Chapter Text
It started before his next shift. A snicker. A cut-off laugh. Someone clearing their vocalizer to re-set. He didn’t process it at first: he was on his way to duty after all, and his duty partner didn’t say anything the whole night. If there’d been something wrong or weird, Mirage should have piped up. Right?
The laughter didn’t stop though. Trailbreaker gave it a day, in case it was a base-wide prank someone was pulling. Then he went to Ratchet, who always kept an even processor and an up-beat attitude. He could be trusted to tell Breaker if something was wrong. Or worse, if Trailbreaker was being paranoid. It had to be Ratchet, since they didn’t have a therapist.
After a basic systems check, Ratchet stood by the medical berth and ran through the numbers on his data pad. “Aside from being low on fuel, which is never a surprise from you,” the medic sniped once, “you’re normal and healthy. What’s the problem? Have you noticed something?”
“Hearing,” Breaker admitted, sitting up a little more to lean on his legs. “See, the other day when I was walking around mechs just started snickering and laughing at me, and I’m not sure why. Or if they even are laughing at me,” Trailbreaker tacked on quickly, “but I get the distinct feeling they are. It doesn’t start until they notice me there, and see me. They don’t do it to my face though, they wait until I’m not facing them and - maybe they think I can’t hear them,” he shrugged.
Rubbing his chin, Ratchet hummed. “Well it’s not exactly damning evidence, but if it’s happened more than once?”
Nodding, Trailbreaker started fiddling his thumbs. “I gave it a day. Just to make sure I wasn’t overreacting or being too sensitive. I thought it might be a prank and if I ignored it, it’d stop since I wasn’t being any fun,” he shrugged. “It didn’t though.”
Ratchet nodded, reaching to unplug the diagnostic machines from Breaker. “Well, get off the table and let me take a look at you. See if there’s anything worth laughing at,” he offered a hand down and looked at Trailbreaker where he stood. Then tilted his helmet. “Trailbreaker, I need you to turn around. Preferably slowly,” he prodded.
“Oh, sorry,” Trailbreaker choked off a laugh, before turning slowly, raising his arms to give Ratchet a better view of everything. A number of assessing noises sounded off behind him, before he heard an ah-ha. “What? What is it?”
“Hold still,” Ratchet commanded, and Trailbreaker complied. “Gotta get a picture first and - okay. Now, I’m just going to buff the area to get rid of the,” Breaker jumped when he felt Ratchet’s touch directly on his aft. “Sorry, I’m going to apply this buffer to your aft, to get rid of the mark. Okay, there, you should be good to go,” Ratchet stood back up with a grin. “Where were you before the snickering started anyways?”
Trailbreaker had to give that some thought, rubbing his chest plate absently as he turned to face Ratchet. “Hound and I went on some local off-roading trails. Why? What was it?” Ratchet turned his data pad around to show Breaker what the mark was, and all the mech could do was stare. Despite the bright red smudge, a clear name and a series of digits had been written on his panel. “Is that -”
“Yep,” Ratchet laughed. “Whoever ‘Madison’ is really likes the look of your aft my friend. You should call her,” he offered, tapping a few buttons to send the image over to Breaker directly.
The memory of that day shifted for Trailbreaker, providing clarity: going to the trail and having to park at the trail head while they made sure things were clear for them to go. The human who had paused behind him for a minute. Breaker hadn’t felt her do anything and he sure didn’t feel her write her name and number on the panel that ended up being his aft! It had to be chance, there was no way she could have known. Right? “Nah, she probably thinks I’m just a vehicle and whoever owns me might be…attractive,” he finally supplemented.
Ratchet shrugged. “So surprise her. Should be fun. I’d love to see another human woman out here anyways, and the public relations couldn’t hurt. We’re not getting off Earth anytime soon, someone should start us in the right direction.” And Ratchet thought that mech should be Trailbreaker. Incredible. “Or don’t call her, and wonder forever what could have been,” Ratchet smiled. “Either way, I have my next appointment, so unless you’ve got more questions?”
“I’m good,” Breaker fumbled the words, before shaking his helmet. “Thanks Ratchet.”