Only Time Will Tell

A/N: Um...yeah. I missed writing about Wheeljack.

This can be considered AU by the time "Hurt" airs, but to heck with it. Enjoy!

Transformers: Prime (c) Hasbro

01. Prologue

"You're leaving…to join a Prime?"

Wheeljack's expression betrayed neither shock nor betrayal, though it was more than evident by his tone and the hard set to his optics. In front of him, his massive friend managed a tight smile.

"The Prime, Jackie. You know as well as anyone that Optimus was elected by The Council."

The Wrecker rolled his bulky shoulders, folding his arms over his chest plate. "Yeah, and I also know what our last Prime was like."

Bulkhead's optical ridges furrowed, and he struggled to be heard over the cacophony of the loading bay, while still keeping his tone level. "Optimus is nothing like Sentinel, Jackie. We don't even know where that fragger is." He cycled air through his vents, resting a worn servo on his comrade's shoulder. "C'mon, you know this isn't easy for me, Wheeljack. I want to do my part for the war, and I'm just not doing that as a Wrecker. Optimus Prime is the real thing."

Wheeljack allowed a dry chuckle to leave his mouthplate. "Good thing you told me this after our little skirmish on Sandokan, or I might've actually left you there."

"Same old Jackie," Bulkhead muttered, rolling his optics at his friend's version of humor before his war-hardened features softened. "I'll do my best to keep in touch."

The Wrecker nodded stiffly, sticking out his servo. "Yep. Try not to have too much fun without me, Bulk'."

Bulkhead took one look at Wheeljack's extended servo before abruptly trapping his friend in a crushing bear hug, lifting him a good few feet off the ground.

"Watch the finish, you ol' wrecking ball," Wheeljack snorted, and the ex-Wrecker set him back down with a grin.

The pair clasped forearms, and Bulkhead said, "take care, Jackie." Without another word he turned and marched up the ramp into the Ark, leaving Wheeljack alone on the hanger floor, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of other Cybertronians.

A couple breems passed before the Prime's ship took off, and once it was no more than a speck in the sky Wheeljack headed for the Xantium.

"See ya soon, Bulk'…"

02. Beginning

It's a lot less complicated… it's a lot less complicated… it's a lot less complicated…

That mantra, and others like it, was all that ran through Wheeljack's one-track. Being alone was good—simpler, better for the processor…

They had lost Rotorstorm that day.

Ultra Magnus wasn't like most stuffy old figurehead leaders—he didn't give same overblown speech about Rotorstrorm's courage, his bravery in battle—to be a Wrecker, one had to be Sparked with those traits. No, Ultra Magnus knew each and every one of his 'bots, and as such, instead talked about the stupidest, most glitch-headed things 'Storm had done. Everybot went up, just as they had done for Pyro and Impactor before him. But for Wheeljack, the gnawing gap—or rather, the filled gap—left him out of sorts. The gap which had been filled by bitter feeling of companionship.

"Hey, slagger—catch."

Wheeljack shot out a servo just in time to seize the cube of high grade thrown at him with a familiar, unerring accuracy. "Thanks," he muttered before downing a mouthful, enjoying the pleasant buzz that came with it. There was silence in the storage bay before the younger bot spoke again. "What are you doing down here anyway, old timer?"

Seaspray grunted, chugging half of his own cube before answering, his voice garbled as if it were underwater. "Thought you could use the company and drink before you threw yourself out of the airlock."

The bulky white bot nodded, tearing his optics away from the round, porthole like window beside him, drumming his digits on the Wrecker emblem on his chest as if in thought. "Yeah, the drink is important…." Seaspray snorted.

"Now you're sounding like me. What's on your processor, kid?"

One of Wheeljack's optical ridges rose. "May I remind you that I'm not exactly a youngling, despite what you seem to think?"

Seaspray waved his half-empty high grade in what might have been a warning fashion. "Quit stalling. What's wrong?"

Wheeljack huffed with a tad of petulance, turning so that his backside faced his comrade. Seaspray rolled his optics, aged frame creaking as he leaned against one of the many storage containers. "You're a stubborn fragger, you know that?" A muffled, curse filled reply was his answer as Wheeljack chugged more of his high grade. The old bot chuckled. "You know, I've been listening in on some of the radio frequencies…and a whole lot of 'bots have mentioned you."

"Oh really?" Wheeljack inquired mildly, though the yellow and blue mech behind him noticed how his digits tightened around his cube. Seaspray carried on conversationally, completely undeterred.

"Yup. And they've been praisin' ya—those Autobots you took with ya to Darkmount Pass, ones that have seen ya in action—they see ya as a war hero."

"Great for them," Wheeljack growled, his digits nearly crushing the cube of high grade in his servo, "but why would that matter to me?"

Seaspray shrugged, even if his friend couldn't see it. "Don't know." He turned to leave, calling carelessly over his shoulder. "Maybe to remind you that you're not as alone as you like to think."

03. The Middle

"I won't sugarcoat things, boys, so here it is, plain and simple—Cybertron has finally gone dark. What used to be our home, and later our battleground is no more than an uninhabitable scrapheap. If you have the ability or resources to get off-world, do so. To those stranded—I'm sorry, but there's nothing we can do for you. This is Ultra Magnus, commander of the Wreckers, signing off for the last time. Good luck."

Wheeljack shut off the transmission feed, bravely ignoring the trembling of his servos.

That had been the third time that the same transmission had echoed through his otherwise empty flier. Roadbuster would've been with him, but…

"It's all part of the job," he murmured, rechecking the Jackhammer's autopilot for what must have been the umpteenth time. Then he looked towards one of his ship's retractable windows, and saw a tiny spec in the distance that he knew to be Cybertron. A dark Cybertron.

He tore his optics away as memories plagued him like scraplets, and pushed a button to hide the view behind a sheet of metal. He allowed himself to fall into his seat, heaving a cycle of air through his vents. Wheeljack sat, staring at nothing for several kliks, allowing the ship to take him where it may, before he moved a servo to finger the grenade at his hip.

Tugging the device free, the Wrecker examined his handiwork in his servos, digits carving a familiar path over the canister's smooth casing. He chuckled suddenly, a happier memory resurfacing.

"One grenade, one shot…"

Wheeljack looked about his vacant cockpit, finding his optics drawn to the simple storage closet off to one side. He reasoned that he should have enough parts….

The 'bot stood and began preparing a temporary lab in the back of his flier, grabbing all of the tech he would need to build several spare grenades.

He just hoped that nothing blew up too badly—there wasn't anybody around to clean up his mess.

04. The End

"What's 'Kriss Mus?"

Miko swung her legs over the edge of the counter with a roll of the eyes at the Wrecker's question.

"Seriously?" she demanded, watching him build another one of his grenades ("You can never have enough spares!" he would always say) and probably counting down the seconds before it exploded. "You've been on the planet for who knows how long and you haven't learned a thing about it?"

Wheeljack shrugged, mild indifference writing across his features. "Never found any of the humans' traditions interesting."

"That's not true!" Miko instantly argued, though it was with a grin on her face. "Bulkhead told me that you adored Halloween because you got to scare trick-or-treaters with the 'haunted car' routine." And then, as soon as her glee had come it was eradicated just as swiftly at the mention of her fallen guardian.

The Wrecker's short-term repair bay was silent for several moments, filled only with the sounds of Wheeljack's tinkering, before the 'bot said, "Tell me more about this 'Kriss Mus'."

This succeeded in making Miko chuckle. "It's pronounced 'Christmas'. And it's a holiday celebrated all over the world." She swung her legs over the counter's edge again as Wheeljack continued working. "Some people still celebrate it for the religious aspect of it, but most just do what everyone else does."

"And what's that?" Wheeljack inquired with noticeably subdued curiosity.

Miko shrugged. "Getting together with family and friends. Exchange presents, make a lot of food."

Wheeljack hummed. "And this 'Christmas' is gonna happen next week?"

The girl smiled softly, examining her boots as if they were the most interesting things in the world. "Yeah…are you going to be here?"

Something small and irritatingly sharp sliced through his Spark, though Wheeljack did his best not to react. He nodded stiffly. "I think so." He didn't see the relief bloom across Miko's features, nor the muted pain and nostalgia that followed."

Miko nodded, a chuckle bubbling from her lips. "And do you know what the best part about Christmas is?"

"No. what?"

"The snow," Miko smiled, leaning back contentedly.

"Snow—a form of precipitation in the form of crystalline water ice, consisting of snowflakes that fall from clouds," Wheeljack recited, taking the time to actually search the subject on the World Wide Web. Miko laughed, though to the Wrecker's audio receptors it sounded somewhat forced.

"You know, Bulk' promised that on Christmas Day he would take me to the best snowfall he could find because I had gone so long without seeing it."

Wheeljack froze; his servos still wrapped around the few wires in his grenade canister, and felt something within his chest ache. He swallowed, struggling to string together a sentence while feeling like his glossa had been welded to the roof of his mandible. In the end, words weren't necessary.

Before he could stop himself or the girl could protest, Wheeljack had abandoned his grenade (safely deactivated, thank you) and plucked Miko from the tabletop, eliciting only a sharp gasp and a strangled yelped as he cocooned her in his massive servos. It took the girl a moment to regain her bearings, and by that time the Wrecker had already exited the impromptu repair bay and begun to near the silo proper.

"Wha-what the heck are you doing, Wheeljack?" she stammered, clutching at his servos as he finally reached the large, open area that was the main hangar.

The Wrecker scanned the area, finding it suitably empty save for Ratchet in his laboratory, and headed for the GroundBridge console as he answered. "Don't worry kid. I just thought it was about time we blew this ice cream stand."

He didn't have to look down to know that Miko was smirking. "It's 'popsicle stand', Jackie."

"Whatever," the Wrecker responded airily, punching in a set of coordinates and activating the Bridge. He kept the girl shielded in one servo, holding her close to his chest plate as they entered and exited the vortex. He heard her breath catch as the terrain became properly visible.

"Jackie…" she whispered, snowflakes catching in her black and pink hair. Around them, spread as far as the eye could see, was pure white snow in every direction, framed by a mountain ridge above them. With the child pressed closely to his warm chest plate, Wheeljack smiled—and not a smirk, for once, but an honest to Primus smile.

"I know that I'm no Bulkhead, but…" he released a low exhale, warm air cycling through his vents.

Miko shook her head, pigtails trembling, and tightly clutched his thumb. He just noticed the tears in her eyes, and how they traveled slowly and soundlessly down her cheeks. "No...No, its perfect, Wheeljack."

The Wrecker huffed softly in embarrassment, dipping his helm to hide his faceplate. Carefully, he lowered himself down onto the snow, sitting with crossed legs along the powdery white.

Miko was sniffing now, trying to wipe away the evidence of her tears but failing since they continued coming. Both were silent for several minutes, Wheeljack content in observing the simple beauty of an Eden unspoiled by humankind.

"You're not going to leave anymore, are you?"

Wheeljack started at the sudden question, glancing down at the girl in his servos, Miko looking back up at him evenly. With a sigh she was dissolving him, or maybe he her—one thing was for certain, which was that Miko could see through his bravado and apathy as well as Bulkhead could.

He smiled, and he felt the girl relax in his palm, curling up to the comforting warmth as he answered the way she'd wanted him to.

"Nah... no more solo time for me when I've got you to watch out for."