Skreeeeeee…KABOOOOM!
"WHEELJACK!"
An explosion ripped though the peaceful, afternoon quiet, jarring the Ark residents roughly into alertness, if only for a moment. But long residence aboard the vessel taught the Autobots to ignore such sounds…at least, if they were coming from within the Ark; preferably the science lab. And long time experience told the CMO to bring along his first aid kit when he made a dash for the said laboratory.
His judgment was in his favor. Upon entering the lair of experiments and gadgets, he scanned the battered room for his comrade. A haze of dust and smog hugged the floor and slowly seeped out of the open entranceway. There came the smell of burnt metal, and the medic took a sideways glance at the charred, orange walls, some of which had gaping holes. Several light fixtures hung down from the ceiling upon their last wires, and the floor was covered in various debris, dirt, and shattered glass.
Reaching the back of the lab, the doctor found, what he guessed, was the cause of the ruckus. On the side of the wall were two metal chambers, which looked like hollowed out cylinders. Apparently, they each had a glass door of some kind at one point; no doubt they were blown off the hinges in the explosion. A control panel sat in the middle of the two pods; smoking, melted, and wires sparking. The ambulance then noticed the black skid mark on the floor, starting from said control panel and running across the metallic tile. It ended off at a back wall, and smashed into this wall, was none other than the mad scientist himself. With a frustrated sigh, the doctor knelt down next to his friend and began to fix him up.
Poor Wheeljack had been knocked unconscious…but not for long. With a soft groan, his camera shutter eyelids fluttered open and he powered up his optics. A red and white blur swam about his vision, clearing up to reveal Ratchet tending to his arm…and he didn't look happy, to say the least. Even with his mouth guard, the scientist still put on a sheepish smile as he let out a meek chuckle, "Um...hey, Ratch…"
"Before you ask, Professor Utonium", the medic growled, "No; sugar, spice, and everything nice doesn't create the perfect little girl; only chaos."
The inventor pretended to sound serious, "Well, once I find out what's in Chemical X, then I can try it." The remark received a bop on the head. His handy work done, the ambulance hauled the Lancia to his feet. During which, the scientist continued, "So, what brings you to my humble abode?"
The doctor rolled his optics, huffed, and threw his arms open to gesture to the tornado that ripped through the lab, "Savin' your aft from the scrapheap; what else?! Can't you do something quiet for once?!"
"What fun would that be?" Wheeljack defended; head fins lighting up, "This is my little shop a' creativity!"
"More like Little Shop of Horrors!" Ratchet snapped, "I'm surprised I haven't seen jive-talking plants yet!"
The scientist tilted his head to the side with interest, "You want me to try?"
"NO!" the ambulance yelled; fed up with the jokes, "What in Primus' name are you up to now?!"
The inventor sighed and strolled back over to his newest creation…er, well, strolled probably isn't the best word. It's hard to stroll when glass and rubble is in one's path. More or less, he-managed to make his way over to the creation. During which, he began, "Well, ya' know that marathon Spike put on a few days ago, and there was that one movie called The Fly?"
The doctor thought for a moment, "Yes, but-" His optics then widened in realization, "Oh no…"
The Lancia scrutinized his invention, "I got most of it figured out already…"
"Um…Wheeljack…" Ratchet started as he came over.
"A teleporter isn't too different than the space bridge."
"Jack?"
"In fact, I used all the info we had on it to try and make this."
"Jack?"
"But I don't understand what's wrong."
"Jack."
"I've tried everything and nothin' seems to work."
"Jack."
"Maybe I'm usin' the wrong kind a' test subjects."
"Jack."
"Do ya' think Prowl could warrant a teleporter?"
"WHEELJACK!"
The scientist finally turned around to face his angered surgeon. The ambulance huffed and crossed his arms; clearly, these laboratory mishaps were taking its toll on him, and this was one explosion too many for him, "You do realize that all of that was just a movie, right?"
The inventor shrugged, "Well, yeah…but they say all fantasy has some basis of truth."
The CMO shook his head, "And the truth is, it can't be done."
"Who says?" Wheeljack snapped.
Ratchet glanced about the destroyed work space with frustrated optics, "I'd say your lab'd have something to say about it."
The Lancia threw his arms open in defense, "Okay, so I had one little accident…"
"That's the tenth 'one little accident' this week!" the medic barked, "And this is, by far, the worst accident I've ever seen in this laboratory! You constantly get yourself blown up during your little schemes, and then I'm the one that has to patch you up again, only for it to happen again, and I'm tired of it!"
The scientist's optics widened with a bit of hurt, "But-Ratch…"
"No, Jack", the doctor interrupted, "No 'buts' this time." He glanced over at a nearby table; eyeing the large stacks of paper and schematics, "That pile of blue prints tells me this isn't your first try either. But with that many failed attempts, shouldn't it be apparent by now that this thing isn't going to work?"
With nothing to say, the inventor could only look at the floor, depressed. The medic pressed on, "Sometimes, the worst mistakes are made with the best intentions." He then pointed to the floor, "If you really want to help us out; clean this up. And because the surroundings are hazardous to everyone's health and safety, it can be deemed as a medical order." With that, Ratchet left the room.
After a long bout of silence, Wheeljack sighed and glanced about what was once his workshop-now in shambles. Trudging over to a nearby closet, he pulled out a Transformer-sized vacuum (yes, there was such a thing) and set to work on sucking up all the dirt and what debris he could into subspace. Thankfully, the sweeper (which, by the way, he created) was completely silent, giving him a moment's peace to think. What if Ratchet was right? This certainly wasn't the first mishap he had in the lab, but definitely the first to cause this amount of damage. Someone could've really been hurt…preferably himself. And what about the teleporter anyway? Even in the span of just a few days, he had already tried over a hundred times; all failures. And now, with the melted panel, he'd have to start all over again…ugh…
"Hey! Frankenstein! Is the monster alive or not?" called a voice.
The scientist continued to sweep, but turned his head to see a familiar red head standing in the doorway; the black and white guitar he created for her slung on her back. Turning back to his clean up, he muttered, "Cool it, Igor…comin' to complain about the noise, too?"
Kayla stayed where she was at, but never the less, turned in his general direction; immediately noting the frustrated lilt to his voice. The mech was generally happy, at least in the times she'd spoken to him. Something really bad must have happened to make him sound all dejected. With a look of concern, she answered, "Well, no, but…well, I was comin' from Jazz's quarters when I heard it, so…I just wanted to make sure you're alright."
The Lancia managed a chuckle, "Thanks for your concern, kid. I-guess I'm okay; just got some heavy duty clean up to do."
"Judging by the explosion, I can tell", the teen replied, "So whatcha' makin' this time?"
The scientist groaned; slag, this was all getting monotonous, "I was tryin' to create a teleporter."
The girl's unseeing eyes lit up, "Cool, just like on Star Trek." She then continued on a more awkward note, "Is-that what blew up?"
"Yyyyyyep", he drawled; moving the vacuum to another dirt-ridden section of floor, "And the whole control panel got melted to slag…"
The musician knew what that meant; a complete overhaul. Trying to sound hopeful, she asked, "Well, this is only one attempt, right?"
"Try attempt one hundred", he snapped, "Nothin's been workin' at all, and that last try almost got me killed." The inventor heaved a sigh of frustration, "I don't know…maybe it isn't worth it…I should probably just send this to the scrapheap if it's givin' me this much trouble."
Kayla listened to the soft hum of the vacuum as she thought. Over a hundred tries, and still no success? Between that, and the lab, she figured, was a mess, no wonder the guy was so depressed. Constant failure can bring even the most optimistic down…maybe she could cheer him up somehow. With a look of interest, she said, "Ya' know…sometimes, listening to music makes the chores go faster; it does for me."
Wheeljack looked to the teenager for a moment; pondering her suggestion. No doubt she was going to supply the tunes. Her genuine kindness was always a pleaser, as was her musical talent…and maybe it'd take his mind off his spate of bad luck, if only for a moment. With a tiny smirk, he agreed to let her play. Without another thought, she spun her guitar around and did a quick tune up; a befitting song long-since decided. She began to strum a melody with practiced skill, and after a few chords, she let loose her angelic singing.
Sometimes I'm in a jam; I gotta' make a plan
It might be crazy; I do it anyway
No way to know for sure; I figure out a cure
I'm patchin' up the holes, but then it overflows
If I'm not doin' too well…why be so hard on myself
Nobody's perfect-I gotta' work it
Again and again till' I get it right
Nobody's perfect-you live and you learn it
And if I messed it up sometimes-nobody's perfect
Within the first few lines of the song, the scientist had paused in his sweeping to give Kayla his full attention; the lyrics perking his interest. His cleaning temporarily forgotten, he slowly turned the sweeper off to listen to the tune.
Sometimes I work a scheme, but then it flips on me
Doesn't turn out how I planned; gets stuck in quicksand
But no problem can't be solved, once I get involved
I try to be delicate, then crash right into it
But my intentions are good…sometimes just misunderstood
Nobody's perfect-I gotta' work it
Again and again till' I get it right
Nobody's perfect-you live and you learn it
And if I messed it up sometimes
Nobody's perfect-I gotta' work it
I know in time I'll find a way-nobody's perfect
Sometimes I fix things up, and they fall apart again
I know I mix things up, but I always get it right in the end
Nobody's perfect-I gotta' work it
Again and again till' I get it right
Nobody's perfect-you live and you learn it
And if I messed it up sometimes
Nobody's perfect-I gotta' work it
I know in time I'll find a way-nobody's perfect
The notes faded away as she finished, and the girl tilted her head in his direction with a smirk. Wheeljack merely stared at her; she had planned on singing that probably the minute she learned of his frustration, and he knew it. But, all the same, he had to admit, it certainly was a more pleasant reminder that nothing came without flaws. To that, he smiled, "Nice choice, kid."
The red head nodded as a silent "thank you", then explained, "Ya' know…Thomas Edison was a lot like you. He made some pretty awesome stuff, but he had to goof up a lot first. But he always said that none of his mistakes were failures, because every mistake just told him what not to do."
The mech actually laughed at her little words of wisdom, but she was right. If the first hundred tries didn't work, then he'd just have to try again. If there was a space bridge, a smaller teleporter wasn't too far off. With a renewed hope, he asked, "Why didn't ya' just say that in the first place?"
The girl smiled, "I like songs better…" She then reached for her belt loop and pulled out her retractable cane (another birth child of the mad scientist), adding in, "Well, I'll see ya' around-pardon the pun. I gotta' meet Prowl and Chip for some more Teletraan-One lessons…good luck with the tidy up."
Kayla turned on her heel and started to walk out the door. But her steps were halted upon hearing Wheeljack call out, "Thanks for that."
Without turning, she shrugged, "Everyone needs a pick me up." Her cane guiding her, the teenager disappeared down the hallway, leaving the scientist to tend to the laboratory. But this time, instead of pitching all his blueprints, he simply laid them atop a shelf. He'd have to look at them later and see what went wrong with the latest trial. He didn't want to make the same mistake twice…a teleporter didn't build itself.
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AN: Not much to say here, other than I LOOOOVE the banter between Ratchet and Wheeljack. I had alot of fun writing their argument.