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The Choices We Make	By : Breech_Loader Category: Transformers > Transformers: Animated > Het - M/F Views: 1333 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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The Choices We Make

By Harley Quinn hyenaholic

~~~

Me: There are overtones of Hotwire/Wasp in this chapter, but they’re really not important. The important part of this chapter is the way that I get the constant feeling that the Elite Guard in Transformers Animated acts like a bunch of goddamn Nazis towards the Decepticons. Not that the Decepticons aren’t assholes but... well, you need to read the separate comics and look at the corrupt totalitarian government that Cybertron seems to operate under.

This chapter was written under the influence of “You & Me” by Lifehouse.

~~~

Chapter Three: You And Me

The designation is Hotwire.

Just keep saying it, and you’ll be fine.

The war is coming to an end. Well, sort of. Megatron is still functioning, and as long as he functions, the war will continue in one form or another. And it’s my fault.

But I’m not doing battlefields anymore. There are less of them. And the Autobots are pushing the Decepticons back. They’re fleeing, surrendering, hiding, afraid. And not being an Autobot is getting more and more dangerous. But I refuse to join their side, the way many mechs have been doing out of fear.

I heard Ultra Magnus giving a speech about a united Cybertron on the news yesterday. I’ve never heard such a pile of hypocritical slag. He and the rest of the Elite Guard have stripped the Decepticons right down to minimal rights. They rank somewhere under pet Sharkticons with regards to citizenship.

It’s considered perfectly reasonable to choose an Autobot over a Decepticon for a job for no reason other than mistrust. All the best training camps turn them down. They get paid less and nobody cares if they get attacked in the streets.

I have a back-street surgeon’s office. I want to be neutral. A medic should be neutral. But I’m the only medic I know who will treat Decepticons. And of course, since most of them are close to broke, I get paid less. And I work longer hours. And Autobots don’t trust me to repair them. And because I’m not fully Autobot, I have to pay inflated prices for lower quality equipment. And last week some Autobot put a chunk of steel through my window. I’m not even a Decepticon.

Don’t spout your slag about a united Cybertron to me, Ultra Magnus.

While I’m thinking all this, and trying to keep a record of all my expenses – bars on the windows was the last thing I bought, instead of spare parts for my patients – the door rings as a mech comes in.

“Hello,” I look up.

The young green Decepticon is clutching at an ugly chassis wound. Looks like he took a beating, and his paint is badly scorched too. I get a lot of those. Decepticons get beaten up in the street a lot, and nobody goes to help them. If you do, you’re a ‘con lover, and that is not a good thing.

‘Con lovers – like me, I guess - don’t have friends, because the friend of a ‘con lover is a ‘con lover, if you catch my drift. They get their houses and shops vandalised, and risk getting beaten up themselves. You get the picture.

“Can medi-femme do Wasp favour?” he grimaces in pain, “No credits, but Wasp will pay somehow... Wasp has other things to pay with...”

I can’t suppress the groan. But the sign on my door says I accept goods and services as well as credits and energon. Sometimes services are all Decepticons have to pay with. They’re not always services I want or need, “Come on in,” I tell him. It’s practically an automatic response, “The surgery’s open to anybody who needs help. My name is Hotwire.”

He smiles nervously. I can see the look on his face. I’m not an Autobot and he’s still afraid of me. Well, with backstreet surgeons I guess you do kind of run the risk of being dismantled while you’re in stasis lock and waking up with a major part mission. Mechs do offline in here, and I do need their parts for others.

“Sit down,” I tell him, and start welding as he grimaces in pain, “Let me guess. Lynched by a mob?”

“Something like that,” Wasp tells me. He flinches when I touch him, “It was fire. Autobots burn down a ‘con youth hostel. Wasp tried to help, but gets hurt trying. Wasp not see other Decepticons survive.”

I touch him again, and once again he flinches. His crotch plating is raw of paint, and loose. It’s not uncommon. A lot of ‘cons are resorting to selling their bodies to earn enough to refuel, “I don’t think I want your kind of services, Wasp,” I tell him.

Wasp just shivers a little, “Please,” he says, “Wasp was Autobot once, it was all a misunderstanding, Wasp has nowhere to go!”

“Wasp, hun, it’s not a matter of not wanting to,” I tell him as I work, hating this conversation, “I can’t. I don’t have the room. The landlord complains enough that I treat Decepticons. I don’t have the credits or the Energon. My requirements for payment extend beyond getting laid.”

And I don’t say it out loud, but we both know I’m not going to get paid for this operation either.

“Wasp can do other things,” he pleads, his purple optics wide, “How about Wasp will clean up graffiti on walls outside?!”

“Yeah, well clean walls in this district might as well have ‘Please spray insult here’ written on them,” I mutter, “Sorry, Wasp. Besides, if there was room for somebody else here, it would already be taken up by somebody. I wish I could help...”

He hangs his head. At least he’s not attacking me for turning him down. I wonder what the misunderstanding was, that led to him being a Decepticon? But it’s not my business. Maybe he just said something about how the Elite Guard is in charge of almost everything despite not being voted in. Noticing that can have nasty consequences.

“Okay,” I tell him, handing him a paintbrush and can of cheap green paint, “I’ve got some green paint here. You can use it to... touch up your scraped paint.”

“Medi-femme can paint Wasp,” he offers me the brush, unlatching his crotch plating with shaking servos. In fact he shakes a lot. Not a surprise, “All she wants! Anywhere! Please, Wasp has nowhere to go! Wasp is scared!”

I rub my face. I don’t want to have to use that as the service for repairing him. Or letting him stay a night or two. It might be business as usual for him, but the idea of using him reviles me, “Please, Wasp,” I tell him, “It’s not my business. I hardly know you.”

He drops the paintbrush and grabs my hand suddenly, pulling it towards his bare port and rubbing it quickly, “Medi-femme has touched Wasp! Medi-femme must pay Wasp or Wasp will tell people!”

I pull my hand away quickly, “Stop that!” I order him, and stand up, trying to tidy up the surgery, “As if it will change a blasted thing anyway. First off, who else are Decepticons going to be treated by? And second off, Autobots put lumps of metal through my windows all the time already.”

Wasp glares at me hatefully, ”Medi-femme is not neutral! Medi-femme is Autobot lover!”

I stop and turn, retracting my blue visor and showing the unfortunate harlot my scars and green optics. Over the millennia they’ve grown increasingly worse from time, attempts at repair, and a total lack of being able to find somebody who can and will repair them, “If you call me that again, you can repair yourself next time you take a beating,” I tell him.

He stares for a bit, then shakes his head, “Wasp is sorry,” he tells me, “But Wasp has nowhere to go... Wasp will do anything! Wasp will sleep on floor and find own Energon! Wasp will do cleaning of graffiti, and help in surgery... and let Medi-femme touch Wasp for free...” he’s stammering desperately, “Does Medi-femme hate anybody? Anybody at all? Wasp will offline them! Wasp will protect Medi-femme from other mechs too. Anything! Everything!”

I pause. The idea of protection is definitely appealing. He can see me pause, and presses me more.

“Wasp... Wasp is being hunted,” he stammers, glancing around nervously, “Elite Guard blames Wasp. Wasp is not a spy! But Wasp is hunted just the same!”

The Elite Guard. Well that’s just great. I loathe those smug, arrogant twats just as much as I dislike Seekers. He just has to be hunted by mechs I specifically dislike. I sit down, my face in my hands, but eventually look up, “How would you like to stay for a meal?” I ask him finally, “I think I may have just enough Energon for two.”

Wasp perks up. He’s messed up in the head, but he’s still smart enough to see that I might change my mind. Depends on a few things. I don’t know if I can take the risk, myself, but the least I can do before I send him away is put a meal in his belly. Well, the least I can do is nothing at all. And I’ve repaired him for free. But I have my sins to atone for.

“On one condition,” I tell him, “My name is not ‘Medi-femme’. It’s Hotwire. I told you that already.”

Wasp helps me make the meal – I was wrong about there being enough for both of us. It turns out to be one meal between two. Still, it’s better than no meal between one.

“Please,” Wasp begs me again as we sit down to refuel, “Please will Hotwire help Wasp? Hotwire is last chance for somebody to help...”

I refuel silently, mulling it over, “I have no room,” I tell him quietly, “I have to buy supplies for the surgery, and energon for myself, and pay rent, and it’s hard enough to afford that. I couldn’t support another person living here.”

“Wasp can work,” he tells me, “Wasp just needs someplace to sleep when is not working, is all. A roof. Wasp will sleep on floor. Or anywhere Hotwire wants!”

“Yeah, I got the idea,” I tell him, “But that’s not something I want or need from you, Wasp.”

~~~

So anyway, it’s been two months now, and I still haven’t interfaced with Wasp. He doesn’t press me to interface with him, thank Primus. He pays his half of the rent and energon by whoring himself out to Decepticons and Autobots and he’s forever coming back with nasty viruses that I log and clean out.

But I’m not sure how much longer I can take living like this. Being in such close quarters with him. If I thought I was prejudiced against before, since Wasp moved in I’m getting things thrown at me in the street. Somebody threw a burning rag wrapped around a brick through a window a couple of cycles ago. Not that the local law enforcement does a thing. Hell, they probably blame me for looking after a Decepticon.

He’s coming in from ‘work’ right now. Limping. Leaking energon, dents and tears all over him.

“What now?” I ask. It’s getting harder. Everything is. More ‘cons have been coming to me. On the plus side, it’s more work. On the minus side, I barely have enough time to recharge.

“Pleeeeaze...” Wasp tells me. He’s developed a speech defect recently. I tried to fix it, but it’s not a virus; it seems psychological, “Wazp’s foot hurtz... Wazp waz... lynched in ztreet.”

I could beat my head on a wall, “Lie down, I’ll have a look at it.” I sit him down on my bed. Lynched is the wrong word though. From the location of the dents, and the leak of energon from under his crotch-plating, it looks like he was grabbed in the street and raped.

I’m not surprised he doesn’t tell me straight out. A lot of people think that hookers can’t be raped, because it’s really just like a free trial or something, or that they had it coming. I can understand why they would think that, but that doesn’t mean they’re right.

Bad idea to rape Wasp though. Those ‘facetards will have a few nasty viruses themselves now.

He shudders as I remove his crotch-plating. Well, it looks like they finished off by holding him down and firing six-inch nails into his right leg with a nail-gun. All the way in. There’s about twenty of the damn things in him, all the way in, might I add. Several are in the underside of his foot, so they will have been forced in further with every step back to the surgery. And there’s a few in his upper thigh too. They must have run out before they got to his crotch.

Nothing to do about it but remove them. Wasp is buzzing and whimpering. In my head I can hear the Autobots laughing as they hurt him. I know Decepticons can be real bastards a lot of the time but... Autobots don’t do themselves any favours when they pull things like this.

“Oooh...” he whines, “Wazp haz a headache in his whoooole body...”

Noble Autobots. A united Cybertron. I try not to feel so sick at the lies, “They raped you, didn’t they,” I say. It’s not really a question, even though it’s phrased like one.

“Hotwire thinks so too?”

“Yes. Even a pleasure-bot can be raped.” I pull one of the nails out of his foot.

He winces at the word, but doesn’t deny it. There’s not much point really. He gives a wail of pain as I pull another nail out of his foot. That one was wedged in nastily. One by one, each nail is removed. It hurts him, but he’ll cripple his foot if I let him leave them in. He flinches in pain and nervousness as I remove one that was fired in dangerously close to his interfacing equipment.

“Are there any more of those nails in your body?” I ask.

Wasp flexes his joints, and tests his weight on his feet, “No, Wazp doezzen’t think zo.”

I pull out a welding iron and start to close up the holes, earning a few more winces from him. I really do need an EMP generator. I consider getting Wasp to get me a discount from an upgrades salesman. It’s not like it’s something I need for me.

“Hotwire?” he asks as I sit down next to him.

“Yes?”

“Wazp is grateful.”

“I know.”

“Hotwire?” Wasp looks at me.

“Yes?”

It surprises me when he takes my face in his hands and starts to kiss me. More than you’ll ever know. It surprises me more that I start to reciprocate, and... well... I can just feel it as he rolls slowly, with me under him on the bed.

I don’t even know why I allow it. Wasp’s young, and unstable, and plagued with viruses. Sure my 72 firewalls can keep them out but it’s still a moronic thing to do.

But I do it just the same.

~~~

‘Cause it’s you, and me, and all of the people,
With nothing to do, nothing to lose,
And it’s you, and me, and all of the people,
And I don’t know why, I can’t keep my eyes off of

You, and me, and all of the people,
With nothing to do, nothing to prove,
And it’s you, and me, and all of the people,
And I don’t know why, I can’t keep my eyes off of you...

~~~

Me: Yeah, Hotwire sure has an interesting history. Don’t worry about her stealing Waspinator from you though. It obviously didn’t last. This chapter is more about the prejudices against Decepticons that the Autobots in TFA seems to be full of, but it’s also to do with the fact that Hotwire is not a virgin in “Becoming Mama Bear”.

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The Choices We Make