Happy Birthday, kirin_saga

[yami_samuraiflo]

Happy birthday, kirin_saga  ! I hope you'll enjoy your gift :3

At first, I wanted to write you something you suggested in one of our previous Y!Messenger chat, but I've been slightly carried away with fanfic-reading induced bunnies...

Title: Untitled
Word count: 5755
Characters: Ratchet, Wheeljack; Cliffjumper and Starscream mentionned

Not beta'ed, sorry...

"Ratchet?” asked Wheeljack in a small voice.

The medic paused in his work, wrench barely an inch away from… whatever the piece of medical equipment he was repairing was. “Hum?” he grumped.

“I need to talk to you. About Cliffjumper…” he added quickly, seeing the medic tense, probably thinking the engineer had managed yet again to blown himself up in some way.

The medic paused. “What about him?” he asked grumpily.

His vents worked harder. “Well… he’s been asking questions. About his Creators…” There; he had told it.

Silence. Then: “And?”

Wheeljack fidgeted. “Well, he now knows that his Carrier is among the Ark’s crew.”

“Ah.” Was Ratchet platonic, short answer.

Wheeljack frowned. “That’s all? You’re not going to do anything about that?”

“And what would you want me to do?” deadpanned Ratchet, turning toward his old friend, wrench still securely grasped in one hand.

“Oh, I don’t know for sure… but what about telling him the truth?” answered the white and green mech sarcastically.

Ratchet watched him warily. 3and what truth would that be?”

Wheeljack frowned. “Come on, Ratch’… I helped you deliver him; I should know he is your creation, even if you won’t acknowledge the fact.”

Ratchet didn’t say anything for a long time. “What does he know of his Carrier?” he finally asked, face still blank.

“… That he was underage when he conceived and had to give away the newly-sparked mechling, since he was in no shape to take care of him by himself,” answered Wheeljack quite easily after a short hesitation. Ratchet snorted. “Which is true, you know that,” pointed out the engineer, frowning a little.

Ratchet smiled humorlessly. “So, he knows his Carrier is, most likely, a youngster?” Wheeljack nodded warily. “And, supposedly, how old am I?” asked the medic, tilting his head to the side with a tigh smile.

Wheeljack startled. “What are you…? Ratch’, you’re…” The medic dismissed his answer with a simple gesture. “I know how old I am; what I ask you is, in the optics of about everyone on this ship, how old I am supposed to be?”

Wheeljack tensed. “It’s not fair; you know they don’t…” Ratchet waved his wrench in his friend’s face, forcing him to take a step back, wary.

“Now, I repeat once again: as far as the average mech know, how old am I?” hissed Ratchet.

Wheeljack stilled. “…Very old?” he offered, trying to be diplomatic. “But you’re not, Ratchet,” he added almost desperately. “Primus, even with our 4 millions of years nap, you’re still barely out of younglinghood!”

“So you say; from the way sparkplug explained the organics development, I would be more like a twenty-something human,” shrugged the white mech. “And I’ve been CMO for about half of this fragging war, age notwithstanding,” he groused. “So what are the chances he figures it out? He’s more likely to suspect Red, or Inferno, or even Sideswipe, for Pit’s sake! Certainly not me, and it’s perfectly fine like that!”

Wheeljack was ready to argue, he really was; but a good look at Ratchet (and his handy wrench) dissuaded him. One would have thought the medic didn’t care much for his creation. In truth, Wheeljack thought he had cared too much; giving up Cliffjumper to the State had almost destroyed him, and his ‘old’ friend had never truly been the same since.

Ratchet had become archer, bitterer, almost always in a fool mood, cussing right and left and playing the wiser, older mech. And everyone so far had bought the act (aside from the few who had known the white and red mech before). The medic had certainly never hoped to see his sparkling again when he gave him up.

But for the better or for the worst, they had unknowingly found each other again, and if Cliffjumper ignored all of his origins, and Ratchet was either pretty much in denial or too scared to admit the truth, the engineer knew better.

“… One of these days, he’s going to figure it out. And if not him, someone else will. Prowl and Red Alert are sneaky and suspicious fraggers when they get their mind in a loop… And the way they looked at the two of you before make me think they’re not dupe of your little charade,” tried the white and green stripped mech.

“So? It’s not like they’re going to babble it to everyone and their pet cybercat if they found out,” groused the medic. “Those two understand what the word ‘privacy’ means. And they will perfectly understand why I want it to stay this way.”

Wheeljack grimaced behind his mask. “So you say…” Ratchet cut him out immediately. “No, no and NO; we’re not going to have this argument again,” he warned his friend, optics narrowed. “You should not – and will not bring the subject again.”

“And why shouldn’t I?” hissed the engineer.

“Why? Because for me and everyone else but you –stupid, stubborn, well-meaning but annoying fragger –, it was my own fault I ended knocked up,” snarled the medic, optics almost white with rage.

Wheeljack’s temper flared. “It’s not and it never will! If anyone is to blame, it’s the slagger who rushed out your upgrades and gave you an adult body with active reproductive system!” he almost screamed back.

Ratchet stilled completely, hand loosening around the wrench, which fell, clattering to the ground. He took a step back, leaning his back against the wall; he looked quite shaken, and a little sad. Wheeljack winced; he shouldn’t have said that, but it was a very old argument between them. One they hadn’t be able to ever agree upon.

“… I had an adult frame, Wheeljack. Given to me far too soon, of course, but I was still looking like a mature Cybertronina. Sure, my processors weren’t up to par with my physical age, but I still looked adult enough for any bystanders…” muttered the medic almost inaudibly.

“And you were totally cratered and unable to take a coherent decision!” snarled Wheeljack, vocal indicators flashing brightly. “The son of a rusted garbage disposal who hit on you shouldn’t have done that in the first place!”

Ratchet looked at him. “I seem to remember that he was kind of drunk too, and that he wasn’t so much more older than me.” Wheeljack gave him a look and Ratchet shrugged. “Actually, the age difference between us wasn’t – and still isn’t – more shocking than, said, the one between Bluestreak and Ironhide,” snipped Ratchet, and Wheeljack chocked on air.

“The two of them…? But… Chromia…?”

“Oh, ‘Jack, calm down; it hasn’t gone farther than the innocent crush and some loving stare directed at our Weapon Master from our young gunner… that, and a surprise chaste kiss on the lips,” chuckled the CMO. “Ironhide isn’t sure of how to deal with that, and Chromia is actually quite amused and ready to ‘show the ropes’ to the kid if it came down to a threesome.”

Wheeljack sagged; Ratchet laughed out loud, and just for that, Wheeljack felt grateful; at least his young friend didn’t seem to hate him for his previous comments.

 “Oh, and concerning your comment about that’ son of a rusted garbage disposal…” Wheeljack tilted his head to the side. “Starscream will be happy to hear you think so highly of him,” finished the medic with a smirk.

Wheeljack sneered. “I bet he will. The glitch wouldn’t even be part of his creation’s life… could have stayed with you, or at the very least offered some help with the raising of ‘Jumper; you could have kept him with you instead of giving him up for adoption.”

Ratchet nodded. “Yeah, he could have… but he was pinning after Skyfire at the time, and I was just a one-night-stand with some unhappy consequences. Then came his legal troubles… He wasn’t more ready than me to deal with the whole creators’ thing. In fact, he was certainly even less prepared. Adding the fact that the sparkling was born a ground-pounder…” he shrugged, as if it explained everything.

“Oh the shame,” snipped Wheeljack, but he was tense. “Primus forbids they care for anyone but their petty self and peripherally, their kind.”

“You would be surprised,” muttered Ratchet. “They can be vicious slaggers for sure, but one they care about someone, you’ll find they never, ever harm them. I would like to make you notice that he never actively tried to kill Cliffjumper on or out the battlefield.”

“And you think it’s a good news?” asked Wheeljack, disbelieving.

“Oh yeah; trust me, if Starscream didn’t have at least a tinkle of affection or interest in his offspring, he would have offlined him already,” confirmed the CMO with a tight smile. “Seekers are like that, you know; the most ruthless will even cannibalize their young’s parts. Or so I’ve heard, though it looks like badly written propaganda to me; I’ve never found one official record attesting of one such act.”

Wheeljack refrained himself from commenting. It sounded doubtful alright, but at the same time, he wouldn’t have put it past the red Seeker and his usual cohort. Fraggers… “So he didn’t exactly try to kill ‘Jumper himself. And… you?” he asked.

Ratchet made a non descriptive sound. “I’m not dead yet, so either Starscream just doesn’t care much about me – which is very likely, in fact – or he decided that a) killing me could wait or b) he was ordered to not to.”

Wheeljack frowned. “Ordered? You think?” It seemed almost logic, when he thought about it…

Ratchet nodded. “The ‘Cons had a freaking ‘capture not kill’ bounty on me a while back; they probably changed their mind but I was never seriously target – or at least, whenever I was hit, it was nothing I couldn’t or you couldn’t handle repairing.”

Wheeljack open his mouth to answer…

“That or he wants to see how ‘Jumper and me turn out before he can claim ownership or dismiss us altogether,” added the medic with a humorless smirk.

Wheeljack’s optics flared. “Claim you?!” he almost strangled himself on a small ruptured coolant line. Oh, he so didn’t like sound of it…

Ratchet gave him a tense smile. “A Seeker thing; they occasionally claim mechs or femmes who impressed them as flock and kin. Meaning, they consider them worthy to be protected with lethal intents toward anyone wishing them harm if they’re underage, and to be shagged senseless by Seekers only, and ‘beware the impudent fools who’ll try to flirt with them: you’ll never find the body again’ if they are mature. Once a Seeker has marked you as his own, the whole flock will keep an optic out for you and assist you if they think you need it. And it’s include the raising of the younglings,” he added with a pointed look.

“He… would have done that to ‘Jumper, you think?” Asked the engineer after a klik. After all, fatherly pride wasn’t exactly something he could see in Starscream regarding Cliffjumper.

Ratchet looked pensive for a breem. “Don’t know for sure; but assuming he wouldn’t have killed him yet, if we were still on Cybertron, if we weren’t neck deep into a fragging war and if ‘Jumper was of age, I’m almost certain old Screamer would have tried to have him fight and impress a younger trine to be considered as a potential mate. Though out dear ‘Jumper would have agreed.”

He smiled bitterly. “Nobody might have noticed, but Cliffjumper takes a lot after his Sire, temper-wise.”

Wheeljack refrained to comment that any quirk in ‘Jumper’s mind might as well have come from the medic; the white and red mech wasn’t the nicest, calmest mech around either. Instead, he tried to pursue the conversation, as sickening as it started to be for him.

“Why would Starscream do that, though? He was never part of Cliffjumper’s life, even during the one vorn you kept him with you before having to finally accept you couldn’t take care of him properly alone.”

Ratchet’s answer was simple and to the point. “Asides of too many shared codes creating crazy mechs?” he deadpanned; humans had something like that, with genetic and heredity.

Cybertronians could have the same problem, but it took longer to manifest. Seekers… didn’t like to mix with other frame models, which landed in a rather uncomfortable situation; notably, less and less processor-stable offspring, when they didn’t die young among other unpleasant medical conditions.

It ranged from the full pledged psychopaths of the Vortex kind to the manic personalities and the fully glitched ones and, very rarely, in some kind of mutants with admonishing powers. Skywarp was a prime example… Prideful, Seekers were, but they weren’t idiots; they knew perfectly well they were a doomed model if they didn’t take measures. But if they were never going to exactly oppose a relationship between one of their own and a ground-pounder, nobody said they had to like that.

“’Cause Cliffjumper, aside of the little, almost no consequential fact he is his creation, still carry flier’s coding, so he would have better chances to bear or sire a sparkling with wings. No true, proper Seeker, but a nice variation adding different, welcomed codes back into the lines. Just like the Datsuns trio,” he found himself adding.

“WHAT?!” he screamed; he couldn’t stop himself. When he had come to confront Ratchet about Cliffjumper’s query, he had never expected getting in over his head with random information and secrets he hadn’t wanted to know…

“No need to yell, Wheeljack,” tsked the medic. He started to elaborate his claim. “Praxus was originally a colony founded by the descendants of some ground-pounders and fliers mix, resulting in their peculiar doorwings. And since they tended to take fliers as mates every so often in their lineage to keep their unusual shape, well… You can guess where it is going.”

Wheeljack nodded slowly. Oh, he had always known Seekers were bad news, but at this point? He knew the appeal one who could fly had for both sides of the war; fliers were mainly in Megatron’s ranks, aside from a few, and so the Warlord had assured himself an advantage. One the Senate had been frothing at the mouth about. They had wanted to create their own flying models at the time – going so far as to order the Science Academy to turn their researches toward that goal. Had they know they possibly could create some fliers while basing themselves on the Praxian’s model…

He shuddered, suddenly very glad they weren’t on Cybertron anymore, and that most of the Senate had been eradicated.

“I take the Senate didn’t know?” he asked slowly. Ratchet’s optics narrowed. “If they did, most of them were killed before they could do anything with the knowledge,” he answered tartly.

“… What does it mean for our residents Praxians?” asked Wheeljack, trying to banish his darker thoughts. He would go and spend some time with Bluestreak once all was said and done with the medic; he wanted to reassure himself the kid wasn’t going to suffer any harm… Not ever.

Ratchet tilted his head. “Well… Technically, and basing ourselves on natural gestation periods and not banned experiments… even if they are each issued of two or more grounded mechs, Prowl, Smokescreen and Bluestreak might still carry enough fliers’ coding in them to increase the chance their offsprings will be fliers if they mate with a Seeker or one of their Coneheads’ cousins. Which, as you can guess, has little chance to happen.”

Wheeljack nodded; Bluestreak was apparently quite smitten with Ironhide, Prowl only had eyes for his commander and his fellow black and white officer, and Smokescreen… well, the last Praxian had some kind of relationship with Red Alert, which didn’t please Inferno the slightest.

“And on another note, how do you think Powerglide came around?” continued the medic, not bothering to let his friend say anything. “He has a Seeker carrier and a part-Seeker code-writer; I asked him a long time ago. It helped me to solve quite a few puzzles.”

“Ah… Well, I suppose it’s good, then,” said Wheeljack awkwardly. Powerglide, Seeker related? He had no idea ‘til now. He could already hear Cliffjumper’s screaming ‘traitor’ high and clear. Which would be a delicious irony, now that he thought about it…

His spark skipped a beat as he imagined it would certainly be the same reaction the red Minibot’ll offer Ratchet if he wasn’t aware of all the facts…

Ratchet didn’t take notice of his intervention. “Of course, it also, as the humans say, opened another full can of worms when I asked him on pointer about Seeker’s behavior, courtship and honor code. Primus, did I ever regret it,” he grumbled unhappily. “But at least, now, I know what to expect.”

“From who? Starscream?” asked the engineer.

Ratchet shrugged. “Among others. But he’s… not exactly the main problem,” sighed the white and red mech. “Rather, it’s the fact he’s more or less the last official authority on Vos’ remaining citizens – no, no, don’t say anything, I know you don’t want to admit it, but the mighty Screamer is the Air Commander, and as such represent authority to his kindred –, and what exactly he might do to help rebuild his city and his people later on.”

Wheeljack’s optics flashed. “Reproduction programs?” he asked softly. It was a very sore point to discuss; nobody involved in the planning had liked it the slightest, but it couldn’t be avoided forever. Not with their population reduced to barely a quarter of its former number, Decepticons included.

Ratchet nodded. “We Autobots drew out our own should we win; Decepticons have surely done the very same, and Starscream’s probably in, and deep.”

“Are you telling me…?” started the engineer. Ratchet shook his head to stop him from going further.

“I’m telling you nothing, I just inform you of some very interesting facts I discovered and put together like a jigsaw,” replied the medic. “The number of Seekers still online since the start of the war had decreased dramatically. If, assuming they don’t all die in the process, they win or lose the war, they will be faced with the problem of rebuilding their peculiar series model. So they will naturally turn toward mechs having full or partial flier’s code… and mechs and femmes who impressed them enough to bear or sire their children, to increase the chances of a good offspring.” Ratchet’s optics flashed briefly. “It can be tricky, let me tell you, but anyone who managed to almost beat them to a pulp or kill enough enemies might end up on this list.”

“So they would… switch their interests to anyone?” asked Wheeljack with a small voice, mildly disturbed by Ratchet’s explanation. Lots of warriors – and not just them, but about everyone on the Ark had pushed their weight around and inflicted severe losses to the Decepticons’ army.

“No,” he said simply. “Not as long as mechs more worthy of their attentions are around, which includes, well, let me think for a klik… Almost all Decepticons can fly – even if they make less than ideal parental ground, so it might rebut them a little – and they will most likely go after Powerglide, Skyfire or the Aerialbots first… Pit, even Swoop would be better suited in their minds, since they already have wings and flier’s coding.”

“And… you? Where do you feature in this very hypothetical mad scheme?” asked the scientist with dread. Ratchet tilted his head.

“Me? Let see: I’m an extraordinary, well-renowned medic who can pull miracles out of his exhaust port at every turns – yes I’m not modest, but I don’t see why I should be right now. I also have an incredible aim with a wrench and a rifle if I want to; I have a nasty temper and can make anyone obey my every order just by giving them a Look. Decepticons have tried to recruit me, to half-heartedly kill me, and capture me so often I lost the count. Most mechs still alive on Cybertron and on Earth give me their grudging respect, even if they hate my metal guts. And, unknowingly for the rest of the world safe a special few who, I hope, will keep their glossa in check, I’m also the Carrier of a just as nasty tempered, very efficient soldier Minibot with flier’s coding. If we weren’t at war, someone would have already snatched me up before Prime had the time to blink. As it is, I’m counting myself lucky Starscream didn’t grab me right at the start of the conflict.”

Although his tune had light, the hardness in his optics belied his easy-going attitude. And he sobered totally as he put his hands on Wheeljack’s shoulder.

“’Jack… I was lucky ‘Jumper didn’t have wings, but it doesn’t mean that, if I was to ‘face Starscream again, or even his trine or a Conehead, the next sparkling I’ll conceive wouldn’t have them. Coupling with a Seeker can leave… marks.”

“Marks?” he asked, dreading the explanation which was sure to follow.

“Marks,” confirmed Ratchet, face unusually serious. “Before you ask, it has been medically documented for years. It wasn’t a well-know study, since, thank to propaganda on both side, most grounders wouldn’t have considered sharing a berth with a Seeker than more than said Seekers would have about them, but in 75,842% of the studied case, the searchers noticed a trend.”

Wheeljack leaned forward, attentive to Ratchet every word. The medic looked at him very seriously.

“When you share you’re spark energy with a Seeker, and he reciprocates…Something happens. It’s like… not exactly a virus, but a foreign brand of coding worming his way into your program during each gestation periods. It doesn’t do much usually, but when you end up sparked for the second, third, fourth, Primus only know how many time by a flier of the Seeker’s variety, it grows and influences your own coding – tricking them into believing you’re yourself a flier or part-flier.”

“… And then your body will react in transforming more alloys to shape winglets and give the developing protoform bits of coding he couldn’t get otherwise,” realized Wheeljack with a jerk. “Primus… And you have… that?”

Ratchet nodded hesitantly. “I can’t be too sure; I… sensed something was different about me after I gave birth to Cliffjumper. I still haven’t been able to fully understand what the foreign coding I’ve detected in my system is and does, but it’s probable I carry a very benign form of the virus, since I’ve only carried once. And, before you get any idea, getting knocked up by a fellow grounded mech will not activate the coding,” he asked, noticing Wheeljack’s horror-filed optics. “Assuming, of course, that I can find someone to share my life with who is not going to die a painful death in the three orns that are going to follow our first kiss,” he added almost innocently.

Wheeljack didn’t pay much attention to the part; his CPU was positively reeling with all the implications of Ratchet’s tale. The medic gently hugged him for a klik, and Wheeljack hummed softly, as if trying to reassure the younger mech.

But really, he knew very well he wasn’t the more scared of the two. Ratchet seemed to have… come to term, in a very strange way mind you, with the peculiar interest he represented now for Seekers in general and Starscream in particular.

“So, in the end… Some may thinks my future is kinda bleak,” continued the white and red mech. “Either we lost and I’ve good chances of ending as a well-shagged, well-cared for and adored sex-slave, assuming I don’t accidentally give my consent for further breeding, or we win and as I know Prime will not have the spark to offline them all, I’ll end up being or not courted by Starscream and/or the remaining hordes of Seekers left. Only thing nice about that will be that I will not be alone in this misery,” he added dejectedly.

“’Accidentally give your consent’? You might not be courted?” asked Wheeljack, puzzled and dreading anything Ratchet might say now.

Ratchet smirked. “The funny thing about Seekers is that they won’t make a move on you unless you gave them your verbal or tacit approbation. Problem is,” he said, deadly serious, “Just a glance may head you into troubles. A stare at the wrong time, the wrong gesture in a given situation, might let them believe you did and that they’re free to jump you.”

“Starscream certainly didn’t ask for your consent back then…” Ratchet dismissed the claim with a single gesture. “And we were both drunk out of our CPU, so it doesn’t qualify as rape; awkward sex or date gone wrong, perhaps, but not rape.”

“So you say,” groused Wheeljack, still not convinced.

Ratchet looked at him crossly. “It wasn’t and still isn’t in my mind; and neither was it in his. Seeker can’t face someone fully against his will; it would cause them temporary shutdown. As for the underage part… ‘Jack, he had no way of knowing that. And he did excuse. You remember the two wings in my old quarters, back on Cybertron? The ones without faction marks that everybody thought were a gift from the Twins?” he asked his old friend.

“Yeah,” said the engineer carefully. Ratchet smiled softly. “They were his; he ripped them off himself once he realized I wasn’t a legal adult. Primus, was I ever furious with him! I think it actually was the first time I hit someone with a wrench,” mused the medic aloud.

“So, sure, he let me alone in a difficult situation and never took any responsibility with ‘Jumper,” he continued simply, “but he did have already made amends by Seeker’s standards for my ‘loss of innocence’. And no part of their moral code forces them to care for grounders unless they have proven themselves worthy of their acknowledgement. Which I didn’t, at the time. Had our… one night stand happened around now, I would have, and he would have stuck by me at least ‘til I gave birth, regardless of faction.”

“Oh…” Wheeljack muttered. Well, that didn’t make him think much more highly of Starscream, but a small part of him reeled in satisfaction of knowing what the batty Decepticon’s SIC had done; a wingless Starscream… he almost chuckled. “Where did you learn all that? Not just from Powerglide, I assume?” he asked the medic instead.

Ratchet shrugged. “No; he knew a lot, but not everything I wanted to know; his creators were sort of outcasts from the whole community, and a lot of points escape him too. But I spent a lot of time in the archives searching for documents treating of behavioral patterns on some models during my studies which turned into a deep study on the difference of courtship rituals and honor codes between the different City States anytime I had some free time.”

Ratchet patted him on the arm. “Someday, you should try and search local customs for courtship for Polyhex, Vos or Kaon; you would be surprised just how many times we almost proposed a ‘Con just by saying the wrong word at the wrong time.”

“Uh?” was the engineer very intelligent answer. Ratchet actually laughed. “Why do you think there was so few dead those last vorns of war, even before we crashed on Earth?”

Wheeljack’s CPU came to a shocking realization. “Are you telling me that a bunch of Decepticons think we want to… with them?!” he squawked. Ratchet nodded eagerly. “And except some rare cases, we did nothing to correct them. Cultural difference can be a pain, aren’t they?”

There was a long silence; Ratchet waited for Wheeljack’s reaction, and Wheeljack’s CPU was still trying to reboot.

“Shouldn’t we… I don’t know; let them know they are mistaken?” he finally asked after a while.

Ratchet snorted. “Sure; go ahead. Bright idea. Letting a bunch of crazed psychopaths who think they actually got a chance and hope to nail us in their berth willingly if they play along that we never, ever considered the possibility and that anything that happened so far was just a big misunderstanding, when the said misunderstanding is the only reason they haven’t really tried to kill us, aside of Megatron? Joy. We would last… what? Ten human minutes before they rip off our heads?”

Wheeljack’s CPU almost crashed on the spot. Ratchet laughed at him helplessly. “No, ‘Jack. We shouldn’t.”

“But it’s not going to end well…” argued the engineer.

“Probably not,” acknowledged Ratchet. “Best one will have to do is to formally break off the courtship in a way that’ll left no room for revenge in the ‘Cons minds, or claim to be courted by other mechs and be indecisive yet about who would be the best mate. That ought to be interesting if one let it slip it’s another ‘Con doing the courtship.” Ratchet smiled viciously. “Just imagine… a few words, and we could start a civil war in their own faction…” he chuckled.

“But you’re the only one here who knows all of that…” pointed out Wheeljack.

Ratchet smiled with mirth. “So far, yes. But Prime asked me to give a lecture to the crew in a few Earth weeks to be sure nobody will do something totally stupid, with Powerglide as a back-up. I just can’t wait to hear my dear little ‘Jumper’s reaction about his old friend’s background; I’ll finally get the chance to see if his bitching can equal Starscream,” he said with so much amusement it had to be faked, somehow.

Wheeljack shuttered his optics. “Because Prime knows?” Ratchet nodded. “After an… incident with Soundwave, he was left with a lot of questions… and I had a lot of answers. He was puzzled and almost catatonic when I was finished, but he agreed that… continuing to unintentionally mislead the ‘Cons was better off than telling them the truth.”

That startled the engineer. “Soundwave thought that Prime…?”

Ratchet shook his head. “No, not really. Slagging telepath knew – still knows – it isn’t serious, but he passed along a warning for us when he made a pass at Prime.”

“That’s… not right. I thought he was loyal to Megatron?” said the engineer, deeply disturbed.

“Oh, he’s loyal to Megatron alright… but he’s even more loyal to the first Decepticons’ ideals, and Megatron kinda dropped them during the last millennia; old warmonger is still admired, but a good part of his troops would like the conflict to end and start rebuilding, provided they gain the rights they fought for at first. Something Prime is willing to consider, soft-sparked fool that he is,” answered the white mech with a fond smile.

“But you’d asked me about the courtship part… Well, it’s heavily depends on Starscream; if he survives or not or if he babbles the truth about me and Cliffjumper before he keels over. The mech doesn’t like to share, as you already know, be it power or potential mates. I learned that rather painfully. There is a reason, aside of my age, I didn’t go and look for a berthmate, you know.”

“You… had found someone else?” asked Wheeljack, feeling somewhat jealous. Of course, he knew he should be; Ratchet and he had never been an item, and the medic had flat-out declared he didn’t see and would never see the engineer in that light, but Wheeljack had had a crush on Ratchet before… Before he learned that the medic was far younger than he first appeared, of course.

“Got two; they were both killed by Starscream the moment he realized I was shagging them,” he said bitterly, fists tenses. “Shot them straight trough the laser core and let a message informing me that he would do so again on the second corpse. Anyway, if he was to die and wanted to insure Seeker would still exist with worthy individuals and not second rate members not deserving the title, he would hypothetically pass down his knowledge to his trine at the very least.”

There was a deep sadness in the medic’s optics, and suddenly, Wheeljack realized something. Or rather, he finally acknowledged something he had tried very hard to not notice. Each time ratchet spoke of the Decepticon’s SIC, his whole posture changed dramatically, his voice held no real venom,…

“Ratchet… you wouldn’t mind getting back with Starscream, would you?” he asked softly, deeply saddened. He already knew the answer, though; Ratchet… was quite smitten. And even knowing it wasn’t good for him, he would never totally let go of his feelings for the red winged menace. Primus, they had created a life between the two of them, and that created deep, strong bonds, even without meaning it.

Ratchet paused. “Honestly? I don’t know what I want with him. He’s not a good person, and Skyfire is still here, even if Star probably doesn’t look at him in the same way anymore. And we’ll never be the perfect little family, even if Cliffjumper can acknowledge that, YES, the fragger is his Code-writer and that YES, the slagging glitched bastard I am is his far younger than he appears Carrier… But sometimes, sometimes, I wonder what it would be like, to have him kiss me again.…” he completed almost inaudibly.

Wheeljack hugged him gently.

“So… not telling Cliffjumper the truth just yet?” he asked gently. THAT was why he had come here in the first place, after all.

“No; let him live a little and profit of his younglinghood without letting him get in over his head in unwanted/awkward filiations, courtship differences, and political double-crosses,” answered the medic with a chuckled. “Beside, he’s not mature enough to handle the truth just yet. And can you imagine what the Dinobots’ reaction will be like if they learn they have an older ‘half-brother’ who is shorter than them?” The simple-minded Autobots considered the medic and the engineer as their ‘parents’, a fact nobody had managed to correct them on.

Wheeljack had to stifle a laugh; of yeah, none of them would be overjoyed. “But you’ll think about telling him?”

“Why, yes… sometimes in the next billion of years,” smirked the medic. “In the meaning time, I’ll get to tease him senseless without him cowering before me; all more the fun for it!”

Wheeljack frowned. “Oh yes, Starscream’s definitely corrupted you…” he muttered unhappily.

Ratchet laughed, and Wheeljack smiled behind his mask. Things weren’t going well, but at least, ratchet was somehow happy.

And that was all that truly mattered…

 

Comments

[kirin-saga.livejournal.com]

*LOVES* That was amazing. I loved the history lesson. Poor Wheeljack, though.
I wonder, since Praxians are so closely related to Seekers, how many times the other Autobots have accidently proposed to them. Or what other misunderstandings have occured.
Cliffjumper sure does have his creators' temper. I almost feel sorry for everyone around him. If Ratchet is barely out of younglinghood (and does Prime know that?), how old is Cliffjumper? Is his age a secret as well?
I like that Ratchet still has feelings for Starscream. I don't see this pairing very often.
I thing Wheeljack needs a hug. *hugs Wheeljack*
Thank you so much for this.
I'll be somewhere with wifi tomorrow, so I'll talk to you more then.

[yami-samuraiflo.livejournal.com]

*hugs* I'm so happy you liked that sotry!
Objectively? Perhaps not so often; I think a part of Seeker's courtship is based on fighting/bickering with a potential partner in a certain way, and Autobots don't fight so much between them... But misunderstandings, now, I think thate were plenty enough ^^
Prime doesn't 'know', but actually, he 'knows' (i.e.: he knows Ratchet is younger than he appears, but not how young exactly). So does Ironhide.
Cliffjumper would be... about half of Ratchet's age, so yes, its a secret as well; I should have added a phrase or two to make that clear, such as: "Besides, I doubt he will pursue the matter for too long; not if he wants his own age to stay a well-hidden secret..." said Ratchet.
I hope I'll manage too, 'cause I'm going to Paris this afternoon and I will only come back tomorrow...