasing scavenger hunt—and Prowl's optics flicked up to them. He nodded. "Welcome back."

Optimus chose to ignore that slightly patronizing tone he used, actually quite impressed that things had managed to become so civilized from where it had apparently been before. Before he could say or ask anything—especially about the busted up police Dodge Charger outside—the door to Fowler's office opened up, and he strode out with a pinch in his brows and a folder in his hands.

"Do ANY of you bots know what this report is supposed to be about? I've got some strange and specific sounds coming from a valley a few miles out that I just . . . don't quite get."

Ratchet was the closest. With a pucker of his own brown, he took the file carefully from the human and flipped it open. His optics scanned one line, and he choked. He stared before the apocalypse began.

"Oh for the love of Primus—you two just COULDN'T WAIT, could you?" he exploded, and he whirled around, blue optics flashing at the slightly abashed Prime and the completely unrepentant Elita. "You waited millennia and couldn't wait another ten slagging minutes to be somewhere further away to . . . to . . ." He threw his hands up epileptically. "GAH!"

Elita just grinned, and it took Fowler less than a second. His eyes became round. His head moved forward some. His jaw literally gaped. For a second, he just stared at Optimus and Elita a wholly different light, and then he snapped his teeth shut with a click, cleared his throat conspicuously and straightened—or loosened—his tie. Wordlessly, he reached out his hand, fingers curling for the report. Ratchet mechanically handed it back.

Prowl frowned. Blackly. "That was highly inappropriate of both of you. Elita—"

"Oh, and I'm immediately the guilty one?" she interrupted, raising a brow. Prowl just raised a pointed brow back. She rolled her optics and shrugged. "Sorry I've missed him for millennia and he's too sexy for his own good." She turned, and that was when she noticed Optimus. Her optics widened. "Are you blushing?"

"No, I'm not blushing," he said back immediately, but he instantly began to blush a little more.

"You ARE!" she exclaimed triumphantly, and she watched his face pinch a little bit disgruntled, embarrassed even. She leaned up on her toes, pecking a kiss to his lips as she tried not to giggle, "That is so cute. I can't even remember the last time you blushed."

Raf cleared his throat. "Optimus and Elita were heard talking?" he questioned. Every face turned to him. Some beet red and others completely drained of color. His little brows puckered. "If they were heard, they might've been seen. I can check the internet for pictures—"

"NO!"

Raf jumped out of his skin at the sudden vehemence from everyone in the room. He shrank, and Ratchet groaned, pinching his brows as he told the young boy, "Don't worry about it, Raf. I will check for PICTURES." And he glared ferociously at both of the delinquents before harrumphing and muttering under his breath, "It was Elita." It always was her. Even Optimus knew better, but Elita? No, she had always been bending the rules close to snapping—or even WAS a rule breaker. Her somewhat childish and rebellious ways always brought him back to another human who had a disregard for authority—

He caught himself short. He turned to stare at Miko from across the room in shock. Miko reminded him of . . . Elita?

Elita turned, catching sight of the car hidden on the other side of Optimus's given alt mode. "Is this mine?"

Flawlessly she drew the attention away from the report. At the same time, Fowler answered, "Yes—" just as Optimus cheekily pinched her aft on her way. She squeaked and whirled, pointing a finger and narrowing her optics. "Now now, behave yourself. There are children, such as young Prowl."

Prowl let out an extremely irritated vent as Miko turned a particular shade of green. "What . . . is with them?"

Ratchet glanced away from her before grumbling, "Don't ask . . ."

A weird look chased its way across Jack's face—like he WANTED to be happy for them, but was currently acutely uncomfortable. Miko, on the other hand, was Miko. A curious shade of green stole over her cheeks, and she leaned against Twin Twist's audio receptor, groaning under her breath, "EW! That is so gross! Oh my gosh, first it's Jackie, now this—UGH, I think I'm gonna hurl . . ."

Elita laughed lightly at the human's reaction, having heard her, and she circled the car at her peds thoughtfully. "It's quite all right, Miko." She finally stopped and cocked her helm. "Agent Fowler, this is a beautiful car."

The silver Mercedes SLS AMG sat sleek and dashing next to the massive truck that would become Optimus. Fowler's chest puffed out some with pride that he had found an alt mode that she approved of, saying, "We thought nothing but the classiest for a femme of your caliber."

She smiled, waving him off. "Oh, you flatter me too much." She looked down on the alt mode. "However . . . May I ask? While this is a fabulous vehicle, I would love to browse some more selections."

She popped his bubble of pride. "Oh. Well, yes, I suppose that's fine."

Elita smiled again, looking with interest at the luxury car. "Of course . . ." she pulled the door handle, a brow arching when the door swung open up gullwing style. Optimus's lips twitched. She liked the flashy doors. "Any other car would have some serious competition here . . . but I think I would like to browse, just to be sure." She stood again, and if possible, her open smile became even broader. "Smokescreen! Would you like to come with me?"

His jaw gaped open for one astonished moment before he bolted forward with an exuberant, "Aw, YEAH! I'd love to come!" Then, blushing brightly and remembering the protocol, snapped to attention with a giddy, "Ma'am."

Elita just chuckled, enthralled. She looked back to Agent Fowler. "Would you mind if I went ahead and scanned the Mercedes so that I may better keep a low profile?"

He inclined his body slightly to her. "Of course."

She whirled with an excited smile, a beam of light extending from her optics as she immediately scanned the vehicle. Then, transforming down, she told Smokescreen, "Lead the way."

Unable to contain an excited whoop, Smokescreen transformed down with her, and Optimus watched with a soft spark as they headed out. Then, he turned his optics on the cavil Decepticon with his aft plopped down on what was apparently his alt mode.

"What we have here," Fowler said to him, "is an experimental all-terrain, expeditionary fighting vehicle, designed by the finest engineers in our M.A.S.K. division." He crossed his arms and gave the Decepticon a look. "Topped with a robot who owes the US government approximately 40,000 dollars."

A lazy smile pulled at Wheeljack's lips. "C'mon, fleshy, don't be mad." He finally opened his optics to fixate mesmerizing red optics on him. He squirmed beneath his gaze. "At least it wasn't Prowler here."

"I apologize, Agent Fowler," Optimus said graciously to him, but Fowler just interrupted him by raising both hands in surrender.

"It's all right, Prime. We can handle it."

Optimus nodded and looked to Wheeljack who still refused to get up without prompting. He extended his hand to the side. "Please stand up, Wheeljack. I must scan my vehicle."

Surprisingly, he got up with a shrug and little misbehavior—the respectful gesture to the Prime after what he had put Prowl through made the police car's wings twitch. After scanning the vehicle, Optimus then turned his attention to said Decepticon. Wheeljack crossed his arms, glaring back.

Optimus nodded a helm. "Perhaps you should become acclimated to your new companions. I suggest—"

Wheeljack arched a brow. "You're suggesting conversation?" Optimus nodded. Wheeljack blinked stark red optics at them. He snorted, but eyed the rest of the group warily. "Right. Sure, I'll do that."

Actually, he didn't. He just moved off to the side and brooded to himself for a while. Each bot went about their own business, and Wheeljack glared at them from across the room. Why had he come here? Because some human told him? Not even a human. Some half-wretch both Cybertronian and human. Maybe he hadn't even been real and he had just been hallucinating. He didn't know. But he didn't want to be here.

It wasn't just that his programming was screaming that he was in enemy territory. That he wanted to gut them all. That the Synthen was agitating him. Even his spark was twisted with unease and conflicting emotions compared to what he thought he should be feeling. He should hate them all. He should despise them, and he felt bad for them. He was sensitive to the human girl. His spark was gored from his chassis every time Twin Twist looked at him, and he couldn't understand why.

He took a deep vent, reorienting himself and his thoughts as he watched the kids start some rounds of video games with the bug. The Decepticons held one story about him. The Autobots clearly held another, different story for him. What he knew lined up with the Decepticons, but the discrepancies in his spark distracted him. His Neurocaroxic line was removed—presumably by Ratchet—and his mind was twisted and corrupted—again, presumably by Ratchet.

He couldn't fathom what that entailed for him. But he didn't know the Autobot side of the story they knew about him. He vented sharply to himself, unable to believe that he was going to do what he was about to do. Get all of the variables and then analyze the situation—

Which meant he had to talk to them.

Pushing off the wall abruptly, he decided to start with the human. There was no way he would associate with a weak human otherwise, so he marched his way over towards the gaming area. Bumblebee jumped before chirping *O-Oh, Wheeljack!*

Wheeljack ignored him. "Hey! You! Meat bag!"

All three humans paused the game and looked up at him. Jack blinked. "Uh—"

"Not you. Pom Poms."

Miko sent a worried glance to Jack before she got up off the couch, again saying, "My name is Miko."

Wheeljack shrugged. "Sure. Whatever." Then, he scooped her up so suddenly that Bumblebee jolted and strode away with the human in hand. Taking her back to his side of the base where they could be alone, he plopped her down on the gangway, crossed his arms and arched a brow. "So?"

Miko shifted. "So . . . What?"

He snorted. "C'mon now."

"What?"

"You know what."

"Really? Because I'm still confused."

Wheeljack vented shortly in irritation. "I know you're about to do the same thing as all the rest of these fools in here. Tell me that I'm not a Decepticon, that I'm an Autobot, something's wrong with my processor, and slag like that."

He watched her pull nervously on her ponytail, chewing on her bottom lip before she looked up at him. "I'm not going to tell you that because you won't believe me. And there's no changing your mind about anything because I know you're stubborn."

Again Wheeljack had to snort, this time in amusement as he stood in front of her. "Well. At least someone gets the picture."

She gave a small shrug, saying back, "I know you the best."

He fixated his unnerving gaze on her, scrutinizing her closer. "Oh, you do?" he said rather skeptically. "Then tell me about me."

He watched her chin jut up as she took in his uncaring tone with just one bat of her eyelashes. She walked forward so she could rest her hands on the railing, and though Wheeljack felt strange keeping optic contact with her, he didn't remove his eyes, trying to intimidate her into looking away first. "I thought you died."

Before he could stop it, he gave one barking laugh. "Right. Anything else?"

She frowned, but kept her gaze stubbornly level with his. "About two weeks ago, the Decepticons attacked the Autobot base. Everyone evacuated, but you fought outside in the Jackhammer. You were shot down, and I—I thought you had died."

She choked, but kept her sight fixated on him. His upper lip twitched a little against a snarl because SHE was intimidating HIM instead of the other way around. Wheeljack jerked a thumb Twin Twist's way. "Because he and his twin shot me down. Why else?"

"They didn't shoot you down," Miko told him flatly. "Starscream did."

"Starscream shot THEM down," Wheeljack growled back, fingers tightening on his arms as the eye contact between them crackled with tension. "He was trying to protect my back."

"That doesn't make any sense!" she snapped. Finally, she looked away, and Wheeljack was able to take a steadying vent as she stomped back and forth on the gangway briefly, struggling to comprehend what she was hearing. Finally, she whirled on him. "I bet you don't even remember you were a Wrecker!"

Wheeljack smirked grimly. "Of course I remember that."

Her eyes popped huge. She all but leapt towards him, grinning from ear to ear. "You do! Wait—" and her smile faltered. "I bet that's messed up too."

"Let's get one thing straight," he rumbled dangerously, and when he took a step forward, Miko winced before looking directly at him. He jabbed a finger at her. "There is NOTHING messed up about me, got it? I know what happened, I'm just amused by what you Autobots think about me."

Though her lips pressed angrily, she nodded jerkily. "Fine. Nothing's wrong with you."

His red optics narrowed. He clamped his hands on his hips, leaning down. "You're not going to fight me on this like the rest of them are?"

Miko shook her head. "No. Because I know you're so stubborn that nothing I tell you is going to change your mind."

Grunting, Wheeljack crossed his arms again, peering down at her. "Yeah? You're not scared either. I could crush you right now."

She gave a one-shouldered shrug. "I know. But you won't."

Her flippant discarding of his threat made his protoform prickle in frustration. "Don't be too sure, fleshy."

Miko just shook her head. "Again. I know you the best." When he just made a disgruntled face, she continued with, "So? What do you remember about the Wreckers?"

"Why I left," he stated flatly.

Miko shifted. "So?"

Wheeljack vented in exasperation, brows frowning. He jerked his thumb towards the medical area where Ratchet was busy working over Ultra Magnus's condition. "He's my problem."

"Ratchet?"

"Not the Doc," Wheeljack scowled. "Ultra Magnus!"

Her brows shot up and her eyes opened wide. "Wait—what did he do?"

"Look, you little organ sack, the commander there and I have a history," Wheeljack muttered. "In fact, I'm quite happy to see him on ice and I'm tempted to pull the plug on him myself. Take Prowl's tight-aft control-freak style and multiply it by ten."

Miko looked like she pulled a muscle as she looked towards Ultra Magnus. "Seriously? Is that even possible?" But, she had a feeling he was stretching the truth.

"Damn right." Wheeljack cracked his knuckles as bloodlust unintentionally began to bubble up in him. The Synthen scorched his systems, aggravating his personality. "He wanted to take the Wreckers and turn them into the Elite Guard. But nah, I'm fine, I'm a team player, so I go with it. And then comes the Battle of Thunderhead Pass."

She shifted. "What happened?"

Wheeljack gave a careless shrug while he secretly seethed on the inside. "I broke protocol. I disobeyed a direct order to go save one of the team. Pyro."

Miko blanched. "P-Pyro?" she rasped.

"Yeah." Wheeljack grunted, crossing his arms tightly over his chassis as the pain crept back up into his spark. "I broke protocol to go back and get him, but it didn't matter. I watched him choke up his own energon as he died. The Wreckers—we were pinned. We would have all died that day if Optimus Prime and his little groupies didn't come in and save our afts."

He brooded darkly, crimson red optics darkening several shades as he briefly recounted the tale. "So when we finally get back, I don't get amended for trying to save one of my closest friends, I don't even get some comfort for the fact that I lost one of my closest friends. Ultra Magnus reamed me for disobeying his orders, AND blamed Pyro's death on me." His fist clenched. "On top of that, when I go to my best friend for some solace, what does Bulkhead do? He fragging betrays me by taking Ultra Magnus's side and then deserting the Wreckers for Optimus and his band of cronies."

Miko blinked in shock at him, trying to understand if this was a true story or not or if it was just another twisted lie the Decepticons had planted in his mind. But, the nagging remembrance that Bulkhead HAD mentioned the Battle of Thunderhead Pass as the one that made him transfer from the Wreckers to join up with Optimus bothered her . . .

"So I left," Wheeljack stated simply. "I couldn't stand the hypocrisy of the Autobots, so I went to wander the stars on my own. I was a loose cannon for the longest until I met up with an old Wrecker on a distant planet. Seaspray. He was friendly enough, but was shady, so I decided to leave him. Before I could leave though, I was hailed by a Decepticon ship." Wheeljack rolled his neck, cracking it in several places restlessly. "The 'Con stated he had detected an explosive on the back fin of my ship, and since I was basically a Neutralist at this point, he had the good graces in him to tip me off.

"It was a proximity bomb. Would have killed me in an instant once I got out into orbit. My new friend disabled the bomb and we hatched a plan to get back at Seaspray." Wheeljack smirked. "So we planted the bomb back on the fragger's ship and blew him sky high. Dreadwing and I became the closest team after that day, and that's why I defected to the Decepticons." He grinned. "Not to mention, I got to use my science skills for a lot more disruptive and dangerous weaponry than the Autobots ever let me make."

Miko was completely white with dread at this point. Finally, he watched her mouth open and her voice cracked out, "That's not true and you know it."

"Like Pit I know it's true!" Wheeljack snarled back. "Don't tell me—that's not how you remember it?" and sarcasm dripped from his voice like blood.

She shook her head. "You said after the Wreckers disbanded that you went searching the stars for them. Dreadwing planted a proximity bomb on Seaspray to take both you AND him out, and you swore revenge on Dreadwing after that."

"Revenge against Dreadwing?" Wheeljack gave a loud, barking mad laugh. "Like I'd ever hurt him! This was the mech I could pour my soul out to you presumptuous skin job. I vowed VENGEANCE for Dreadwing when Bulkhead killed him!"

Miko flinched in a brief shot of horror before anger suddenly sapped into her being. "That's a lie!" she shouted back at him. "Dreadwing killed Bulkhead, and you know it! You saw it! We both went out for revenge against him! One grenade, one shot!"

"One shot for that fat-aft Wrecker!" Wheeljack cut in with a growl, and he felt his armor hinge up defensively even as his spark sang a different song to him.

"That's not true!" she cried out again, hot tears springing into her eyes. "You're lying! That's wrong, it's all wrong!"

Wheeljack scowled, lip curling up at her as attention drifted their way, tense and calculating if Wheeljack was going to attack something. "Believe what you want, glitch. You weren't there! I was! I know what happened! I know exactly what happened!"

His voice rang for a moment, but she didn't fight him. He growled shortly before turning to the side and crossing his arms in frustration. That bothered him to Pit that he couldn't get a big rise out of her. She was too patient with him. Too nice. Too understanding and too familiar. And his spark was in a volatile state right now, pained and agitated as they stoutly ignored each other for the next several minutes.

It was so quiet Wheeljack could even hear Prowl arguing with the Prime about himself again. But eventually, what broke the silence was the sharp rev of an engine, and blue and yellow shot into the room at near top speed before breaking, spinning into a flashy doughnut at Twin Twist and Arcee's peds.

The femme in question arched a brow. "Smokescreen?"

The rookie transformed up with a groan. "Aww, what gave me away?" When Arcee's face could only pinch a little as she fought an 'aww, that's cute' look at his childish ways, he said, "C'mon! Robots in disguise! Right?"

Prowl clicked in irritation, narrowing his optics at what made his ostentatious alt mode even MORE glaring than before. He could only huff to himself that at least he had gotten rid of those horrendous double 38s on his doors. Before he could berate the mech for going to such a showy paint job, Optimus stepped forward with a chinch in his brows.

"Where is Elita?"

To answer his question, another car came screaming in. Only this one was a rosy pink as the commander always was. She performed one wide swirling doughnut around Optimus's peds before coming to a rest in front of him.

The Prime's head actually tilted to the side to check his spark mate out.

The Bugatti Veyron was sporty enough to go with that saucy kick of her personality, but just sleek enough to be classy, and curvy enough to get Optimus all slack-jawed. Her engine purred a sexy sound as his optics drew over the luxurious length of her chosen alt mode, a delicate balance of high-powered performance and sleek, racy design. The pure, sleek elegance of the car had everyone staring, and Elita playfully revved her engine at Optimus before she transformed back into her bipedal mode.

"Do you like it?"

Prowl audibly groaned, pinching his brows as a low rumble rattled Optimus's chassis. "Like it?" he repeated. "Darling, I think you've outdone yourself."

"She certainly has," Prowl reprimanded them tightly. "Did you HAVE to pick such a meretricious alternate mode, ma'am? We are robots in DISGUISE. We are supposed to be keeping a low profile, and a flaunting alt mode like that will only bring attention."

Elita sighed in mild annoyance, saying airily, "Prowl, I know exactly the kind of attention I was going for, and that was to be a huge distraction." In saying so, she pinched Optimus's aft as she passed to settle the score, and she shimmied out of reach with a giggle when he snatched at her.

"Now now, Elita," Optimus teased her with a sly arch of his brow. "There are children around."

Miko and Wheeljack both groaned immediately at the public display of affection, and Prowl was left to try to politely but sternly try to keep the two newly united spark mates from acting like newlyweds. "If that doesn't stop right now I don't know what the hell I'm gonna do to them," Wheeljack muttered.

Miko shrugged a shoulder, just managing to keep her nose from sniffing. "Oh really? You're one to talk. You were just as bad with Arcee, if not worse."

Wheeljack's brows rose. "Arcee?" He looked over at the femme, checked her out, liked what he saw, and turned back to Miko. "You're telling me I had a thing with her?"

The young human narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. "Yes. As far as I know, it was pretty serious too."

Wheeljack laughed heartily, taking a great deal of amusement in this epiphany. Him? With a femme? Sure, he liked femmes, and he guessed he would take one if he wanted, but he never really did have the time for femmes. But worse—a relationship? Ha! As if!

"Hey! Candy!" Wheeljack immediately left the human, making her huff in irritation, but the blue femme immediately looked at him. Then, realizing what she had just responded to, she scowled.

"My name is ARCEE."

"Sure thing, Baby Cakes. But I've got some great news!" In his excitement to annoy her, the Synthen began to prickle again, teasing his systems. "I just found out we're in a relationship!"

A myriad of emotions chased their way across her face before she finally settled on indifference. "Well, until we straighten out whatever is wrong with your processor, we are NOT in a relationship."

"Aw, c'mon, Baby, don't be like that," and he approached her closer, making her take a defensive step back. He flashed a grin, wondering exactly how much he could take advantage of her. "You know as well as I do . . ." and he dipped his voice an octave, purring dangerously, "that there's NOTHING wrong with my processor."

She wavered beneath him for one klik before she vented sharply and backed away again, putting some distance in between them. "No. Right now, you aren't the same mech I cared for." His optics darkened a threatening shade, glaring at her. "You're changed, and you're not the same. You're just trying to intimidate me, and it's not going to work, got it? I need you to keep your space, and—"

Before she could tell him to keep his hands to himself, he whipped out a katana and rushed her. She reacted instantly for his attack, but she was too slow, and he slammed her up against the wall, katana pinned at her neck. Shouts rose up. Weapons trained themselves on him, but Wheeljack paid them no heed as he towered over Arcee, scarred lips curing up deviously.

"Oh, I can't intimidate you?" he murmured suggestively to her. Her vents came short and fast, making her chest plates heave. Wheeljack pressed himself against her, grinding against her, delighting in the pleasure he derived from the action. "Tell me," he purred with a provocative lick of his lips, "Are you intimidated?"

Her throat worked beneath the sharp edge of his blade, cutting and making her bleed a thin trail of fresh energon. "No," she rasped.

Wheeljack smirked at the blatant lie, but Optimus's voice cut into the moment with a flat, "Wheeljack, stand down."

"Gimme a second," Wheeljack said flippantly back, red optics boring into blue that swirled with a mixture of defiance, fear, and arousal. He could practically taste that delightful mix of emotions on his glossia. He leaned down so their lips were nothing but a hairs breadth apart, muttering, "We're in a relationship. It's the least I can do to kiss you."

He tipped his helm down for the kill, and all the fight went out of her. Her optics closed in surrender, and her mouth parted in heady wait. Wheeljack paused when he felt her breath on him, and he smirked when he realized she had already given in.

Too easy.

Grabbing her neck, he slung her to the ground behind him, and he grinned a patronizing and triumphant grin. She stared in shock, a thin stream of energon trickling down her neck. "Just wanted me to keep my space, right?" he taunted her. Then, he punctuated his mocking statement with a lewd lick to his katana, tasting her sweet energon.

Hot energon flushed to her cheeks. Humiliated, she transformed and drove off before anyone could stop her, and Wheeljack just laughed, delighting in this game he played with them. Before Optimus could say anything—as his optics had darkened in anger for Wheeljack's degrading treatment of Arcee—Twin Twist stormed forward, cobalt blue optics glaring.

"You need to back off."

Wheeljack whirled on him, katana clenched tightly in hand, and his optics blazed erratically at the Wrecker. "Yeah?" he said with a lilting aggression marring his laughter. "You might want to take a step back, you half-dead glitch. You're looking for a fight."

"Well, maybe I want one," Twin Twist snarled back, dangerously on edge and raw with the loss of his brother. Optimus and Miko both spoke at the same time, the former warning them to stand down and the latter pleading for them not to fight. Both mechs ignored them. "After all, in any other situation, revenge would be what is called for after what happened to Topspin. And brother or not, you're making it damn hard for me to resist it."

"Then DON'T," Wheeljack growled with a mad glint in his optics. "Let's DANCE."

"No," Twin Twist snapped. "You're one of us, and your messed up processor isn't going to goad me into attacking you. I'm just telling you to lay off Miko and Arcee and the rest of these guys because you know as well as I do that you came here for one reason."

His protoform prickled in ire. "That's my business and no one else's," he rumbled dangerously, the tension between them nearly crackling to snap. The Wrecker knew about his missing Neurocaroxic line?

But the next words Twin Twist spoke nullified that thought. "It's clear to all of us you just came to finish the job," he spat venomously.

His anger coaxed the Synthen to rush with the almost violate need to act on his aggression. In a flash, he had his katana resting against the Wrecker's neck in warning. "Don't tempt me," he hissed.

"Wheeljack—" Optimus began severely.

"Then do it!"

Caught off guard, Wheeljack just blinked almost blankly at Twin Twist. But the Wrecker's optics were hateful. Inundated with anguish and misery and bare defiance and a fiery bold challenge. He grabbed Wheeljack's katana by the blade, cutting his hand open he gripped it so tightly, and he pressed it firmer against his neck.

"Kill me!" he snapped. Wheeljack gritted his dentures, red optics flattening as he presented him with this temptation. The room was completely silent save for Twin Twist's ragged ventilations. One quick slice and he'd be dead. He could steal his Neurocaroxic line and be on his way.

Twin Twist's optics blazed feverously when Wheeljack failed to retaliate. "Do it!" he snarled again, and he pressed the sword harder into his neck, cutting several cables and making energon leak. "You didn't have a problem with my brother, so frag it to Pit, kill me! It's what you want, right? Then do it, you spineless Decepticon! Kill me!"

Wheeljack growled shortly in anger, shoving against the Wrecker and pressing his blade ready for the kill. Just a quick cut and he'd be dead in a spark beat. But though his entire body was reeled up for the strike—

He couldn't do it.

It was like those passionate blue optics KNEW he couldn't do it. Like he had known from the beginning. Wheeljack snarled, rage bubbling up, but as much as he hated the mech, his spark was receiving mixed emotions on all sides, confusing him, hurting him. He couldn't do it.

"Do it!" he screamed at him. Twin Twist gouged the katana deeper into his neck, causing his own energon to pour speedily down his neck. "Kill me! KILL ME!"

With a sharp growl, Wheeljack backhanded the mech and slammed the blunt hilt of his katana against the Wrecker's temple. Twin Twist crashed in an unconscious heap on the ground, and Wheeljack finally vented between gritted teeth before looking up to his audience.

He reeled up again. Prowl was ready to blast him into oblivion, yes, but the rest? It was like they had acknowledged this moment as weakness. Like he actually couldn't hurt them. Instead of denying it—as it would only make him seem that much weaker—Wheeljack smirked devilishly.

"Don't look so surprised," he drawled as he calmly—with a shake of his servo—sheathed his katana. "You thought I was actually gonna kill that glitch? Ha! As if. I'm going to let him live. I'm going to let him live, and suffer that spark break until he begs to be put out of his misery. And then I'll let him struggle even longer until he tries to take his own life. And when he does, I'll be there—and only THEN will I kill this wretch!"

He caught optic contact with Miko again from across the room. Horrified tears beaded in her eyes, catching on her lashes. Unrest surged through Wheeljack's spark. Angrily, he transformed down, gunning it out of the hangar for some space.


Author's Note:

For the record... Wheeljack's bit on Pyro, Ultra Magnus, and Bulkhead? That canonically in my universe DID happen. The Battle of Thunderhead Pass is when Bulkhead chose to leave the Wreckers for Optimus, is when Wheeljack disobeyed Ultra Magnus's order to save Pyro, failed in saving Pyro (his death dates back to the 13th chapter of OHOS) and Ultra Magnus DID grill Wheeljack hard for his choice which led to Wheeljack's desertion of the Wreckers.

(this is also my theory for canon, why Wheeljack and Magnus never got along because I couldn't really fathom Wheeljack leaving the Wreckers because, "Aw, new commander's making me follow the rules, weh, I'm leaving." So I thought of something plausible and tied it back to OHOS)

Also, for the record, in OHOS, Wheeljack and Ultra Magnus don't get along either .