27I made a serious effort to force some hanky-panky in here, but I swear sometimes this fic writes itself, and I'm just here for proofreading. Wheeljack and Arcee were too stubborn, and I didn't want to change the T rating. Admittedly, I've also been cheating on 'Little Femmes' and saving all of my good trashy scene ideas for my other TF:P fic, 'Land of Confusion.' I don't have many, and I can't afford to waste them on characters that won't do what I want. You'll have to settle for soul-searching and meaningful romance.
Lightning lit up the cramped domicile brilliantly, rousing her from a deep and peaceful recharge, then an almost instantaneous crack of deafening thunder startled her, making her squeak in surprise before the terror of the unknown crept in. The sparkling studied the lights flickering and dancing across the walls and ceiling of the dark room, afraid to even ventilate. Another crash of light and sound brought tears to her optics, and she keened shrilly, reaching out for the comfort of a familiar energy field.
It enveloped her like a thermal blanket, calming her immediately. A large, worn hand rolled her over to face one blue and indigo optic in the blackness.
"Just an electrical storm, Sparkler," he whispered, scooping her tender protoform close.
He vented warm air over her and she felt him smile when she reached out to touch his face. He caught her tiny fingers in his lips and chuckled softly.
Lightning flashed again, lighting up his battle-worn faceplate and dead optic for an instant, and she tensed up, anticipating the noise. It wasn't as close this time.
"You're safe," he promised.
A squared fingertip nudged her audio receptor then traced her face. She chirred softly for him, and a heavy feeling of security permeated her senses. He let her nestle close against him beneath his chin and idled his engines for her.
Nothing could hurt her.
Lulled by the warmth and sound and the confidence in his energy field, recharge began to overtake her again. She tried to relay her comfort to him through her field.
"Arcee?"
She flinched in surprise at the voice and onlined her optics. It wasn't the ceiling of the old berth room she remembered.
"Welcome back."
And, it wasn't her sire's voice. Arcee turned her head stiffly to look at Optimus and made a feeble attempt at returning the prime's slight smile.
"You were reaching out in your recharge," he explained. "I hope that they were pleasant dreams."
She tried to sit up, and he offered her a hand.
"I … haven't dreamed for a long time," she admitted. "It was strange, but … nice."
"It was about family?" he asked.
It was a little out of character for Optimus to be so curious about personal matters, but when she checked her chronometer and saw that she had been in stasis for twelve days, Arcee couldn't blame him for wondering what had finally pulled her out.
"I felt you reach through a familial bond," he explained.
He wouldn't have been able to answer her. Only creators, siblings, or mechs she'd formed a bond with could. And, since Optimus probably hadn't been sending her the typical emotions of an intimate mech, he'd come to the only logical conclusion.
"It felt like my sire," she said softly, almost with remorse for losing the dream.
The prime nodded thoughtfully then gave a half-laugh.
"I suppose I have been compared to worse mechs."
Arcee smiled. Her sire had been in charge of the last Autobot base closest to Kaon. Ultra Magnus had assigned him to the task personally because he knew the veteran's strict adherence to protocol and ruthless determination would be what it took to hold the position for the millennia that he had.
"It was a compliment," she assured. "He was a little more lenient behind closed doors."
"And, he did well raising an invaluable soldier."
She quailed slightly under the praise, but stopped him when he reached to comm Ratchet.
"Don't wake him yet. I … need a few minutes."
"Ratchet will not be happy about being delayed."
Arcee nodded. She understood, but she wasn't ready to be bombarded with countless tests and a thorough, if not invasive, examination.
Reminded, her hand went to her abdomen and found a weld scar across the plating. Carefully, she navigated through menus and directories on her HUD to where her spark matrix waited in standby as always.
"He did it," she murmured.
"He will be relieved to know."
"What happened?" she asked.
The last she'd heard, Optimus had been trapped in the shadow zone with Bumblebee and Bulkhead.
"Ratchet managed to coerce Arachnid into giving up her spacebridge settings."
"Is that why he looked beat all to scrap?!" she bristled.
The thought of her enemy hurting Ratchet made her energon run cold. Optimus lay a calming hand on her shoulder.
"Despite his current position, Ratchet is capable of holding his own in combat," he assured. Then, he smiled again, mirth obvious in his optics. "You should ask him about the details yourself. He is quite proud of himself."
Arcee couldn't help but chuckle. "I bet he is," she smiled. "So, there was enough energon for all of our injuries?"
"No." His tone became serious once more. "We were forced to do several emergency transfusions to save you. But, the refugee that assisted you and Wheeljack … He was fast enough to move the bait from your ambush site to a new location before the Decepticons returned. He would not meet with us." Optimus shook his head sadly. "He only sent Wheeljack the coordinates and wished us luck."
For an instant, she felt bad for heckling Oxbow, but he'd probably done it because the 'poor, helpless femme' had been injured just as he'd warned.
She vented a sigh and swung her legs over the side of the medical berth. She didn't like how close he'd come to being right. Just thinking about the other possible outcomes made the room feel tight and suffocating.
"Any chance you'd let me slip out for some air?" she asked without much hope.
Optimus got to his feet and watched Arcee do the same, studying the femme.
"I will not risk you breaking down away from base. Ratchet would dismantle me."
Arcee nodded. It didn't hurt to try. Maybe he'd let her go up top at least.
"However," the prime continued. "Ratchet has had very little uninterrupted recharge of late." He opened the door and stood in the frame, looking back at her. "I suppose a few Earth hours would not hurt, but only if you allow Wheeljack to escort you in case of any complications.
"Wheeljack? What's he doing back so soon?"
"You misunderstand," he said bluntly, but smiled a little. "He has not left."
Arcee felt her plating tingle with the implications as she watched him go. She followed after him and watched his retreating back for a few paces before looking down the corridor in the other direction toward the main room.
'Frag it all, Optimus,' she thought sourly.
She was surprised to feel only the emotions tied to her own opinions given the circumstances. Tailgate or Cliff's opinions usually rose to the surface easily when she was feeling irritated. Come to think of it, they definitely should have answered her in her dream. But, when Arcee tried to reach out for them willingly, it felt like …
The sound of the repair lift's hydraulics startled her from her thoughts, and Arcee heard a grinder turn on for a moment. The main room was dark except for the floodlights over the elevator platform. The Jackhammer had been cleaned off, and she saw the flicker and glow of metal sparks showering from beneath it, casting the wrecker's shadow.
He had his back to her as she approached. The mech probably wouldn't have noticed if she just left, but Optimus would check. Arcee stepped closer as he pulled the tool away to inspect his work. He grumbled something about the primitive tools before reaching for the welder.
"Looks like …"
"Fraggin' PIT!" Wheeljack yelped, fumbling to keep from dropping the welder and falling back on his aft. Then, he spun on her, holding it like he intended to use the tool as a weapon,
Arcee smirked at him as she watched the reflexive surges ease out of the mech's hydraulics.
"Sorry."
"Primus …" he sighed, turning the flame off.
"You act like you just saw a ghost."
"Something like that. Make some noise or an energy field or … something when you sneak up on a guy!" he scolded to cover his wounded pride. "I could've knocked you back into stasis."
Arcee rolled her optics but smiled, trying hard not to laugh.
"Please. I don't let my guard down – unlike some bots I know. I was ready for you."
To her surprise, Wheeljack didn't offer a return fire. Instead he relaxed back against his ship, rubbing the tension out of his neck supports.
"Yeah. Guess I've been a bit out of it," he admitted. "Between getting this scrap heap back in order and chauffeuring your human around, the only recharge I get's when I'm parked behind the dumpster at KO."
"Sounds like somebody should've warned you about the consequences for putting one of us in the med bay."
"I wouldn't have signed up for it. That's for sure," he grumped.
Arcee knew better. "He'll keep your hands full," she agreed, "and Jack's not even the worst of the bunch."
The mech scoffed. "Well, he's all yours again," he dismissed, turning back to his work. "Maybe now I can finally focus on fixing this thing and get out of here."
Because repainting the Jackhammer and building new stabilizers had been nothing short of crucial to get the ship 'back in order' she noted but didn't point it out.
"Well, would you mind a little more of a delay?"
He looked at her again, frowning. "What for?"
"Not much of one," she promised. "An hour … maybe less … I just need to get out of here for a while, but Optimus said I had to take someone with me."
He didn't have to know that the prime had specified who. The wrecker would either balk at being ordered, or worse … he'd never let her live it down that Optimus insisted they be together.
"Everyone else is powered down right now," she explained under Wheeljack's unnerving scrutiny. "Half an hour?" she offered. Primus, she just wanted to get out. Arcee was about to ask for just a run to town and back when the mech straightened.
"Yeah, sure," he waved it off. "We can stay out all night if you want. It's the least I owe you."
She crossed her servos over her chest defensively. "Wheeljack, you don't owe me slag. You're part of my team," she tried to explain without sounding flustered. He wouldn't meet her optics, so it was hard to tell if she was being convincing or not. "It's enough that you got me back to Ratchet in time."
"I did?" Now she had his attention. His brow rose. "Everything … works?"
"Far as I can tell," she said, shrugging.
But, the mech grinned. "Well, alright then! Let's get out of here and celebrate."
He nodded back to the Jackhammer, and the bay door began to lower. Arcee looked at it doubtfully.
"I just meant driving around Jasper for a while."
"Yeah …" he said sheepishly as he turned to face her again. "About that … Fowler sort of 'banned' me from driving around in town."
"What?!"
"And the rest of the county too."
"Wheeljack!" she snapped. "You didn't get Jack in trouble did you?!"
"What?! No! I don't know anything about street racing!"
"You did what?!"
"I'm a victim of circumstance! I swear!"
She could only glare at him in disbelief. Optimus didn't know or he wouldn't have wanted the wrecker to go out of the base with her. Arcee reigned in her temper for the moment though. Now more than ever, she needed to get out and drive. That wouldn't happen if she woke up Optimus to report Wheeljack.
"Pit," she swore to herself. "So, how did you get Jack to school and work?"
He grinned. "Magic." Touching the side of his helm made his colors reverse to green plating with red and white detailing. "I think the cops might be starting to suspect though," he confessed conspiratorially. "So, I'm glad you woke up more sooner than later."
What had Optimus and Ratchet been thinking? She rubbed her optics, shaking her head at her own desperation more than anything.
"You look like a Christmas tree," she deadpanned, turning on her heel to go find Ratchet.
"Hey! I thought it looked good for what I've got to work with," he defended before catching Arcee's shoulder.
She looked up at him and finally couldn't help but return his smile.
"Come on," he said, changing his paint back. "I know a great place to get our tires warm this time of night."
The femme still didn't move. She doubted Optimus had this in mind. Plus, something about the idea of getting on the wrecker's pride and joy alone didn't feel like it'd play out well.
"Arcee," he said consolingly. "You need to get out. I know how it feels when you come out of med-stasis."
Fine. She swallowed her doubts and followed him up the ramp, and she felt the lift begin to move. Arcee still had to make an effort to not look nervous. Tailgate didn't offer a little courage. Cliff jumper didn't even push a snide remark in her direction. Once again, she tried reaching out for them. Nothing.
"You alright?" Wheeljack's voice snapped her back to reality. He stood by one of the seats, watching her stare at the wall instead of the night sky coming into view out the windows and on the monitors.
"Yeah," she surrendered. "It just … feels like someone should be telling me I'm about to do something I'll regret."
He smiled at her and patted the other seat.
"You've been taking orders too long. Sit down; you'll be fine."
He sat to make room for her and began flipping switches and powering up monitors full of maps and readouts. The femme perched on the edge of the other seat, and the back adjusted to her size before she felt the magnetic hold grab onto her plating snugly.
"Relax," Wheeljack instructed. "I won't let you take advantage of me."
Arcee vented a sigh, leaning back into the chair.
"I changed my mind. I'd rather be back in stasis."
He chuckled over the sound of the vertical thrusters. "Too late now," he smiled before the lateral blast shoved her back against the seat.
It felt like a long flight. He'd turned off the maps on purpose, and she couldn't see past the clouds to recognize any landmarks. Arcee was sure they couldn't be in the states anymore. Optimus was going to be slagged.
She'd been still, watching the stars out the side and rear monitor. It was impossible to tell if the wrecker didn't want to force conversation on her or if he was lost in his own thoughts. When she stole a glance at him, she realized he did look tired like he'd claimed. Somehow, she doubted it was entirely because of his ship or Jack. When they got back, she'd make him get some recharge. Before she could mention it, the ship began to descend.
"You sure no one's around?"
"Positive. But, I'll set up some proximity alarms to make you feel better."
She followed him out of the cockpit, and he paused to slide back a panel in the narrow corridor, revealing a dark and spartan berth room. He stepped in enough to retrieve a blue cube of energon from a storage cabinet.
"Here. Top off," he said, putting it in her hands. "You'll want a full tank."
"I don't think we should be wasting energon, Wheeljack."
"It's my fuel. I'll do what I want with it," he proclaimed, taking another cube for himself.
She watched him drink it doubtfully, but finally sipped at her own. It didn't even take a third of it to satisfy her since Ratchet had understandably kept her energy levels up during the healing process. Wheeljack took the rest from her and emptied it as well.
Absently, she wondered about the rate at which the wrecker went through energon. He was the same size as Ratchet, but that wasn't really a good comparison since any medic could slow down their fuel consumption. Wheeljack was obviously a heavier frame, and he was accustomed to rigorous combat.
Out of habit, she tried to recall Cliff or Tailgate's stats. They'd been as easy to bring up as her own before, along with all of the accumulated tidbits of information on their strengths, weaknesses, fighting styles … Primus, after vorns of being with Tailgate, she could have recalled the mech's hydraulic sequences and fought like him – if she'd had the weight to make it effective. Arcee hadn't realized how often she'd referenced the data when fighting other mechs until now, when it was all gone.
They were gone – every part of them. It was just her own voice in her processor for the first time in vorns. It seemed so ridiculous, but Arcee didn't feel any relief. She felt alone.
"Arcee?"
She blinked at her peds and the floor. Wheeljack lowered himself to his knees and straightened the femme to face him, so he could lift her brow ridges and look in her optics."You sure you're okay? I think that hard restart messed with your processor or something."
The wrecker looked worried, and his energy field felt unabashedly concerned. Arcee opened hers up before she could catch herself, suddenly desperate to feel another presence. Surprised, she tried to just send him the usual confidence and irritation to mask it before pulling her field back in, but the look in Wheeljack's optics told her he'd felt her trying to reach him like she would have for her lost partners. The mech wisely chose not to mention it.
"Maybe we should take a rain check. I think Doc needs to look at you."
She vented a sigh. "I think you're right, but … just give me a few minutes. I've got to drive for a while, or I'm going to start frying circuits."
Wheeljack looked skeptical, but finally nodded. "Sure." He smiled. "I've got to burn off that little bit of overcharge anyway, or I'll never be able to power down when we get back."
He let her go almost reluctantly, and the back hatch opened behind him as he got back to his peds. Eager to get out of close quarters with him, Arcee led the way this time.
She looked around them, taking in the unfamiliar landscape. When the Jackhammer closed again, all the light that remained was unearthly blue moon and starlight. It seemed to make the white hard pan that stretched far beyond the horizon glow.
Arcee shivered inwardly. "What is it?"
"Just a little piece of Cybertronian paradise," he said behind her. "Well, besides having to wash all the salt out of your undercarriage later, at least."
She felt him step closer.
"I guess Team Prime doesn't have much time for exploring anything that doesn't involve energon on enemies."
She stepped away from him under the guise of looking around more.
"It's amazing." It was amazing.
Arcee gave a short laugh of disbelief before finally transforming at a run and making for the horizon. It felt like it went on forever. No roads, no people, no potholes, no speed limits …
She disengaged her governor and the annoying mock-transmission. She yearned for her native two-wheeled form, but still, it was the most liberated the femme had felt since her sire had taken her to Velocitron.
Her spark throbbed as her engine reached its limit. She was aware of the energon coursing through her, and the inferior earth coolant began to feel hot as lead. But, Arcee pushed herself all the way up until the first warning began to light up her HUD. Cutting a long, sweeping arc in the white salt, she killed her engine and let the cold, dry air wash through her vents.
She slid to a stop where the white Lancia sat idling.
"Feel better?" he chuckled.
Instead of answering, the motorcycle gunned her engine, drifting in a tight circle, throwing up a rooster tail of white dust before letting her back tire catch and jerk her away from him again into the night. She heard his engine roar to life and saw him racing to catch up to her in the mirrors.
Arcee let him catch up to her, but punched it again at the last second, throwing herself around to face him and doing a neat little pirouette on her front tire with her momentum before her drive wheel hit the ground again spattering his grill with salt and racing away laughing.
"Hey!" he shouted after her. "Nobody likes a showoff!"
She chuckled to herself. His warrior frame and armor were too heavy to outdo a two wheeler. Without any restrictions, the only grounder on Earth that could give her a run for her money was Bumblebee.
Wheeljack the spoilsport broke away and circled back toward the Jackhammer. Arcee quickly turned around and sped after him, but he stopped a short distance from the ship and waited for her.
"You were right," she said as she rolled to a stop. "I did want full tank."
It would've been worse than disappointing to see this place and not be able to do everything a Cybertronian couldn't get away with anywhere else on Earth.
"Race you back to the ship?"
"Seriously?" she snickered, revving her engine with excitement. "It's only half a mile."
"Earth rules," he clarified, "since you cheated in North Dakota."
"I did not!"
"Right." He circled around behind her to take his place. "I get passed by motorcycles doing two hundred plus all the time."
"You hardly ever drive on the road. You just haven't seen many."
"I've seen plenty of street legal two-wheelers – the internet's full of them."
"Pervert."
"Research," he corrected.
"Fine, fine. The math still says I can win it at this distance."
"Maybe," Wheeljack said, rocking on his axles casually. "But not by much. And, we're not racing in a vacuum. There are variables."
"Variables we'll both be dealing with," she pointed out.
"True. Care to make it interesting? The winner gets something he wants?"
She scoffed. "What if she doesn't want anything from the loser?"
"What about bragging rights? And, you charitably agree to help me pop all of the dings out of my plating after Ratchet and Optimus get a hold of me."
"How about you owe me one?" she chuckled.
"Whatever you want." He grinned rakishly.
She'd have to think of something terrible.
"Let's do it," she said smugly, lining up with him.
Excitement tingled through her and she couldn't tell if it was hers or the mech's energy field.
"The taillight closest to us is on a timer. We go on the third blink."
One. Arcee tensed her drive train in anticipation.
Two. Wheeljack revved his engine against the brakes, making his chassis lurch.
Three.
Like she'd expected, it was a battle of acceleration versus speed. But it surprised her, when Wheeljack's extra weight gave him better grip on the dusty soil for an instant. Without the factor of operator terror in the equation, the Lancia could reach 100mph in about seven seconds. Arcee could get there in about five. But, by a quarter mile, she'd have barely a second's lead on him. She'd counted on that extra second, and too much wheelspin at the start ate up a sizable chunk of of it.
Scrap. This was what she got for being cocky.
She sped through her gears, gaining as much distance as she could on him, but he quickly reached his top speed as well – which was just a little more than her alt mode's and began closing the distance. Then, he was to her rear axle, creeping up beside her, to her front tire, to her front axle. The ship was within spitting distance.
"No, NO, NO!"
"Yes, yes, oh YES!" he bellowed triumphantly, flipping back to his bipedal mode in a victory pose.
Arcee refused to change back as he took a bow to his invisible audience. Primus, he'd be unlivable.
"Let's watch that again, just to be sure," he announced, producing a datapad from his subspace.
"Wheeljack …" she groaned.
"Fair's fair. You might've won, Arcee."
He brought up the Jackhammer's rear camera feed and rewound it to where he'd just nosed past her at the finish line.
"Pretty close. Want to see it again?"
"Only if you want to eat that thing," she warned, shifting back to her original form.
He laughed at her back and indignantly perked winglets when she turned to look for where the camera had been.
"Want to try again? Double or nothing." She felt him step close.
"Frag. You."
"Not quite what I had in mind, but if you're desperate for an excuse …"
"Don't," she bristled.
Wheeljack's face fell dramatically. "Just a kiss then?" he bartered. "That's all I wanted."
She forced hot air out of her vents in a huff, but looked back at him again. "That's it?"
"That's it," he promised, lowering himself to his knees and sitting back on his tires.
Arcee watched him as he shuttered his optics and bent forward for her expectantly. He must've instinctively known that she'd punch him in the face if he went as far as puckering up. She studied him long enough to make it feel awkward, and then a little longer for good measure and to see how serious he was. He was serious.
Finally, unable to stand it any more, the femme stepped close. Wheeljack's energy field heightened with awareness, but he didn't move. She bent close. He smelled like ozone and burnt metal, but somehow, it wasn't unpleasant. It was what she'd expected. Before she could convince herself of how not-bad-looking of a mech he was, Arcee smirked and pecked him on the cheek.
Wheeljack's brow furrowed and he opened one optic.
"What do I look like? Your grand-sire?"
"You didn't specify."
"Well, I want a real kiss," he specified.
"Too late now." She smiled.
"Come on. I won that race fair and square. I've earned a good one."
Arcee would be the first to admit he'd earned it ten times over before they'd even gotten on the ship, but she growled with annoyance to cover her unease. The last thing she needed was to get involved with another mech. The last thing Wheeljack needed – or wanted, she would've thought – was to be anchored to a femme like her.
"Please."
"Wheeljack," she said, shaking her head, "we shouldn't do this."
"Please."
Arcee vented a soft sigh, trying to meet his optics sternly.
"Please." He smirked.
"You're impossible."
"I pride myself on it."
Fine. She didn't want to waste all night arguing with him. Arcee bent to him again, bringing a hand up to trace the underside of his helm and behind his audio receptor. The mech's engine rumbled as he leaned into her touch then dipped to nuzzle into the juncture of her neck and shoulder.
"Thank you," she whispered, kissing his brow and the corner of his optic. "For everything."
He lifted his helm to meet her optics again, and she caught his mouth. Arcee felt Wheeljack's hands move to her hips. Her lips parted slightly, so she could tease his scar between her lip and glossa, and it made the mech straighten to his knees, excitement and arousal saturating his energy field.
She smiled into his kiss and brought her other hand up to his cheek. Primus. There was no denying it felt good. But, when he pulled her closer to his chest and spark, something about the gesture made her remember the other mechs that had made her feel that way, and it felt like her processor seized up when she couldn't find her connection to them.
Arcee jerked back out of his hands and almost fell on her aft in the salt.
Wheeljack looked at her with surprise and concern.
"Just … let's just head back," she said.
"Why?"
"Because, I need to see Ratchet. Remember?"
"I meant … why won't you let me get close to you?" Despite the turmoil in his energy field that Arcee knew she'd caused, his voice was remarkably calm.
"Because." Arcee hugged herself defensively. "It's not fair to either of us."
"Oh yeah?" he said dryly.
"Yes," she stated firmly. "Wheeljack … we both know I'm not the only femme left."
"Well, I don't think Arachnid would appreciate me exploring my options."
"You know what I mean."
"Arcee …" He tried to touch her again, but she sidestepped him stiffly. "I know what you're saying. But … you're the only femme I care about."
She cared about him too. That was the problem.
"Can I see your datapad?"
"What?"
She held out a hand for it. The wrecker looked at her confused, but gave it to her. Arcee opened a world map and began typing coordinates.
"What's this?" he asked, looking at it when she handed it back.
"Payback. For the data cylinder, for watching Jack, for getting me back in time …" she explained as he brought them up individually. "Just some 'unaligned refugees' you might be interested in."
His brow rose. "Femmes?"
She chuckled knowingly. "Half my age, undamaged goods." She watched him scroll through the locations again with renewed interest. "Optimus wanted to keep them a secret – for obvious reasons, and like you said, they'd just be cannon fodder if they were exposed."
Wheeljack brought up one on the northern coast of Siberia and zoomed in. "Who's this one?"
Arcee stepped close again to look at the datapad and grinned at his choice.
"That one is … Cascade," she recalled. "Her creators had her evacuated by way of the cheapest bidder when the war got ugly. So, she spent a few hundred vorns as space garbage before her pod picked up on our signal by some miracle. She'd been in med school, but now she works with the arctic search and rescue."
Wheeljack smiled. "That explains why Doc didn't mention her."
"What?"
He chuckled at her surprise. "When I couldn't pull you out of stasis, Ratchet tried to bribe me into leaving. At least now I know he wasn't yanking my chain. But, I still don't want it," he concluded, swiping the data off the screen.
"But …"
"What good to me are a bunch of femmes that have never seen a fight and aren't half as beautiful as you are?"
Arcee felt her spark flutter in its chamber and realized she was staring at him dumbly – almost gaping. She finally shook her head and tried to smirk.
"I'm sure you'd think of something."
"I want you, Arcee."
She turned away from him again, half tempted to pick a direction and drive until she ran out of land or energon.
"Take me back to base, Wheeljack," she ordered sternly.
"Frag it all, stubborn femme!" he swore with a growl. "Am I not good enough for you?"
"I didn't say that!"
"Then why in the Pit are you torturing yourself?"
"What?! You don't know me!"
"The slag I don't. You cut yourself off. You don't want to get close to anyone. You've been alone so long, you've just accepted it as normal. Well, I'll be the first to tell you, it's not!" He vented a hot puff of exhaust. "It's not normal. And, isolating yourself even further isn't the solution. Trust me."
"But, I'm not alone now," she justified. "I have my team and Jack …"
"Maybe you're not alone in that sense, but why do you keep panicking when no one answers your call through your bond?" he pointed out. "You still want that part."
She didn't have an answer. Wheeljack's expression softened.
"You had them all fooled, didn't you? Any other femme would've broke down after a bond-break if they didn't have a surrogate. But you … you used Tailgate like a crutch to bypass any need for social interacting. That's the only way a femme could've made it that long alone."
Arcee winced inwardly at the memories. Unlike mechs, femmes were hard-wired to seek out the company of their own kind. It was the only fail safe after the Well went dark that ensured Cybertronians would proliferate. Usually, it meant that femmes were content keeping company with each other so they wouldn't have to deal with the obstinate mechs, but Arcee had had Tailgate – for better or worse. After he'd gone offline, there had definitely been a lot more 'worse' than 'better,' but she'd still had him with her.
"You make it sound like it was easy," she scoffed.
"Well, it didn't take long to get over Cliffjumper," he reasoned.
She felt her faceplate heat. "I'd only been with Cliff a few years. And, I had some help … sort of forced on me. It wasn't easy either – just hard in a different way."
Thankfully, Wheeljack didn't press any further on that matter.
"If those two cared about you like I do, they wouldn't have wanted you to honor their memory by being miserable."
"Once Ratchet defrags my memory, it'll be like I never bonded with them at all. It doesn't matter what they wanted anymore," she stated bluntly. "They'll just be offline."
"Well, thanks to you, I'm not offline, rusting in a parts bin right now. Can it matter what I want?"
She half laughed in disbelief.
"So, I'm finally getting my processor back in order, and you want me to jump right back into a bond with some … some …"
"Reckless, insubordinate, greaseball?" he offered with a smile. "No. Not at all." He shook his head at her. "I just want you to give me a fighting chance instead of flat-out denying me – and yourself."
Stunned, she just looked at him for a moment.
"I mean, you will eventually have to submit to my charm and good looks but …"
Arcee smacked him with a clang. The mech laughed at her, shielding himself with a door panel.
"Just … just shut up and take me home," she sighed. "The sooner I'm fixed, the sooner you can bring me back here."
He grinned at her, and Arcee couldn't help return it a little.
"I want a rematch."