Simple Isn't Easy: Simple Isn't Easy

Rating: PG
Warnings: Fluff. Sheer, unadulterated fluffy-marshmallow fluff.

Private Log #58:

Today is the DAY! I've been putting this off long enough. Today, I'm going to march my aft right down to the med bay and tell Ratchet exactly what I think of him…

~~~~

Looking unusually determined, Wheeljack strode through the Ark's halls and right through the med bay doors, only to almost be trampled by a very disgruntled looking CMO. Before he could even get a word out, Ratchet fixed him with the look.

“Dear Primus!” came the exasperated grunt as he sat aside the large high-power hose pack to examine his friend. “Jack! Please, for the love of all that's holy… Please tell me you haven't blown yourself up again.”

“No…” Wheeljack squirmed at Ratchet's touch. “…but I need to…”

“Dumped acid in a joint?” he asked, taking hold of a hand and looking it over carefully.

The engineered frowned behind his mask. “No…”

“Accidentally inhaled toxic fumes?”

“Eh…not today…” Wheeljack cleared a vent, his confidence fading rapidly under that withering yet concerned glare. “But there's something I need to talk to you about.”

Ratchet stepped back frowning deeply and had that special tone of voice used across the universe by very, very busy professionals who were trying their hardest not to whack the intruding distraction upside the head with a heavy duty wrench. “Are you in need immediate medical attention Wheeljack?”

“…no…”

“Then whatever it is can wait until after I'm done turning the demonic duo into toasters for making me waste my precious time un-glomming Cliffjumper from Omega's aft port.” With that, Ratchet grabbed the hose pack and stormed out of the med bay.

When he was gone, Wheeljack stood alone in the empty room. “I just wanted to say that I love you.”

~~~~

Private Log # 64

Alright. Attempt #3,587? Failed. Yet again, the Devil Twins have inadvertently ruined my amorous attempts to win over Ratchet.But there'll be no Lambo cockblockery this time! Thanks to the judicious use of duct tape and superglue, I've seen to it that the Twins are kept well occupied...well, at least until somebody finds the `cocoons'… This time, I've got Ratchet all to myself! There's no way this could go wrong!

“What do you mean he's out on patrol?!” gasped Wheeljack, audial fins flashing irritably.

First Aid shrugged. “Well, the twins never showed up for duty this morning so Ratchet and Ironhide volunteered to cover their shifts.”

“Hide? He's gone out with Hide again?” The engineer was quite obviously crushed.

“Um, yes…” First Aid gave him a worried look then tried to lighten the mood. “Ratchet's always hanging around the med bay or his office worrying over this and that, even off duty. It'll do the old guy some good to get out for a bit, don't you think?”

“Yeah, sure… Look, could you tell Ratchet I stopped by?” Fins dimming sadly, the engineer turned and slunked out to the hall. After all the trouble he'd gone to, what happens? Ratchet, the mech he's been holding the plasma torch for over well over a millennia, winds up getting paired up with good old Hide yet again. He seriously couldn't think of how his day could be worse.

It was only when the duct tape lasso tightened around his neck and jerked him into the clutches of two rather sticky, evilly smirking Lamborghinis' that Wheeljack realized his day had just become much worse…

~~~~

Memo to self: Remember that the next time you decide to duct tape and superglue others , make sure that they can't call in back up. Also, remember to weld Bluestreak's mouth to his exhaust pipe the next time you see him.

“Be careful Bee!” called up Carly as the minibot scaled the cliff side to rescue Wheeljack from the shiny gray cocoon.

“Right, right… Look out below!” Leaning out, Bee slashed the last of the tape holding the engineer and down he crashed in a rather undignified heap.

“Geez… What were you doing this time, Wheeljack?” Spike asked as he and Carly came over to help Bee remove the tape. “Experimenting with a Duct Tape Launcher or something?”

“Nope! Just testing my luck!” chirped the engineer sarcastically. Air whirred miserably out of his vent as he sat up, peeling away the last bits of tape. “And I've reached the conclusion that I must be the unluckiest mech in the multiverse!”

“Aw, don't say that, Wheeljack.” Gently, Carly reached up and patted his foot. “You're not the unlucky.”

“Yeah!” chimed in Bee. “You just explode everything you touch!”

“And unleash deadly chemicals on a regular basis!” added Spike.

“And built an ultra powerful defensive grid into the base only to lock everybody outside when you turn it on the first time!” grumbled Bee. “We're still finding acid-spitting bats in the store rooms…”

“Oh, and remember that thought transferal device that ended up not reading but switching peoples minds? The one that put me in Bee's body and vice versa for a whole week… Now that was…” Spike paused, a smirk crossing his face. “Actually, I kind of liked being an Autobot, especially after finding that there are girl robots…”

Bee matched his grin. “I know, right? And do you know the coolest thing about being human was that finally I got to find out what it was like to make out in my own backseat!”

The look Carly gave them could only be described as `glacial'. With the boys properly cowed, she turned back to Wheeljack and gave him another reassuring pat. “Don't listen to them, Jack. You've done plenty of great things, like…uh…”

“But they're right, Carly! I can't do a fragging thing right!” The engineer slumped even further, his head fins blinking miserably. “Let's face it, I'm a failure. Everything I do or builds ends a FUBAR, a massive SNAFU!” His intakes rasped in a dejected sigh. “Maybe that's why Ratchet would rather be with Ironhide than me…”

“That's not true! Ratchet likes you a lot! You two did build the Dinobots together, so technically that would make you guys a couple…” Carly's brow furrowed as she considered the implications.

“Primus, I wish it was like that!” barked Wheeljack. “Sure, we're the Dinobots creators, but mates? Ha! Why in the Pit would such a competent, handsome, responsible, wonderful mech like Ratchet want with a complete and utter fuck-up like me?”

“You are not a fuck-up! You're just…eh, passionate about your work.” She patted his foot again, smiling up at the crestfallen engineer. “I'm sure that if you talked to him, you might just find that Ratchet actually cares a lot about you.”

“I've tried!” snapped Wheeljack. “I've been trying to tell Ratchet for centuries, and every time—every fragging time, something happens and I'll either lose my nerve or Ratchet has to leave before I can even say `I love you'! You'd think a certified genius could do something as simple as confess a crush!”

Carly pursed her lips, thinking. “Well, have you tried sending him a letter?”

“Yeah. A few vorns before the war started, I sent him a note over the science division's network, but I accidentally got the address line wrong and it ended up getting sent to Preceptor's inbox. He was really nice about it, though Springer? Not so much…”

“How about flowers? Or whatever passes for flowers on Cybertron…”

“Tried that,” murmured Wheeljack. “I retro-engineered some samples of the Morphobots to make them eat waste fluids, produce large blooms, secrete a whole variety of wonderful fragrances, and have different colored tentacles. I even made a couple of them that would light up and sway in time with certain kinds of music!”

“They must have been beautiful!”

“Yeah, they were… Of course, that was before they got out of the lab and infested the hangar bays. Took months to clear them out and we're still finding them in the latrines…and the some of the washracks.”

Carly blinked up at him. “That doesn't sound too bad…”

“It wouldn't be, except I kind of didn't remove their predisposition for snatching up people and…uh, poking around in delicate places, if you know what I mean…”

“Oh. Oooooooooh.” Carly frowned. “Have you tried giving a gift? Like, um, energon candies or something?”

“Tried that,” sighed the engineer. “Quite a few times. Last time, the `Cons stole my recipe for `Energon Goodie Oilcake Surprise' before I could test out the first batch thinking it was some kind of new super fuel or something. Though given the effects it had when consumed, I guess it did work out okay in the end.”

“You bet it did!” chimed in Bee gleefully. “We've still got the video of the Decepticons high off their afterburners! Remember Starscream singing ABBA with the cassettes as his back-up singers?”

“Or Thundercracker talking to his `creepy little shoulder angel-thingies'?” Spike snickered. “That was comedy gold!”

Carly just rolled her eyes and turned back to the unnaturally doleful Wheeljack. “Did you ever think about singing him a song? It always works out in the movies…”

“Hmmm… I've never thought of that.” Perking up a bit, the engineer rubbed his chin as a plan started to form. “Maybe if I—”

“Whoa! Stop right there!” barked Bee with a slightly panicked tone. “Sorry Jack, but there is no way in hell I can allow you to subject any sentient being from having to endear such an attack to their audial senses.”

Spike nodded in agreement. “No offense, big guy, but you're the only guy we know whose singing voice is considered a war crime. Literally.”

Carly gaped at them. “How could you say such awful things? I'm sure you have a lovely—”

“Actually, Carly, they're right.” Wheeljack slumped, looking surprisingly sheepish for someone with a face mask. “Let's just say that they've used the threat of playing a recording of me singing in the washracks to interrogate hardened Decepticons before…”

“Then why not just play him a song on an instrument? Or a radio?” she groused in frustration.

“A musical instrument…?” Suddenly, Wheeljack's headfins and optics gleamed madly. “That's IT! I KNOW WHAT I HAVE TO DO!” Cackling with glee, he leap up, transformed mid-air, and went racing down the mountainside.

For a moment, Carly and the boys merely stared at the retreating dust cloud. She frowned. “I think I've just doomed us all…”

---

Personal Log # 65

Well, thanks to helpful advice of one of the young humans, I've been INSPIRED! I've worked for days on end, barely even stopping to recharge or even void my tanks, but it's almost complete! Soon, very soon, the WORLD (specifically that portion that is somewhat grumpy, medically trained, and inclined to throwing impromptu keggers in his office…) WILL KNOW!!!!!! MWHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[Note to self: Quit typing out the manic laughter. It's creepy.]

“What in the name of all that is rational and sane is that thing?” asked Skyfire, staring at the enormous collection of tubing and panels Wheeljack was merrily putting together in the middle of the common room.

“You'll see soon enough,” murmured the engineer with cryptic cheer as he attached a massive, overly complicated keyboard to the front of the Device.

“Looks like the bastard child of a sump pump and an air conditioner to me…” mutter Jazz, cocking his head to one side to get a better view of the Device. His optics narrowed suspiciously at the engineer. “Jack, this ain't some kind of pyrotechnics display, is it?”

“Of course not!” he chirped, tweaking a pipe. “It's a synthesizer pipe organ! Now, all I gotta do is hook up the thermal nuclear grelvane device…” While he was occupied, Jazz, Skyfire, and the rest of the Autobots that had been loitering around the common room quickly ducked for cover. “…And THERE! Let's fire this bad boy up for a test run!”

There was a brief silence as Wheeljack adjusted the tuners, and then...

“You know,” Jazz mused, peeking out from behind the bar. “That's kind of catchy. Gotta a really nice beat to it…”

“Yeah,” quipped Bluestreak as he peeked over the security officer's shoulder“It's a very lovely little tune. Wonder how he got it to make that funny beeping noi—”

The resulting explosion may not have been the biggest or loudest BOOM! ever caused by Wheeljack, but it certainly was the most musical.

~~~

“…Jack? Can you hear me? Wheeljack?” A hand reached out, gently shaking his shoulders.

“…Ratchet?” Slowly, he onlined his optics and looked up at the CMO. Everything was in a fuzzy sort of focus and Wheeljack felt like he'd wrapped up in a very comfy bundle of foam padding. His headfins flickered sadly. “…I got blown up again, didn't I?”

“Yes.” Frowning, Ratchet leaned close, not taking his hand off of the engineer. “Now, do you mind telling me why you were building a nuclear-powered pipe organ?”

“…because I love you?”

Ratchet stood there, staring at him for a long time. Finally, he said very softly, “You blew yourself up…because you love me?”

“Yes.” He winced, awaiting the bombastic rejection. To Wheeljack's surprise, Ratchet chuckled warmly and nuzzled the side of his neck.

“It's about damn time.”