Duck and Cover
I resisted, but it got me in the end. Not very long. Drabble bunny from cave_cat here. I sincerely hope no one expected this bunny to turn out serious!fic.
Title: Duck and Cover
'Verse: G1 Transformers.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Crack?
It had gone on long enough, he decided. He understood the need for it, but they had had enough time to vent their anger and frustration, and they needed to get back to the normal order of things, before the situation spiralled into a near irreparable mess.
They already had one near irreparable mess to deal with anyway.
One that would stop being irreparable if the mechs before him would just get a grip and see that.
Thankfully, Ratchet was stable. Jazz’s field repair skills were solid, honed by vorns of having no backup or aid but the contents of his field kit and his ingenuity. And the saboteur was nothing if not resourceful.
Said saboteur was now sitting wearily on a berth near Ratchet, still covered in stale energon, having patched up as many mechs as he could after that disastrous battle with the Decepticons. He frowned. The mech needed to rest properly, and that was not possible with the chaos the med bay was in.
The patches were also mainly temporary. Oh, they’d last for a while, but they would need proper attending to eventually. They needed Ratchet back online and functional as well. Both would only happen if First Aid would stop panicking and work with Wheeljack.
Granted, the inventor was trying to calm the trainee medic down, but the twins were not helping, with Sunstreaker looming over the pair and Sideswipe alternating between frantic and furious. Apparently he did not appreciate Ratchet’s suicidal attempt to save his plating by lunging in the path of a direct seeker strike. Prowl didn’t appreciate it either. Why couldn’t the medic have simply pulled Sideswipe out of the strike path? Illogical.
With a soft sigh, he stepped into the med bay and approached the prone form of the CMO. “They really did a number on ‘im Prowler.” Jazz murmured quietly, and he nodded in reply. “It looks worse than it is though. Thank Primus the Hatchet’s got so many redundant systems. I practically patched him up with only his own parts.”
“You did well Jazz, thank you.” The tactician scanned the medic’s frame. Still stable, and with the proper repairs he’d be up and running by the end of the next cycle.
“Not well enough, seems like.”
“You are not a trained medic, and I wouldn’t have been able to do half as good a job.” He’d been closest when the medic had gone down, and had only managed to stem the energon loss before Jazz had skidded into place beside him and they’d worked frantically to keep Ratchet with them, stabilising system after system as the battle raged around them. He made a mental note to expand his field repair repertoire. It looked like he’d need it in the future.
“Welp. Good enough or no, Ratch’s still offline, and the bots who can un-offline him aren’t in any state to.”
“I’m about to fix that.”
“Prowl?”
The clang of a wrench striking a helm and the sound of the mech attached to said helm contacting the floor echoed in the suddenly quiet med bay. As the projectile ricocheted back in his direction, falling to the floor and sliding the rest of the way, he bent over, picked it up and dealt the object a considering look.
"Prowl!?" At the incredulous exclamation of his name, he looked back up at Sunstreaker, jaw agape as he stood over his now unconscious brother.
"Yes?"
"You threw the wrench!?" The mech looked like the Pit had opened up and fluffy bunnies were hopping out to swarm them.
"Sideswipe was being disruptive, and First Aid needed to be calmed down. Words obviously weren’t working, so I decided to try Ratchet's preferred method when dealing with Lamborghini twins."
He paused, returning his gaze to the wrench, while his other hand traced over his chin in thought. "I confess to having been confused by Ratchet's motivation, but that was… oddly satisfying."
Jazz reached up and snagged the wrench away, horror glittering in his optics, "No Prowl. Just… No."
With a resigned cycle of air, he let go of the tool. “Very well. I trust there will be no more disruptions?” The rest of the mechs in the med bay obediently nodded.
“First Aid, Wheeljack, can you handle things from here?” At their frantic agreement he smiled pleasantly (scaring everyone a lot more in the process) and turned back to the saboteur, still holding on to the wrench with a death grip. “Get cleaned up and then get some rest Jazz. You’ve had quite a long day.”
“Yeah, thanks Prowler.” The reply was somewhat faint and wavering, but the SIC was already out of the med bay and heading for his office. He still had work to do.
= = =
Later, once Ratchet had come online, healed and fixed (and cussed out) everyone to his satisfaction, medic hunted down tactician and dragged him into the rec room, plunked down two cubes of energon, and directed a high BTU look at the black and white mech.
“So. I hear you threw a wrench at Sideswipe. That’s my shtick, yours is to be the emotionless logical fragger.”
“It was only the once. And you cannot deny that it worked.”
“Feh. Don’t do it again. I got enough work to do without you flinging wrenches at the slaggers.”
“May I remind you that my battle computer is well capable of calculating the exact trajectories needed for maximum effectiveness and minimal collateral damage?”
“Oh, it’s not the physical damage that concerns me. But I don’t want to have Sideswipe, First Aid and Jazz clinging to my lower half begging me to never let you hold a wrench again. Although I think Jazz wasn’t really being serious.” The Porsche, once recovered from the shock, had barely been able to hold back the giggles.
“As you wish then.”
“Good.”
“There are other things I can throw.”
As the rec room cleared at lightning speed, leaving chairs overturned and energon cubes half consumed, Ratchet glared at the SIC again. At the mech’s raised optic ridge, the CMO snorted and gave in to laughter.
“Satisfying, isn’t it.”
“Oh yes, very.” With a subtle smirk, Prowl raised his cube of energon, and Ratchet tapped it with his own in a toast.
“To our darling infuriating mechs, long may they fear us.”
“Indeed.”
Title: Duck and Cover
'Verse: G1 Transformers.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Crack?
It had gone on long enough, he decided. He understood the need for it, but they had had enough time to vent their anger and frustration, and they needed to get back to the normal order of things, before the situation spiralled into a near irreparable mess.
They already had one near irreparable mess to deal with anyway.
One that would stop being irreparable if the mechs before him would just get a grip and see that.
Thankfully, Ratchet was stable. Jazz’s field repair skills were solid, honed by vorns of having no backup or aid but the contents of his field kit and his ingenuity. And the saboteur was nothing if not resourceful.
Said saboteur was now sitting wearily on a berth near Ratchet, still covered in stale energon, having patched up as many mechs as he could after that disastrous battle with the Decepticons. He frowned. The mech needed to rest properly, and that was not possible with the chaos the med bay was in.
The patches were also mainly temporary. Oh, they’d last for a while, but they would need proper attending to eventually. They needed Ratchet back online and functional as well. Both would only happen if First Aid would stop panicking and work with Wheeljack.
Granted, the inventor was trying to calm the trainee medic down, but the twins were not helping, with Sunstreaker looming over the pair and Sideswipe alternating between frantic and furious. Apparently he did not appreciate Ratchet’s suicidal attempt to save his plating by lunging in the path of a direct seeker strike. Prowl didn’t appreciate it either. Why couldn’t the medic have simply pulled Sideswipe out of the strike path? Illogical.
With a soft sigh, he stepped into the med bay and approached the prone form of the CMO. “They really did a number on ‘im Prowler.” Jazz murmured quietly, and he nodded in reply. “It looks worse than it is though. Thank Primus the Hatchet’s got so many redundant systems. I practically patched him up with only his own parts.”
“You did well Jazz, thank you.” The tactician scanned the medic’s frame. Still stable, and with the proper repairs he’d be up and running by the end of the next cycle.
“Not well enough, seems like.”
“You are not a trained medic, and I wouldn’t have been able to do half as good a job.” He’d been closest when the medic had gone down, and had only managed to stem the energon loss before Jazz had skidded into place beside him and they’d worked frantically to keep Ratchet with them, stabilising system after system as the battle raged around them. He made a mental note to expand his field repair repertoire. It looked like he’d need it in the future.
“Welp. Good enough or no, Ratch’s still offline, and the bots who can un-offline him aren’t in any state to.”
“I’m about to fix that.”
“Prowl?”
The clang of a wrench striking a helm and the sound of the mech attached to said helm contacting the floor echoed in the suddenly quiet med bay. As the projectile ricocheted back in his direction, falling to the floor and sliding the rest of the way, he bent over, picked it up and dealt the object a considering look.
"Prowl!?" At the incredulous exclamation of his name, he looked back up at Sunstreaker, jaw agape as he stood over his now unconscious brother.
"Yes?"
"You threw the wrench!?" The mech looked like the Pit had opened up and fluffy bunnies were hopping out to swarm them.
"Sideswipe was being disruptive, and First Aid needed to be calmed down. Words obviously weren’t working, so I decided to try Ratchet's preferred method when dealing with Lamborghini twins."
He paused, returning his gaze to the wrench, while his other hand traced over his chin in thought. "I confess to having been confused by Ratchet's motivation, but that was… oddly satisfying."
Jazz reached up and snagged the wrench away, horror glittering in his optics, "No Prowl. Just… No."
With a resigned cycle of air, he let go of the tool. “Very well. I trust there will be no more disruptions?” The rest of the mechs in the med bay obediently nodded.
“First Aid, Wheeljack, can you handle things from here?” At their frantic agreement he smiled pleasantly (scaring everyone a lot more in the process) and turned back to the saboteur, still holding on to the wrench with a death grip. “Get cleaned up and then get some rest Jazz. You’ve had quite a long day.”
“Yeah, thanks Prowler.” The reply was somewhat faint and wavering, but the SIC was already out of the med bay and heading for his office. He still had work to do.
= = =
Later, once Ratchet had come online, healed and fixed (and cussed out) everyone to his satisfaction, medic hunted down tactician and dragged him into the rec room, plunked down two cubes of energon, and directed a high BTU look at the black and white mech.
“So. I hear you threw a wrench at Sideswipe. That’s my shtick, yours is to be the emotionless logical fragger.”
“It was only the once. And you cannot deny that it worked.”
“Feh. Don’t do it again. I got enough work to do without you flinging wrenches at the slaggers.”
“May I remind you that my battle computer is well capable of calculating the exact trajectories needed for maximum effectiveness and minimal collateral damage?”
“Oh, it’s not the physical damage that concerns me. But I don’t want to have Sideswipe, First Aid and Jazz clinging to my lower half begging me to never let you hold a wrench again. Although I think Jazz wasn’t really being serious.” The Porsche, once recovered from the shock, had barely been able to hold back the giggles.
“As you wish then.”
“Good.”
“There are other things I can throw.”
As the rec room cleared at lightning speed, leaving chairs overturned and energon cubes half consumed, Ratchet glared at the SIC again. At the mech’s raised optic ridge, the CMO snorted and gave in to laughter.
“Satisfying, isn’t it.”
“Oh yes, very.” With a subtle smirk, Prowl raised his cube of energon, and Ratchet tapped it with his own in a toast.
“To our darling infuriating mechs, long may they fear us.”
“Indeed.”