I'm a lonesome polecat

Lonesome, sad and blue

'cause I ain't got no Feminine polecat

Vowin' to be true

Oo-oo-Oo-oo-Oo-oo-Oo-oo

Can't make no vows

To a heard of cows

I'm a mean old hound dog

Bayin' at the moon

'cause I ain't got no

Lady friend hound dog

Here to hear my tune

Oo-oo-Oo-oo-Oo-oo-Oo-oo

A man can't sleep

When he sleeps with sheep

I'm a little old hoot owl

Hootin' in the trees

'cause I ain't got no

Little gal owl fowl

Here to shoot the breeze

Oo-oo-Oo-oo-Oo-oo-Oo-oo

Can't shoot no breeze

With a bunch of trees

- Lonesome polecat, from Seven brides for seven brothers-

Bluestreak stood carefully, holding on to the chair, still wobbly on his pedes. Wheeljack smiled at him. Not that Bluestreak could see it – the last Wheeljack wanted was to remove his mask and scare the bit with how he looked, now that he was actually getting comfortable with other mecha.

There was a ping at the door, forcing Wheeljack to tear himself away from the sparkling. "That'll be your carrier, Blue. You ready to go home?"

"P'owl!" Bluestreak exclaimed, tottering towards the door as fast as he could. He fell over more than once, but that didn't deter him much. There was a lot of will in Bluestreak.

Wheeljack palmed the door open to let Prowl in. It was always funny to see Prowl, Head Tactical Officer, second-in-command of the entire Autobot army and generally considered to be the sternest, hardest and most unfeeling of them all, melt into a puddle at the sight of a tiny sparkling beaming up at him.

Of course, Prowl's image was just that, an image. Wheeljack knew the point of a decent image well enough.

"He's all fueled an' ready for berth," he offered. "Been a true joy to have around, as usual."

"Thank you so much for watching him," Prowl replied, smiling and kneeling down to catch the sparkling barreling towards him with all the unstoppable force of a determined bitlet heading for its carrier. "Have you had fun with Wheeljack, love?"

"Fun!" Bluestreak agreed eagerly. "Made poof! An' fueled! An' Jackie sang a song!"

"The poof was harmless, I promise," Wheeljack said hurriedly. "We popped bubbles. I wouldn't endanger him."

"I know," Prowl replied, smiling briefly at him. "We trust you, Wheeljack."

Well, wasn't that a thing.

"And pic-tors!"

"Yeah, we watched old pictures, didn't we, Blue?" Wheeljack agreed, smiling again.

"Yeah! Foxes! An' woofs! An'…" He frowned and looked up at Wheeljack. "What dey called?"

"Foxes and wolves, yes, and hawks and stags," Wheeljack replied. He met Prowl's optics. "I had an old documentary of wildlife on Cybertron and froze some stills for him to look at."

"Dey runnin'!" Bluestreak chirped happily. "An' flyin'!"

"That sounds like fun, my love," Prowl crooned. He stood up easily, bitlet cradled against his chassis. "And now I think it's time to get you to berth. Can you say goodbye to Wheeljack?"

"Hug!"

Wheeljack couldn't resist the small arms reaching for him. He'd like to see anyone who could, really – Bluestreak could charm even the coldest spark.

"Goodnight, Blue," he said softly. "I'll see you another time."

"Bye bye Jackie!"

He waited until Prowl and his tiny charge had rounded the corner into the next corridor before he stepped outside his quarters and locked the door behind him. He'd deal with the cleanup later – right now he didn't want to be alone in there.

Instead, he headed for the rec room. It was predictably crowded, the usual end-of-shift chaos, and Wheeljack managed to sneak one of the last empty tables. He cradled his energon cube and tried to give off an air of oh-shit-Wheeljack's-thinking-again-wonder-what's-going-to-go-boom-next.

He succeeded for a while.

Inevitably, though, there were too many mechs for them all to ignore a mostly empty table, and someone stopped by the vacant chair.

"Hey, Wheeljack. Mind if I sit down?"

He glanced up at the dark mech. Not the worst of company, really, if he had to have some. "Sure, Trailbreaker, go ahead."

Trailbreaker sat, clutching his own cube, and gave Wheeljack a tentative smile. "Thanks. You off shift?"

"All day," Wheeljack confirmed. "I'm waitin' for the results on something Percy and I are workin' on, and I can't really do much until they're ready."

"Ah, okay." Trailbreaker nodded, smiling slightly. "Sounds kind of nice, actually. A whole shift off."

"I'm certainly not complaining. How 'bout you? Had an okay day?"

He listened somewhat patiently as Trailbreaker told him about the day's patrol. Sounded like the 'Cons were up to their same old tricks, and the Autobots were pinned down in the same old spots, and the war was raging.

Not much different from yesterday, really. Or last week. Or last month, for that matter.

"I like the patrol shifts," Trailbreaker continued. "Though I'm looking forward to everything calming down enough for all of us to relax a bit."

"Yeah, relaxin's good," Wheeljack agreed.

"It is. Though you don't seem to be doing it right."

That had his full attention. "Huh?"

"If you spent all day relaxing," Trailbreaker said, giving him a look that was sharper than Wheeljack felt that visor should be able to produce. "Why do you seem more tired and down than pretty much every other mech in here?"

Sharp indeed.

"To tell you the truth," Wheeljack admitted, "I've had Bluestreak today. I just handed him back."

Trailbreaker frowned. "I thought the bitlet was settling in well."

"Yeah, he's a sweetheart," Wheeljack agreed. "That's part of the problem. Every time I hand him back, it damn near breaks my spark."

He didn't know why he was telling this to Trailbreaker all of a sudden. Sure, the mech was nice - a bit hesitant and quiet at times but friendly enough, steady and loyal. But he wasn't really a friend for all that. He wasn't Ratchet, or Ironhide, or any of the admittedly few mecha Wheeljack counted as actual friends.

But Ratchet spent most of his free time with a twin on each arm these days, happy as a glow-lark. And Ironhide… Well, the mech would look either bemused or amazed, depending on whether he'd spent time off-shift with the Prime that day or not. Wheeljack wouldn't pretend to know what was going on there, but the Prime was exuding this happiness that was clearly at odds with the way the war was going, and whenever Wheeljack saw Elita now she looked as smug as a voltaicat with a fresh kill.

It was kind of unnerving, really. But Ironhide at least seemed to be happy enough.

It was good to see his best friends happy. Though it left Wheeljack as a fourth wheel most of the time, which in most cases would be a good thing, but with the way everything was going three-wheeled lately he didn't fit anymore.

Ratchet, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe.

Ironhide, Optimus and Elita.

Jazz, Prowl and Bluestreak.

And Wheeljack.

It sucked slag. To not put too fine a point on it.

Trailbreaker stared at him for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, I guess I can see that. Though I have to admit, I didn't know you were so fond of sparklings."

"I always wanted a whole heap of them." He downed the rest of his pitiful, annoying, plain mid-grade cube. "Not like that's gonna happen now."

"It may happen yet," Trailbreaker replied, more cheerfully than Wheeljack felt the situation merited. "This war can't last forever."

Wheeljack scoffed at that. He'd seen the tactical plans. The command meetings were such a joy to sit through these days. "Well, keep hold of that optimism, mech. You're gonna need it."

Trailbreaker looked at him again, less sharply this time. Then he smiled slightly. "I think I know what you need. Just give me a half-hour to get it arranged. Can I come by your quarters later?"

Now it was Wheeljack's turn to stare. That was remarkably un-hesitant for Trailbreaker. The mech never made the first move – pit, as far as Wheeljack had noticed, what little he had noticed, Trailbreaker never made a move at all.

Though it might not be a move. It might just be Trailbreaker trying to be nice.

Primus knew he would have to be insane to make a move on Wheeljack of all mechs, anyway.

Still, it didn't hurt to be sure. "What do you have in mind?" he asked cautiously.

Trailbreaker smiled. "It's a surprise. I think you'll like it. I'll bring it to your quarters, okay?"

It didn't sound like Wheeljack had much of a choice in the matter. And it wasn't like he had any other plans for his evening. "Yeah, okay. Sure."

"Great." Trailbreaker flashed him a grin and stood. "I'll see you then."

Wheeljack waited until the black mech had left before standing up with a sigh. He might as well get back to his quarters and tidy away the traces of Bluestreak still covering the space.

It wasn't a full half-hour before there was a knock on the door. Wheeljack was just putting away the last sparkling bottle. He kicked at a left-behind building block and palmed the door open.

"Hi," Trailbreaker said, a bashful smile on his face. "Mind letting me in?"

Wheeljack stood aside to let him by, closing the door again behind him. "So what's the surprise?"

"This." Trailbreaker pulled two cubes from his subspace. "Please don't be an officer and report me for this. I may be bending the rules a bit to have them, but I got them fair and square."

"Hmm." Wheeljack took one of the cubes, unsealing it and sniffing at the contents. The scent alone was enough to have him pull back. "Whoa, that's strong. Home-brewed?"

"Don't ask, don't tell?" Trailbreaker said hopefully.

He was taking a bit of a chance with this, Wheeljack realized. Trailbreaker was a junior tactician, just a grunt really, and Wheeljack wasn't just a superior officer, he was command staff. He could order Trailbreaker straight to the brig for this.

…Well, screw being command staff. He needed this.

The high-grade burned just as much on the way down as he'd suspected. Trailbreaker raised his own cube and grinned at him. "Here's to optimism."

"And getting a damn break for once," Wheeljack agreed. He sipped at the high-grade again. "Pit, I've missed this."

Somehow, they ended up seated on Wheeljack's solitary sofa. Trailbreaker's chin was resting in his hand, elbow on the table, and Wheeljack stretched out with his legs up on a stool and his head back against the wall.

He raised his cube to his mouth again. At some point in the last hour he'd taken his mask off, though he couldn't remember either actually taking it off or where he'd put it.

Sideswipe's high-grade was some seriously potent stuff.

"How did you know?" he slurred.

"Know what?" Trailbreaker's voice was soft and low.

"That this was what I needed."

Trailbreaker shrugged. "Figured drowning your troubles was the way to go."

"Well, you're not wrong." He raised his cube to empty the last of it, but there was nothing left. He frowned – he really couldn't remember drinking the rest.

If this kept up, there would be a lot of things he wouldn't remember.

"You don' have to spend your evenin' with me, though." He put his cube down, a bit more forcefully than he'd intended. "There must be better ways for you to spend your time."

Trailbreaker hesitated. "To be honest," he murmured, staring into what was left of his own high-grade, "I've been wanting to do this for a while."

Wheeljack stared at him. "What, get wasted in questionable company?"

"You're not questionable company, Wheeljack," Trailbreaker objected. He sounded more sober than he had any right to, with that much high-grade in his system. "I don't know why you keep putting yourself down like that."

"'Cause it's simpler." He leaned towards Trailbreaker, frowning at him. "How're you not ridiculously overcharged?"

"Because my energy requirements are high enough to pretty much neutralize the high-grade instantly." Trailbreaker smiled, but he didn't look happy. "I can barely feel the kick, really."

"Well, frag," Wheeljack sighed. "Shoulda brought more than two cubes."

"Not with the prices Sideswipe charges," Trailbreaker chuckled.

"Huh. Well, next time's on me, then." He stared into Trailbreaker's near-empty cube, frowning. There was something he'd meant to say… Oh, right. "So, what didya mean, you wanted to do this for a while?"

Trailbreaker looked away for a moment before meeting Wheeljack's optics. He raised a hand, hesitating, before resting it lightly on Wheeljack's arm. "Hang out. With you. I've been wanting to for a while."

Wheeljack blinked. That was… unexpected. "Why?"

"Why?" Trailbreaker shook his head. "Because you're a good guy, 'Jack. You're nice." He looked away and mumbled something.

Wheeljack frowned. "Didya just say I'm easy on the optics?"

The grumble he got in response didn't clarify anything, really.

"Hey." He poked Trailbreaker's arm. "Didya just say I'm easy on the optics?"

Trailbreaker turned back and looked at him. "Yeah. Yeah, I did."

Now it was Wheeljack's turn to shake his head. "Mech, I'd say it was the high-grade, but you're not near wasted enough for that."

Trailbreaker snorted. "Like I'd have to be wasted to find you attractive."

Wheeljack gave him a pointed look. He tilted his head to really show off the scars on his face. "You sure about that?"

Trailbreaker sighed. "It's not just about the looks, 'Jack. It's… You're sweet, and kind. You're generous. And yeah, you're hot as pit. Those?" He reached out, trailed a finger down Wheeljack's scarred cheek. "They're just a finishing touch."

Wheeljack stared at him. Trailbreaker didn't pull his hand back – he kept stroking, his thumb caressing Wheeljack's cheek, his fingers cradling his jaw.

Well. To pit with it.

He was going to regret this tomorrow anyway.

Ignoring the little rational voice telling him to take things slow and not take advantage, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth against Trailbreaker's.

… somehow, he didn't regret it.

Oh, he regretted the high-grade. The pounding in his head, the churning in his tanks, all testament to the lackluster quality of Sideswipe's brewing techniques? Those he totally regretted.

Onlining with Trailbreaker still in recharge next to him, one leg thrown haphazardly over Wheeljack's own? That he didn't regret at all.

And it was so strange. He'd expected to feel guilty, ashamed, maybe even upset, probably ready to kick his own aft for the next couple of weeks, but instead…

Instead, he was lying there, gazing at Trailbreaker's slack features, taking in all the little details he'd never really noticed before. Like his hands – Trailbreaker's fingers were thick and blunt, his palms broad. Dependable, strong hands, perfect for navigating uneven terrain.

Or for stretching a valve. Wheeljack's was still tingling pleasantly.

Trailbreaker's frame was nice, too. He had that certain esthetic that many scout frames had – solid, dependable, all strong plating and bulky build.

It was… kind of hot, to be honest.

Wheeljack's own racing frame was maybe three quarters of the mass of Trailbreaker's, and that was mostly thanks to his blast-proof plating. It was nice, being able to curl in against a bigger frame like this.

He could get used to it. And wasn't that a scary thought.

It wasn't like he'd ever considered Trailbreaker in that light before. But he hadn't really considered anyone. He'd spent too long telling himself that the days of him having any chance of anything like this was long gone, and that he didn't have anything to offer anymore.

After all, who'd want a scarred, unstable scientist with a flair for producing unintentional booms and a propensity for damaging not just himself, but everyone in the immediate vicinity?

He wouldn't want himself either.

But for some reason, Trailbreaker did.

He remembered that much. The words whispered in the night, the sweet adorations, the light touches to Wheeljack's face, the look on Trailbreaker's face whenever he got to touch, like Wheeljack was a treasure he couldn't believe he was allowed to have.

It was a heady feeling, being worshiped like that. And Wheeljack didn't know what to make of it.

But he didn't regret anything. He didn't regret waking up to Trailbreaker in his berth.

Especially when Trailbreaker's visor brightened slowly, and he reached out to pull Wheeljack close and snuggle up against his chassis. "Morning."

"Hey," Wheeljack replied softly. "Recharge well?"

"Very." Trailbreaker nuzzled his plating. "You?"

"Much better than I expected, considerin' the high-grade involved." His tone was wry. "That had some serious kick to it."

"I guess it did." Trailbreaker chuckled. "Sorry 'bout that."

"Don't apologize. You were right, I needed that."

He rested his chin on Trailbreaker's helm. Somehow the black mech had ended up resting against Wheeljack's shoulder, leaving his left hand free to stroke the sensitive seams on the back of Trailbreaker's neck. The black mech purred, the rumbling sound vibrating against Wheeljack's thick plating.

"When do you have to be on shift?"

"Second shift," Trailbreaker replied. "So I've got some time. You?"

"I'm still waiting for those results I mentioned. So I don't have to be anywhere unless someone calls for me."

"Hmm." Trailbreaker's hand slid down Wheeljack's thigh. "So… That means you have some time."

Wheeljack grinned. Seemed like someone was hinting for a rerun.

He found he didn't mind that one bit either. So he pushed at Trailbreaker slightly until the larger mech pulled back a bit, then slid down until he could meet his lips with his own.

It was looking to be a good day.

Wheeljack collected his cube and sat down at a vacant table. The rec room was filling up with the typical end-of-shift crowd, and he knew he wouldn't be sitting alone for long.

In fact, he was banking on it.

Blaster walked past, giving him a jaunty wave, and Wheeljack nodded back. That mech was much happier after he'd found a way to keep performing. Hopefully the war would let him keep doing his gigs.

Primus knew they all deserved the good things.

And speaking of good things…

"Sorry I'm late." Trailbreaker sat down next to Wheeljack, a full cube in his hand and an easy smile on his lips. "Have you been waiting long?"

"Not at all." Wheeljack leaned in, pressing a kiss to those lips. He didn't miss the smirk Ratchet gave him as he walked past, Sideswipe right on his tail. "How was your shift?"

"Interesting enough. Kind of couldn't wait to get back here, though." Trailbreaker looked down, bashful, before smiling at Wheeljack. "Is it too much to say I missed you today?"

Wheeljack took his hand and tangled their fingers together. "It would be, if I didn't miss you too."

And how unexpected was that? Wheeljack still wasn't sure he really believed this. Sometimes, he half expected to online and find out that he'd imagined the whole thing.

He didn't think he could have imagined Trailbreaker, though. The way he smiled at Wheeljack when he didn't think Wheeljack was watching. Those little terms of endearment whispered in the night. The way he got self-conscious and embarrassed whenever Wheeljack said something in return.

Impulsively, he lifted Trailbreaker's hand and pressed it against his mask in a mock-up kiss. "Thanks."

Trailbreaker's smile was bright. "For what?"

"For gettin' to me. For gettin' under my plating that first night."

Cue the flustered embarrassment Wheeljack was wondering if he was starting to love. "Don't thank me for that. If anything, I should be thanking you. For giving me a chance."

Wheeljack laughed softly. "I'm really glad I did." He leaned his helm against Trailbreaker's. "Hey."

"Hey?" That smile again, brightening Trailbreaker's optics and making Wheeljack's spark spin faster. "Hey what?"

"Hey, want to prove how thankful you are in a more private venue?" He let his fingers glide across Trailbreaker's arm suggestively. "I know I'm ready to prove how grateful I am."

Trailbreaker just grinned and downed his cube. Then he stood up, tugging Wheeljack with him.

Okay, that confidence was seriously hot.

Wheeljack let himself be led out of the room, ignoring the cat-calls and whistling coming from a certain medic and his new partners.

He was fairly certain he wouldn't trade this for anything else in the universe.