Chapter Seven: Wheeljack
Freeloader seemed taken aback when I came to get him without Bee. Can't say I blamed him.
"Bee's on a mission," I explained. "Figured you'd want to stretch your actuators anyway."
He nodded slowly. I motioned him out the door. "C'mon, then."
The 'Con followed me out to the main area of the base. I was more than a little on edge; I've never been good with younglings. As he walked past me and began a lap around the space, I had to remind myself that he was no more a youngling than Bumblebee. The mech was so little that, of the 'Bots on base, only Arcee's two-wheeler frame was smaller than him. Definitely a minibot. Made me wonder what kind of Earth vehicle he'd had to scan to fit his build. Four wheels—two in his pedes, two on his back—probably meant some form of car. Maybe one of those itty-bitty ones humans liked to drive around green, hilly areas.
Getting to know the little mech had raised some other questions for me, but I couldn't decide whether to ask or let him be. He seemed to be getting used to the base and its occupants, and I couldn't decide whether that was a good or bad thing, either. The silence wore on. He completed three full laps before I spoke.
"What was it like at the Youth Center?"
Freeloader stopped and stood stock still. He wasn't facing me, but I could hear his visor snap down.
"I wasn't there for more than a vorn," he said flatly. "It's not in my memory banks."
I crossed my arms. He could have just refused to talk about it, like he'd been doing all this time when potential military secrets came up. Instead, he gave quite possibly the dumbest lie I'd ever heard. I knew this tactic. I'd used it myself more than once in the past. This wasn't a refusal; it was a cry for help. A weak one, sure, but it was there in his voice.
Well, scrap. 'Con or not, I'd have to do something now, wouldn't I?
"We both know that's not true." I said. An idea struck. "I get that you don't like me. Can't say I'm all that fond of you, either, but keeping frustration inside doesn't help anybody, so… want to spar?"
My words had a weird effect on him. Freeloader's shoulders dropped. He turned around as his visor slid back. His optics were strangely bright.
"You know what? Yeah. Yeah, I do."
Relieved that a therapy session wasn't needed, I walked over and set his cuffs to separate so he'd have freedom of movement but not transformation.
"No weapons or transforming for either of us."
He shrugged. "Whatever. We already know I don't need your weapons disabled to beat you."
"I wouldn't want to damage that smooth plating without reason."
We sparred until the team got back from their mission and Ratchet ordered us out so he'd have room to work on them. As I walked Freeloader back to his cell, we kept bantering.
"So, short stuff, what sort of puny human vehicle fit that frame?"
"Wouldn't you like to know. How'd you find something to accommodate those fancy blades? I wouldn't call those Wrecker style."
"They'll do just as much damage by cutting as a blunt weapon will do by crushing. Maybe more. I mean, I haven't yet seen Bulkhead take off a mech's helm with his wrecking ball."
"Finesse over brute force still doesn't sound all that Wrecker-like."
"When did you become an expert on the Wreckers, tiny?"
"Breakdown."
Well, I could keep this interaction friendly, despite that reminder.
"Now there's a mech all about the brute force. Perfect example of why I like to change it up a little. You stick to relying on strength alone, you end up with a stalemate every time. Just look at him and Bulkhead."
I had never been all that close to Breakdown, but we'd both been close to Bulkhead, so we spent a lot of time around one another even outside of missions—not that there'd been much outside of missions during the war. Bulkhead was devastated when Breakdown defected to the 'Cons. We all were. Wreckers have to be able to depend on one another. We were all we had.
Of course, Breakdown hadn't been the only mech to leave.
"You've got a point there," Freeloader conceded. "Breakdown tells me the same thing: his frametype doesn't allow for much speed or agility, and mine doesn't allow for much force, so when we spar it's almost evenly balanced…" He trailed off.
I nudged him with my shoulder, trying to lighten the mood. "How'd a smart mech like you end up wearing a Decepticon insignia, anyway?"
He didn't hesitate. "Shockwave gave me a chance no one else could. He made it so that I could help fight for freedom like the others. I'd never been useful before. My tanks…" He looked away. "Before the modifications, my tanks made it so I was either wasting energon or in constant pain. Shockwave fixed me and handed me over to Soundwave for training. A whole new door opened up for me where there hadn't been any before." He fell silent again. This time, I let him be.
When we got to the cell, I locked his cuffs together again, then paused on my way out and turned back to him.
"Freeloader."
He glanced up from where he'd been picking a little gravel from a knee joint. "What?"
I had to reset my vocalizer before speaking. "You'd be useful here. More than that, you'd be cared for. You could join us."
He stiffened. "I was cared for on the Nemesis. My place is with Breakdown... with the other Decepticons..."
I nodded and turned to go. The sound of his ex-vent reached my audials.
"Wheeljack?"
It took all my willpower not to look at him. "What?"
"I didn't say 'no.' Just… just let me think about it, okay?"
I turned one more time. He looked anxious, confused. Frightened. I couldn't blame him. "Take all the time you need."
