Who is this company I keep?

Jan 04, 2009 23:57

For the FF100 challenge I've been working on for 2 years and haven't even made it a quarter way through.

www.fanfiction.net/s/3662035/1/Long_Time_Ahead

Prompt was Who?

Title: Who is this company I keep?
Characters/pairings: Ironhide/Ratchet and Prime
Rating: G
Summary: Prime drops Ironhide a bone.  Ratchet just has a bone to pick.
Warnings: Ratchet in a pissy mood and is not willing to share just...why (oooh, play on words FTW)

“That glitch-processed, half-defragged, smelter-swimming scrap heap has pushed me too far, Prime.  If he pushes my buttons just one more time, JUST ONE, I’m going to-”

“Tear limb from socket and beat him over the cranial unit with it, yes, I know.” Prime retorted, giving the comm device an amused look.

“…How did you…”

“I just got off the comm with Ratchet not 10 breems ago and he had the exact same thing to say about you.  I, for one, am starting to wonder if you two went and bonded behind my back the way you bicker.”

There was a pause and then an alarmed gargling sound, an indicator that Prime had just struck his friend speechless.

Unfortunately, one like Ironhide does not remain speechless for long.

“Bond?  With HIM?”

“Same thing he said…” Prime muttered.

“I’d rather be painted pink and have my cannons altered to liquid shooters than bond with him.”

“But you’ve had relations with him, have you not?” Prime countered, voice curious.

Another pause.

“What?” came the bemused reply.

“Relations.  Partner.  Interfaced.  Swapped proton packets.  Whatever the younglings are calling it now days.”

“…That was a mistake.”

“Yes, one that seems to be repeating itself quite frequently as of late.”

“I…”

“The students seem to think that it’s good for both of you and endorse the partnership.” Prime added, the tone of voice he used indicating such a thing as proper or as common as discussing the latest educational planning seminar.

“…What?”

“They claim you’re quite…loud.  It would seem that Ratchet’s office walls are not entirely too thick.”

The only sound that followed the momentary silence was the loud THUNK of metal striking metal, indicative of Ironhide’s cranial unit striking the desk surface, and Prime’s quiet chuckle.

“You should not be this amused by the situation, Prime.”

“Perhaps not.  But I will not be given another ultimatum today by one of my oldest and dearest friends.  I will not choose between the pair of you.”

“I’m…confused.”

“Then you need to speak with Ratchet and clear the air.”

“He requested a transfer?”

“In essence.” Optimus added, carefully.

“You didn’t actually grant it, did you?” Ironhide asked, sounding mildly insulted.

“Of course not.  He is an extremely valuable asset to the Academy.  Perhaps, one day, I might grant his requests to rejoin the political arena.  But not yet.”

The other mech remained quiet.

“I fear you are stuck with him for a while yet, old friend.” Prime said, voice lightly laced with amusement.  “But I must return to my reports.  I wish you luck.”

“Yes…” Ironhide said, distracted.  “Thank you, Optimus.”

“Of course, Ironhide.  Peace be.  Prime out.”

Ironhide stared at the comm console for several breems after his communication with Optimus Prime ended before squaring his shoulders and leaving the room.  Yes, apparently he and the medic did need to have a talk but if he knew Ratchet, and he knows he does, then it will be like pulling dentaplates from a hungry sharkatron.

Ratchet didn’t even look up from his data pads when the door to his office was opened without the courtesy chime being struck.

“Do you ever knock?”

“No.”

“Obviously.  What do you want?”

“You requested a transfer?”

“And you haven‘t?” Ratchet asked, voice incredulous.

“No.”

“Oh, not today, hm?  Shocking.”

Yes.  Definitely time for the “direct approach”.

“…I really can believe you were a politician with an attitude like yours.”

Ratchet stopped.  The data pad was carefully laid upon the desk surface and he glared up at Ironhide.

“One, my life is not an open data packet for you to read on a whim.  Two, if you’ve hacked my file again, you’re life as a rampaging, lunatic ‘blow slag up now, ask questions later’ shall end.  Three, I want to know who even mentioned that to you so I can serve them their own hardware through their intake tubes myself.”

“Why is it not mentioned anywhere?  Not in your file-”

“Which you have no right being in in the first place-”

“Not on the history-”

“Don’t get me started on that.”

“Nor is it in any record or report from -any- of the counsel meetings over the past hundred rotations.” Ironhide finished, blatantly ignoring all of Ratchet’s interruptions.

“It was -erased-.  Happy?” the medic replied, testily.

“Erased?”

“Yes!  Gone!  Cleared.  Deleted.  Removed from record.  It didn’t happen.”

“Why?”

“None of your business.  Now, I don’t know how you even -heard- about this but I think you’d do much better to forget it.  Leave.” Ratchet stated, the tone of his vocal processor indicating that the matter was done.

“Ratchet, I-”

“NOW!” Ratchet ordered, turning and striding away from the other mech.

“No.” Ironhide stated, calmly.

Ratchet’s office grew deathly quiet as he slowly turned to face the mech.  “What did you just say?”

“I said ‘no’.”

Ratchet‘s glare doubled in intensity, optics narrowed into the smallest slits Ironhide had ever seen on the mech.  “I suggest, Ironhide, that you rescind that answer and change it to the one that I want to hear.”

“Your intakes stand a better chance of permanent shut down before that happens.”

“Do.  Not.  Test me.  My past, present or future is not for you to poke your sorry skid plate into.  I did not ask for you to barge in here.  I do not -want- you to barge in here.  Whatever it is you think you know about me will best serve you by being forgotten.  Now get the frag out.”

“I’m not done talking to you yet.” Ironhide interjected.

“Oh yes the flak you are.  I was finished before you even activated your vocal processors.  Slagging peace be and LEAVE.”

“What is your slagging problem with me anyway, Ratchet?”

“Oh.  Oh no.  Don’t even get me -started- on that.”

“Please, don’t hold your servos on my account, you old stubborn cog.”

“Okay.  You want to know?  Fine.  Here’s the flakking list, you over-clocked, sorry-aft excuse for a harddrive.  You are too much firepower and not enough processor.  Half the time I wonder if your RAM can keep up with whatever slagging program you have that seems to tell you that you’re always right.”

“Fragging pit, Ratchet.  You-”

“I’m not done yet.” he said, spinning back around to face the black mech.  “You’re the most tactless, egotistical, self-serving, manipulative rust rash this side of the Cantax Nebula and I’m flat out tired of taking all the flak you seem to bring into my existence and-” Ratchet ranted, each point being driven home as he forcefully jabbed his digit into the black mech’s shoulder.

“Well forgive the pit out of me for tryin’ to actually make an attempt at understanding a pit-slagging thing about your sorry aft.” Ironhide countered, giving the medic a shove of his own.

“If I fragging wanted you to understand ANYTHING about me, I’d tell you as much!  Get!  OUT!”

There were many things Ironhide expected from this conversation but being completely and totally manhandled by the medic was certainly not one of them.  It was a feat on it’s own for the mech to be able to bodily -throw- the weapons specialist outside of the now quantum locked doors.  And it ticked him off.

“Just who are you, Ratchet?!  Who are you to judge anything I do?  Who the slagging PIT are you hiding from?!” he bellowed, giving the doors a very angry stare.  The metal stood cold and uncaring but anyone in the immediate vicinity of the weapons specialist shuffled nervously.

Ironhide’s intakes worked quickly, trying to cool the massive frame as he finally noticed that he’d acquired an audience.

“Get out of here.” he muttered, quietly.  And was swiftly obeyed.  He glared at the door for a few moments longer before his expression fell.

“Slag…” he said, swiftly leaving the sealed doors behind.
.

poster: vixens_shadow, ironhide/ratchet, fanfiction 2009 (winter), optimus prime, ratchet, ironhide

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