Fire of Youth

An Apology Long Coming

*We're gonna take a bit of a twist here: Wheeljack's turn. Figured this one'd be interesting seeing as he's the sort to fit the mold of "Ya want my respect? Fragging earn it!" and he didn't get along well with Optimus due to his disdain of generals. Expect some possible swearing here. 'Jackie's the sort to give it to you straight and blunt. o-o

A lone white mech leaned lightly against the thick trunk of an old tree, arms crossed over his chestplates. The expression on the loner's faceplates was an odd one not easily identified.

"Well. Uh. This is...kinda awkward."

Wheeljack had never been once to mince words. That was what had led to so much conflict between him and Ultra Magnus and the eventual disbanding of the Wreckers. A team was no team if it was constantly butting helms with the so-called "leader." Maybe he should consider himself lucky that the old mech had mellowed out a bit thanks to Infernus. It was one thing to teach fully matured, hardened Wreckers who knew what they were doing come any mission. It was another thing entirely to go teaching someone who was basically still a kid. Tactics had to be altered for better effectiveness. Being cold and stiff and professional just wouldn't work with the kid.

Optimus? He'd been a different story. Sure, yeah, he'd been ticked at him when he'd arrived chasing Dreadwing and had helped blow a fuel station into smoldering ruins, and gotten Miko to go on a dangerous mission with him to avenge Bulkhead when he'd been injured by Hardshell. But for all that he'd never once dismissed him in anger. Most he'd ever really done was scold him. He'd always seemed more...disappointed with his behavior, not genuinely upset. His command style had, in hindsight, been a lot more liberal than that of Magnus or some of the other higher ups he'd worked under in the past. Most generals or captains or whatever that he'd worked with had simply ordered units around on the field, never really getting to know them. They were pawns in a massive, lethal game of chess. Optimus hadn't had that same mind set. He let the unit get away with a number of mishaps, shenanigans, and accidents with only warnings and ensuing lessons if Miko's stories were true – and he had a feeling they were, just maybe a little exaggerated. He also had never once fled and left his soldiers to fend for themselves according to Bulkhead and Jack. He'd stayed right there next to them, evening carrying them off the field himself.

Bulkhead had been right. Optimus hadn't been like the cowardly, self-preserving higher ups he'd had to work with during the War on Cybertron. He had been better than them.

And his own fragging selflessness had got him put in the ground, blasted without mercy by Darkmount's fusion cannons after he'd scattered them all to save the whole team. He had been the one to stay behind while they had ran. He had been the one happy to lay down his life if it meant they would survive – the complete opposite of what he'd thought the Prime would do. He honestly thought he'd flee with the team.

He hadn't.

Now here he was talking to a grave.

The white Wrecker growled. "Hate irony. Hate it. You just had to prove me wrong somehow, didn't you?" He sighed hoarsely. "I kept a stash of grenades towards the back of the base you slagging idiot. Why didn't you go grab those, plant a few on the groundbridge, rig the timers on them, and leave with the rest of the team? Idiot. Could've done that while Ratchet was 'bridging everyone out. So why the frack didn't you?"

No answer. A light breeze swept through the clearing, hot and dry and smelling strongly of burned sand and fire. On a tree nearby a bird let out a harsh, alarm-like buzzing call. A weird sense passed over him at the same time, the kind you got when someone was glowering at you but you couldn't see them. He looked around curiously. He found no one – except for the bird which was looking right at him from almost a hundred feet away on the branch of a pine tree, its black and white feathers ruffled.

"Oh come on. No. There is no way I'm believin' you're possessing a bird just to glare at me. Nuh-uh."

The bird was silent for a moment. Then it let another one of its Primus-awful noises. The mere sound made him cringe. He got the feeling he was being scolded through the fragging animal. Slagged if he knew over what though. Disrespect? He didn't think so. That mech had dealt with Ironhide during the War and Fowler here so he was no stranger to that concept. He took that sort of thing calmly. Was it about his suggestion? But why would he be upset over that? Optimus had known about the stash. He'd told him after Bulkhead had heckled him to do so. He'd left a few there in case of emergencies.

"And now I'm seriously believing what I said I wouldn't." he muttered. "The slag is up with me? First I'm talkin' to a grave now I'm talkin' to a damned bird."

He thought back on his own suggestion. He'd stashed the grenades in one of the storage bays towards the back of the base. The evacuation had been short notice, and Optimus – well, not only had he been overseeing the evacuation, he was also a big mech. He wasn't quite so fast as someone like Arcee or Smokescreen. Oh he could move it just fine, but it was the fine movements that weren't so quick, and worry could seriously impair fine movements. Getting all the way back there, getting the explosives, getting back, priming them to a timer...that would've taken too long. The base could've been overrun by then. Wheeljack was trained for that sort of speed on high stakes missions. Optimus hadn't been.

A haggard sigh escaped. Damn it. If only he hadn't been busy keeping Starscream's goons from blasting apart the mesa he would've slagged well done it himself. Maybe then this grave wouldn't be here and a kid wouldn't be trying to fight a war he'd mostly been unconscious for while trying to fill pedes five sizes too big for him. Really, in a way, it was his fault the former Prime was dead. If he'd only been there...

Still the bird gave its buzzing, alarm-like, hoarse call in the near distance every few minutes. He did his best to tone it out with a frown. Primus, the thing really was annoying as the Pit.

"Look, I know we never got along or anything but...for whatever it's worth now – I'm sorry. For everything I did that ticked you off. Pit, if I hadn't been so busy trying to dogfight with Seekers, maybe you'd still be here. Here, you know what? I'll even cut a deal with you: I'll try to play a little nicer with Magnus, but I ain't makin' any promises. I don't like him, he don't like me. If he wants to butt helms, fine. But I'll give it my best shot. Happy?" He directed this not at the grave but at the bird on the pine branch. "Now would ya shut the frag up already?"

The bird's obnoxious, audial-wilting calling fell silent, and he watched as it spread its wings and flew off for parts unknown. He grinned a little, though it was more a smirk if anyone had been there to see it.

"I'll take that as a yes."

He removed himself from the tree. He knew what kind of bird it was now – the name had popped into his helm as if planted there.

A magpie.