#scremlin

Wheeljack was busy again. By Wheeljack’s standards, “busy” meant that the engineer locked himself in his lab and didn’t emerge for anything – or, most importantly, anyone – for what was often days at a time.

The first day Ratchet found the door closed, he sighed to himself and went back to the medbay, knowing it’d be a fruitless effort to try to speak to or get Wheeljack to open the door at all. Sure, he missed the other mech’s enthusiastic chatter and the mischievous flashes of his fins whenever he made a particularly terrible joke, but he had hopes that whatever was being worked on in there would be worth the silence and the time apart.

The second day was more of a shock to the system, but then again, Ratchet had grown used to it. He had the company of Optimus and Jazz and Ironhide, whenever his friends were around, at least, and there was always young First Aid in the medbay to talk to and to train. One day, he’d retire and Aid would step into the position of the Autobot Chief Medical Officer, and he’d be able to put his pedes up and relax; not that he could envision himself relaxing anytime soon. The war raged on, and Ratchet knew his skill and experience when it came to saving lives was unrivalled.

He distracted himself from the growing stab of loneliness by working far harder than he should be through taking stock of the contents of the entire medbay. First Aid hovered anxiously nearby on the third day, servos clasped in front of him as he quietly ventured that perhaps Ratchet should sit down and take a break, and refuel a little too while he was at it. His visor flashed in soft concern as he spoke, but his efforts were to no avail.

On the fourth day, Ratchet listened. He refuelled, sat down and took a break as instructed, and went back to the sealed lab with a cube of energon clutched in his servos. Wheeljack was just as bad as him when it came to working without pause, and he hoped the engineer would at least stop long enough to refuel.

He ended up leaving the cube outside the lab. Sounds could be heard from within – evidently Wheeljack was hard at work doing something, probably building a crazy gadget that would work for a short time and then explode in a series of dramatic bangs at the most inconvenient of times. 

Ratchet could well recall the time the weaponised human communication device the engineer had made had gone up in a shower of sparks when they’d been trying to recharge in peace together. Life with Wheeljack as a mate was by no means uneventful, but he wouldn’t swap it for the world. They’d been together for a long time, and despite a few arguments and clashes of opinion were still just as passionate about each other, even if he wasn’t much of an openly affectionate mech. Behind closed doors, it was an entirely different story.

The Decepticons attacked on the fifth day – or rather, they came a little too close for comfort to the Ark. Optimus rallied the Autobots and they went out to patrol perimeters and drive Megatron safely away, and naturally Ratchet was recruited to go along. First Aid, being an avid pacifist, wasn’t the type to go into the field, and this wasn’t exactly a situation that would require the might of Defensor. Aid was perfectly capable of handling himself and the medbay. It’ll be okay, Ratchet told himself as they left the base. It isn’t like Wheeljack is going to blow himself up, right?

In short, Wheeljack did just that.

Ratchet wasn’t expecting to receive a call from First Aid in the middle of kicking Decepticon aft, but he answered it anyway.

::He what?::

::There was an explosion. Whatever he was doing in there…:: First Aid sounded like he was both frustrated while simultaneously trying not to laugh. ::He blew it up. It went up in his face, and he staggered in here demanding you – he’s not seriously injured, just a little sooty. Just get back here as soon as you can before I give in to the urge to cuff him to the medical slab.::

There was a definite giggle in the younger mech’s voice by the time he closed the comm channel. Frustrated and worried, Ratchet was relieved by the time Jazz had fired a barrage of parting shots in the direction of retreating Decepticons, and after checking that everyone was largely uninjured was quick to return to the Ark. He hadn’t seen Wheeljack for five days, and now the mech had gone and wrecked whatever he’d been working on and gotten himself singed in the process. Despite how ridiculous the whole situation was, it was so undeniably Wheeljack that Ratchet couldn’t find it in him to be upset, not this time, at least.

When he finally swept into the medbay, passing a harassed-looking Aid, Wheeljack leaped up to greet him immediately regardless of the indignant huff that came from the junior medic. “Ratch’! Missed ya.”

“Sit down,” Ratchet chuckled, but squeezed the engineer’s servo warmly regardless. “You’ll give Aid a spark attack. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Wheeljack’s indicators flashed indignantly, but he didn’t argue as he reluctantly sat on the slab once again. He’d learned a long time ago that when Ratchet was in his domain – in other words, the medbay – it was impossible to do anything else but let him work, and the medic in question was still proud of that fact. “I’m not even hurt,” he protested. “My mask shielded me from the worst of it. All there is to even fiddle with are a few cables in my neck. They don’t hurt. At all.”

“Lie back,” Ratchet said sternly, seeing and deciding then and there that the slightly sparking cables needed immediate repair. He pulled his patch kit out and got to work, skilled servos carefully closing tiny holes that exposed far too delicate wiring. “You’re ridiculous, y’know that? What am I going to do with you?”

Wheeljack shuttered his optics and relaxed back on the slab, thankfully going still as Ratchet worked. Both mechs were well aware that a single slip could prove to be far more damaging than his current injuries. “Oh, I dunno.” He chuckled softly. “You could tell me you love me, maybe, and we could get some energon later. I’ve missed seeing your grumpy face.”

“I’m not grumpy,” Ratchet protested. He made a tiny weld to seal the wound, venting quietly as he set his tools down. “I just worry about you, and I missed you these past few days. I had no one to drag me away from work, and no one to –”

“No one to cuddle you at night, I know,” the engineer laughed, and sat up as Ratchet began to pack his tools away. He rubbed at his now repaired neck, his smirk almost audible in his voice as he spoke. “We can make up for those days later. I’m gonna give my project a few days before seeing how much of it I can repair.”

“Try not to lock the door next time and shut me out completely,” the medic scolded, optics widening minutely at the sight of First Aid innocently sorting through a stack of datapads, not even pretending that he wasn’t eavesdropping. Young mechs these days. “Oh, and it might be helpful to not blow it or yourself up. I don’t want to have to fix you up because of a silly preventable accident ever again.”

“Alright, doc,” Wheeljack snorted, and stood. He wrapped his arms around Ratchet’s waist from behind and rested his chin on his shoulder. His field filled with the warm affection that so often flowed between them as he meshed it with Ratchet’s immediately offered field. “I promise I’ll do my best not to end up anywhere near the medbay in the future, aside from coming to drag you away from work, of course. Aid’s got this all sorted, haven’t ya?”

“Uh! Yes? Yes, I do. Absolutely I do.” First Aid sounded mortified that he’d been caught listening, and rightfully so. Ratchet hid a snort and reached up to cup Wheeljack’s cheek, briefly bumping their helms together.

He lowered his voice significantly. “Just don’t do that to me again, love. I mean it. I can and will disable your interface array.”

“Aww, even I know you wouldn’t do that,” Wheeljack snickered. He laughed, his whole frame shaking in his amusement. “I’ll do my absolute sparkfelt best to be there for you properly, Sunshine. I missed your frown. A lot. Can’t possibly live without it.”

“Sunshine,” Ratchet grumbled, but relented, sagging in Wheeljack’s arms. The mech would never let his ridiculous nickname go. “Fine. When I’m done here, we can go catch up – in private.” He twisted slightly, directing a poignant glare in Aid’s direction.

First Aid simply shrugged, shameless in how he was listening. “Just go. I’ve got the medbay under control, and none of the reports I’m getting from anyone are saying they’re badly hurt. It’ll be fine.”

Ratchet paused. He stared at the little medic, who met his gaze with that twinkling blue visor of his, and blinked as he gestured at the exit to the medbay. “Go on! Really, I’ll be okay.”

Twisting his mouth into something he figured vaguely resembled a smile, Ratchet reached boldly for Wheeljack’s servo. He tugged the mech forward and out of the medbay, ignoring the smugness that was radiating from First Aid in favour of muttering a quiet thank you.

He had his mate back, neither of them were hurt, and the world was right again. They’d go back to their shared quarters, refuel in each other’s company at last, and finally collapse onto the berth wrapped in each other’s arms, fully sated and content with spending quiet time together, protected from the craziness of their everyday lives for just a few precious hours.

“I love you, Sunshine,” Wheeljack said after a short but pleasant silence as they walked together. “Always have, always will.”

Ratchet glanced at him, then smiled and squeezed his servo. He leaned in and briefly pressed his lips to the other’s mask, then his lips when his mate obligingly slid his mask aside. “I love you too, Jackie. Always.”