WHEELJACK

Attention

“I like it.”

He doesn’t really know how to talk to Wheeljack. It feels… surreal. Wrong. He half-expects to wake up in the medical bay to the realization that he had managed to poison himself. Certainly he wasn’t quite as accident-prone as the engineer, but he did have his moments.

“Are… are those new beakers? They look nice.”

He… likes it? “Aren’t you supposed to be the one who likes things all tidy?” he asked with a forced laugh, still watching Perceptor wander around. Wheeljack couldn’t say he’s the most lucid at the moment—he’d noticed having lost considerable amounts of time when he’d thought he was working out equations—but Perceptor seemed… lost somehow.

When Perceptor mentioned the beakers, Wheeljack looked over, confused. “Uh… I don’t think so—unless there was some kinda shipment while I was… while I was gone.”

Perceptor’s quiet. He sighs, walking over to sit beside Wheeljack. He can’t really meet the other’s optics. “I know I have never been the most vocal mech, but I am glad you are safe. I missed you. We all… Wheeljack, if you need to talk, I am present.”

Wheeljack didn't notice that Perceptor was unable to meet his gaze, because he was having a similar problem. He fiddled with a bit of circuitry, staring intently at it as if nothing else existed.

"I... uh. I'll keep that in mind, Percy. And, ah, thanks." For everything he'd ever done for Wheeljack, considering he'd probably regret it all as soon as the truth came out.

Attention

He walks in slowly, shutting the door behind himself. He stands there for a while, not talking, just looking around. The places he had cleaned are now cluttered with familiar paraphernalia and it’s somehow comforting. He isn’t sure how long it is between the time he entered the room and when he finally speaks.

“It’s a mess in here.”

Wheeljack watched Perceptor wander around, trying to conceal his wariness. He’s got all kinds of materials for the bridge laid out, and Perceptor’s more than capable of putting everything together, if he bothers to look.

At Perceptor’s statement, Wheeljack rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry about that. You know how I am, Percy.” Really, though, it’s just another way he’s been a failure. Perceptor had cleaned his lab for him while he was gone, and it’d taken him, what, a couple of Earth days to mess it all up again?

“I like it.”

He doesn’t really know how to talk to Wheeljack. It feels… surreal. Wrong. He half-expects to wake up in the medical bay to the realization that he had managed to poison himself. Certainly he wasn’t quite as accident-prone as the engineer, but he did have his moments.

“Are… are those new beakers? They look nice.”

He... likes it? "Aren't you supposed to be the one who likes things all tidy?" he asked with a forced laugh, still watching Perceptor wander around. Wheeljack couldn't say he's the most lucid at the moment--he'd noticed having lost considerable amounts of time when he'd thought he was working out equations--but Perceptor seemed... lost somehow.

When Perceptor mentioned the beakers, Wheeljack looked over, confused. "Uh... I don't think so--unless there was some kinda shipment while I was... while I was gone."

#quantumphysicshomebot

Attention

Perceptor had been about to visit Wheeljack when Elita’s voice, somber and steady, came over the intercom.

For all of his brilliance, his mind—filled with an extensive vocabulary—could not piece together the words he’d heard. De… activated? Certainly he hadn’t spent as much time with the Prime as others in the crew, but… he was Prime. He had always been kind to Perceptor, and the scientist held him in the highest respects.

Putting down his projects, Perceptor walked out of his lab. For once, he didn’t want to be alone. Before he knew it, his feet had led him to Wheeljack’s lab, and he knocked quietly on his friend’s door.

“Wheeljack? May… may I come in?”

At the knock, Wheeljack looked up from where he was still slumped over a lab bench, trying to figure out what he’d need to take with him. He hastily subspaced the datapad he’d been taking notes on, and turned to the doorway.

…Perceptor. If he were completely honest with himself, he’d been hoping to avoid the mech until he left. He didn’t want to have to face Percy like this, and didn’t want to give the alternate Prime another target. But now that Perceptor was here, he couldn’t turn him away.

“Yeah, uh, sure, Percy. C’mon in.”

He walks in slowly, shutting the door behind himself. He stands there for a while, not talking, just looking around. The places he had cleaned are now cluttered with familiar paraphernalia and it’s somehow comforting. He isn’t sure how long it is between the time he entered the room and when he finally speaks.

“It’s a mess in here.”

Wheeljack watched Perceptor wander around, trying to conceal his wariness. He's got all kinds of materials for the bridge laid out, and Perceptor's more than capable of putting everything together, if he bothers to look.

At Perceptor's statement, Wheeljack rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Sorry about that. You know how I am, Percy." Really, though, it's just another way he's been a failure. Perceptor had cleaned his lab for him while he was gone, and it'd taken him, what, a couple of Earth days to mess it all up again?

#autobotengineer

Attention

Her voice is eerily calm when she speaks, detached and cold.

“Optimus Prime has been deactivated. Bumblebee, please report to my office for reassignment. That is all.”

Perceptor had been about to visit Wheeljack when Elita’s voice, somber and steady, came over the intercom.

For all of his brilliance, his mind—filled with an extensive vocabulary—could not piece together the words he’d heard. De… activated? Certainly he hadn’t spent as much time with the Prime as others in the crew, but… he was Prime. He had always been kind to Perceptor, and the scientist held him in the highest respects.

Putting down his projects, Perceptor walked out of his lab. For once, he didn’t want to be alone. Before he knew it, his feet had led him to Wheeljack’s lab, and he knocked quietly on his friend’s door.

“Wheeljack? May… may I come in?”

At the knock, Wheeljack looked up from where he was still slumped over a lab bench, trying to figure out what he'd need to take with him. He hastily subspaced the datapad he'd been taking notes on, and turned to the doorway.

...Perceptor. If he were completely honest with himself, he'd been hoping to avoid the mech until he left. He didn't want to have to face Percy like this, and didn't want to give the alternate Prime another target. But now that Perceptor was here, he couldn't turn him away.

"Yeah, uh, sure, Percy. C'mon in."

#quantumphysicshomebot

Attention

Her voice is eerily calm when she speaks, detached and cold.

“Optimus Prime has been deactivated. Bumblebee, please report to my office for reassignment. That is all.”

#tw #self-hate

Time to Talk

Holding a hand out to him, she nods. “Of course, Wheeljack. It’s going to take time, and you’re going to hit roadblocks, but I’m here, darling. We all are. We won’t abandon you.”

She worries that this might be getting to be a bit much for him, and changes subjects. “Did Perceptor ever come to bother you about that weapon dilemma he was having? If anyone can figure it out, it would be you.”

Elita nods, schooling her expression to keep from looking pitying.

“You know he’s worried about you. Somewhere in that silly, brilliant mind he has been worrying himself sick over you.”

She stands, looking around the lab, and meets Wheeljack’s optics.

“Darling, I know things are hard, now. I know you feel cornered, like things can’t be the same, but I want you to know that we love you. I love you, Wheeljack, and I want to see you get out of this, and—above all else—I’m here for you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Sighing, she turns for the door. “Still, you look like you were engrossed a moment ago, so I’ll leave you to it.

“Don’t forget, my door’s always open. For anything.”

#tw #reference to noncon #self-hate

Time to Talk

“Oh, darling, don’t worry about it,” Elita soothes, waving a hand dismissively. “Worrying isn’t the problem, you know? We’re just glad to have you safely home.”

She sighs, unsure how to continue. It’s a tough call, to be sure…

“Dear, is there anything you want to talk about? Anything you want to get off your chassis?” Realizing this might sound too pressurizing, she quickly backpedals, “Of course, it’s entirely up to you. Don’t feel like you need to tell me anything. I know I can be a bit nosey sometimes—I’ll find you a fly swatter, and you can smack my wrist or something when I get too personal.”

Holding a hand out to him, she nods. “Of course, Wheeljack. It’s going to take time, and you’re going to hit roadblocks, but I’m here, darling. We all are. We won’t abandon you.”

She worries that this might be getting to be a bit much for him, and changes subjects. “Did Perceptor ever come to bother you about that weapon dilemma he was having? If anyone can figure it out, it would be you.”

#tw #reference to noncon

Time to Talk

Sitting down, Elita rests an elbow on the counter and places her hand on the side of her face.

“Things have been rather dull without you around, you know. No one to run to for help when Ratchet decides all helms within viewing range are targets, no one to break the awkward silence with a few rousing explosions…”

She gives a small laugh, and looks around the room.

“You know, Perceptor is going to throw a fit when he sees what you did to all his hard work. He did clean up—though you can’t tell, anymore.”

“Oh, darling, don’t worry about it,” Elita soothes, waving a hand dismissively. “Worrying isn’t the problem, you know? We’re just glad to have you safely home.”

She sighs, unsure how to continue. It’s a tough call, to be sure…

“Dear, is there anything you want to talk about? Anything you want to get off your chassis?” Realizing this might sound too pressurizing, she quickly backpedals, “Of course, it’s entirely up to you. Don’t feel like you need to tell me anything. I know I can be a bit nosey sometimes—I’ll find you a fly swatter, and you can smack my wrist or something when I get too personal.”

#tw #reference to noncon

Time to Talk

“Yeah, uh…” He stands up hastily, looking around his disorganized lab. There aren’t exactly any available chairs around, aside from the one he’d just been occupying. He pushes things aside on one of his lab benches, clearing enough space so that he could move a stack of datapads off a chair. He swiped the dust off the edges, then gestured toward it. “C’mon in.”

#autobotengineer #tw #self-hate #Readmore just to be safe

Sitting down, Elita rests an elbow on the counter and places her hand on the side of her face.

“Things have been rather dull without you around, you know. No one to run to for help when Ratchet decides all helms within viewing range are targets, no one to break the awkward silence with a few rousing explosions…”

She gives a small laugh, and looks around the room.

“You know, Perceptor is going to throw a fit when he sees what you did to all his hard work. He did clean up—though you can’t tell, anymore.”

Time to Talk

It’s been a few cycles since Wheeljack returned, and after hearing how badly things had gone with Ratchet, Elita had decided that it might be a good idea to try talking to the engineer, herself. After all, Ratchet’s brand of tough love might be good in a number of cases—this just wasn’t one of them.

No, Elita had a feeling a more patient person might have a better chance of speaking with him, and that’s precisely what she intends to do.

Knocking on the door to Wheeljack’s lab, Elita takes a brief moment to gather herself.

"Yeah, uh..." He stands up hastily, looking around his disorganized lab. There aren't exactly any available chairs around, aside from the one he'd just been occupying. He pushes things aside on one of his lab benches, clearing enough space so that he could move a stack of datapads off a chair. He swiped the dust off the edges, then gestured toward it. "C'mon in."

Time to Talk

It’s been a few cycles since Wheeljack returned, and after hearing how badly things had gone with Ratchet, Elita had decided that it might be a good idea to try talking to the engineer, herself. After all, Ratchet’s brand of tough love might be good in a number of cases—this just wasn’t one of them.

No, Elita had a feeling a more patient person might have a better chance of speaking with him, and that’s precisely what she intends to do.

Knocking on the door to Wheeljack’s lab, Elita takes a brief moment to gather herself.

#tw #vague #reference to rape #Readmore just to be safe

*in his lab*

Wheeljack sits at a cluttered lab bench, datapads and half-finished bits of circuitry strewn all around him--it's obvious that he's been working on something. At the moment, however, all of the excited energy, the genuine delight in creating something new that usually permeates both engineer and lab, is missing. His helm is propped up by his hands as he stares despairingly at a particular datapad.

#((standalone unless someone wants to hop in :3))#((readmore 'cause it's long #not because of triggery content))

newcrystalcity

Spread the Love

Now that the How’s My Driving post has been out for a while, it’s time for some praise and encouragement to balance out the concrit. Like the HMD, to participate just make sure your asks or submissions are open and reblog this post!

What's your favorite thing to read? Or watch if you don't like to read?

Well, this certainly hadn't been what he'd expected, though it wasn't unwelcome. "I, uh..." He paused to think; he hadn't thought about anything beyond--well, he just hadn't thought about reading anything in a while. "Well, I always liked the engineering journals on Cybertron. An' the humans' are sometimes interesting."

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