For Darkeyes17 and Moonlightbeam305
Revenge is sweet!
Author: Thalanee
Prompt: Do Not Lean On The Doors/You put the fun in dysfunctional/Devil Inside
Verse: AU- Movieverse
Rating: pg13
Warnings: crack! Don’t eat or drink while reading this, for the sake of your poor keyboard. Also some suggestive language and Cybertronian curses.
Disclaimer: They don’t belong to me.
Summary: Never, ever piss of a carrying mech!
Author’s Notes: For darkeyes17 and moonlightbeam305, so they have something to laugh about! I hope this brightens your days a little and I wish you both the best!
Belongs in the same verse as the other oneshots, meaning Blue and Sunny are a couple, Prowl is Blue’s sparkling and the twins have now adopted the tactician. I have to find a name for this universe, but what could I possibly call it?
XXXXX
To any outward observer the perfect peace and quiet pervading the NEST base would have seemed highly desirable and relaxing. To anyone who actually knew what he or she was talking about it was highly disturbing. The base was supposed to be a noisy, chaotic place, bustling with activity, and the occasional sounds of gunfire, explosions and human and Cybertronian curses, music and laughter in general. But there was a good reason for the uncharacteristic silence.
Prowl was… well on the prowl.
Carrying was proving to have an odd effect on the Praxian mech. When the mood swings surprisingly had lessened somewhat and Prowl had some more control over his usually well hidden but still impressive temper, every mech, femme and human on base had been relieved, gladly embracing what they now knew to be the calm before the next storm.
Only none of them, not even those who had known Prowl for a very long time, could have anticipated that the tactician would discover his more playful side. If playful was what you would call it. Truth be told, the previously by the book, rule-hugging, strict SIC of the Autobot army was putting Sideswipe to shame!
Something the adopted uncle had been quite proud of, especially when he witnessed the result of one rather spectacular, if insane, prank that somehow made Wheeljack literally explode everything he touched, be it datapads, controllers, doors or other things, in a puff of smoke (but not much else, it seemed the tactician had gone to great lengths to ensure there would be no permanent damage). The twin also took great delight in reminding bots that it was due to him and their shared prank on Galloway prior to Prowl and Jazz’s bonding, that Prowl had gotten into touch with his playful side. Until Prowl turned his attention to him.
No one was quite sure how Prowl had managed to do it, but to the great surprise and hilarity of all bots and humans involved they had one day entered the rec room to find the silver Corvette locked in his alt mode, his insides filled to the brim with confetti. A few hours and long laughs later Ratchet had finally managed to undo the block, but a week later the swordsmech was still randomly spouting confetti all over the base out of his internals and air vents.
In fact the only mechs who had not been pranked so far were Bluestreak and Jazz, who were both enjoying this immensely, Optimus Prime and Ratchet, both of whom knew their time would come sooner or later. Especially considering that Prowl had been conspicuously absent the last couple of days. Hence everyone was doing their best to stay under the radar.
Had they been able to listen in on the following conversation every single one of them would have instantly vacated the surrounding ten mile area. That is, if they hadn’t crashed from the sight of Prowl perching on Jazz’s desk.
“Jazz, what is that?” A long, slightly clawed finger pointed at the offensive detail.
“What’s what, Sparkles?” As innocent as the answer sounded Prowl wasn’t fooled at all, he knew his mate to well for that. Jazz had to have something to do with it.
“There is a bumper sticker on my aft. What is it doing there?” It had most certainly not been there, when Prowl went to recharge a few hours ago, the carrying tiring him out. His little sparkling needed the additional energy provided by recharge and refueling. When he had woken up a cursory glance in the mirror had revealed the newest addition to his looks.
“Ya mean tha one next to your tattoo?” The saboteur lowered the datapad he had been fiddling with to have a good look.
“I do not have a tattoo as you very well know.” Prowl frowned.
“Yeah, ya have. There’s that white writing on your gorgeous black hips sayin’ “To Protect and Serve”. That’s your tattoo.” Jazz sounded very smug as he pointed that out. He simply loved the contrast of the white writing on black hips and he could never help looking at it.
“It is not a tattoo and you are avoiding the question. What is the meaning of this sticker and what is it doing on my aft?” How Jazz came up with the idea of calling a decoration on his alt mode a tattoo was still a mystery to Prowl, then again the saboteur’s creativity was one of the reasons Prowl loved him so much. But really, a bumper sticker?
“Ya mean the white one with the red circle like thing and the red writing saying “Devil Inside”?” Any human would have instantly recognized the slightly altered logo of a certain computer company. Altering its text to apply to different situations had proved to be quite popular. Jazz certainly found it hilarious.
“Yes, that one.” Arms crossed, Prowl stared down at Jazz from his vantage point on the desk with burning golden optics, waiting for the inevitable banter.
“Easy, Ah put it there.” Jazz had noticed the way the corners of Prowl’s had twitched, signifying that he was enjoying their verbal sparring just as much as he was.
Prowl rolled his optics. “I am aware of that. But why did you do it?”
“Ya said something about how everythin’s supposed to be properly labeled, so I got ya this sticker.” It sounded very reasonable the way Jazz phrased it.
“I was talking about inventory. And may I ask how labeling me with a term usually used to describe a major personified spirit of evil in religion is properly labeling me?” he inquired dryly, aware that his mood was starting to take a turn again, he just didn’t know what direction it was going to be. Hopefully not the one Ratchet had termed “weepy femme- mood”. Speaking of which, he still had to get back at the chartreuse medic for that one…
Jazz sensed his carrying mate’s mood was going to take a dive into slagged off or wounded, so he clarified. “Ah prefer the definition ´energetic, mischievous, daring and clever person`.”
Prowl perked up at that, doorwings fluttering at his mate’s compliment. “So, would you like to help your energetic, mischievous, daring and clever mate with a prank?” The tactician’s voice was a low croon that had Jazz as excited as the prospect of pulling a prank with his mate. Mood swing averted, the silver Solstice grinned in anticipation.
He was just about to answer, when there was a knock at the door and the Prime’s deep voice asked for permission to enter. The blue, flame detailed mech did so ever since he had once walked in on a rather intimate encounter between them…
On the spur of the moment, Prowl sent a suggestion over their bond, one to which Jazz giddily agreed. Poor Prime…
XXXXX
When Optimus entered to ask Jazz about some mission reports- the TIC had to deal with his mate’s workload now that the carrying SIC was officially off duty- the sight that greeted him made him reboot his optics not once but twice. It was like stepping into an alternate reality, and a highly disturbing one at that.
Because there was Prowl perched on Jazz’s desk in a suspiciously seductive manner, doorwings fluttering gently and his full lips in a luscious pout, long legs crossed and dangling down. Behind the desk and its towers of datapads sat a scowling Jazz, trying to concentrate on working, his posture ramrod straight, giving of a no-nonsense business air.
“Those pads don’t do themselves, as ya very well know, Prowl, so please let me work.” Jazz’s posture was perfectly stiff, as he acknowledged his leader’s entry with a short nod and a “Good evening, sir”, placing one pad in the done pile and picking up another.
“Aw, come on Jazzy, they can wait for a couple of hours while you come to the rec room with me.” Prowl leaned closer to Jazz, almost directly in front of the saboteur now, preventing him from working on the new pad. Optimus couldn’t stop his left optic from twitching. The ever attentive and respectful Prowl hadn’t even looked at him yet, just waved in an eerily Jazz-like manner.
“A couple o’ hours delay could prove crucial for the effectiveness of those battle plans Ah have ta take care of. An’ call me Jazz, please.” Absentmindedly Jazz curtly waved a servo in Prowl’s face in an attempt to get him to back off. The scene got more bizarre by the minute.
“Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport, Jazzy, and loosen up some. You have been cooped up in this dusty, dreary office for hours now…” Was it just Optimus or had Prowl whined? Prowl? The Prime was almost willing to believe that he was still in recharge, but a discreet pinch of a sensitive wire and the following pain convinced him otherwise. This, whatever it was, was really happening.
“And Ah’ll be here longer, tha more ya distract me, Prowl. So please get off of ma desk, so Ah can work properly.” The TIC even pointed in the direction of the door, signaling to Prowl to leave already. Poor Optimus could feel his processors straining to make sense of this bizarre event. Was there something wrong with his officers?
“I haven’t even started to distract you. Do you want to get out of your office by yourself, or do I have to make you?” And now Prowl even started purring. It was almost too much for the poor Autobot leader to handle, watching his senior officers, who had apparently decided to completely switch personalities in the last couple of hours.
“Ah already said, I need to do those datapads…” He had never heard Jazz sound so irritable and … well Prowl-like.
In response Prowl actually sprawled on top of the table in a pose more suited to the centerfold of a certain kind of magazine, his voice dropping to a sultry purr. “Why don’t you do me instead?”
That was the last straw. Sparks flew from the Prime’s helm while his optics turned a blue usually associated with what the humans called a bluescreen, signifying a processor meltdown. Optimus Prime, the calm and unflappable leader of the Autobot Army, was pulling a Prowl, complete with the locked up frame and the resounding crash of a Cybertronian body hitting the floor.
Both mates looked at the downed frame of their leader and friend, highly pleased with their performance, until one of them said: “Look, we broke Prime!”
XXXXX
“So he came into your office and just crashed on the spot? You expect me to belief you and your crazy mate had nothing to do with it?” The eye-blindingly chartreuse medic was waving one of his trusty wrenches in the silver saboteur’s faceplates, since his programming wouldn’t allow him to do so with the also present tactician.
“We were just bantering a little when he came in.” Prowl calmly explained, neglecting to mention their switching roles. He had other plans for Ratchet.
Ratchet snorted in disbelief. “Like the time he walked in on the two of you in your office?”
“Just some verbal sparring, Ratch-mech.” Jazz snickered. “Poor Prime.” Silver servos patted the still offline Prime`s helm. The red and blue mech had been brought to medbay with the help of Ironhide who had come racing the moment he had heard the loud crash and was now being worked on by a grumbling Ratchet.
“Yeah, right.” Rummaging around in one of the cupboards he finally found what he was looking for and held out a greenish glowing cube of energon towards the carrying Praxian, who eyed it with obvious distaste. “Grab this, down it now where I can see you so I can make sure you actually drink it and then get the pit out of my medbay.”
Gingerly holding the cube between two of his clawed fingers Prowl forced himself to drink it, knowing the sparkling needed the nutrients in the sickly looking and vile tasting medical grade energon. That didn’t mean he had to like it though. He actually gagged when he had swallowed it all. The first time he had to drink it, Ratchet had cheerfully handed him the cube with the words “Don’t worry, it doesn’t even look or smell half as bad as it tastes.”
“Happy?” The doorwinger growled at the medic.
“Yep.” Ratchet pointed at Jazz, who had watched the proceedings silently, watching the medic dig his own grave as the humans said, all the while sending soothing pulses to his mate and the promise of some sweet energon goodies later to get rid of the vile taste. “Take you mate out of here, before he decides to go crazy on me.”
Poorly hidden snickers from the silver saboteur accompanied their leave, while Ratchet returned his attention to getting the Prime back online. The process was accompanied by the occasional curse and some loud clanking and crashing of various metal parts, a steady litany of mutters and grumbles being part of it.
Which was why he never realized what happened to his doors…
XXXXX
“Now that you’re back among the living, will you tell me what those two glitches did to make you crash?”
Optimus flinched, he should have known Ratchet would know the minute he was awake again. Why was he here again? Oh, yes he had crashed, because his two most senior officers had switched personalities on him. Now that he could think clearly again he realized the two had pranked him.
Chuckling to himself, he reviewed what had happened and now saw the humor in it. Admitting to himself that he would have laughed himself silly, had Prowl and Jazz done that to another bot the Prime gave in to laughter.
A bang to the helm stopped him, the wrench hitting its intended target. “Quit laughing and spill already!”
“The happy couple played a prank on me.” He muttered, rubbing the sore spot on his blue helm.
“Tell me something I don’t know.”As was his habit the medic wandered around the medbay randomly fiddling with his instruments and cleaning things up, giving his hands something to do while he talked. “The smug look on Prowl’s face was enough to clue me in. So what did they do.”
“They acted like they switched personalities.” At Ratchet’s raised optic ridges, the Prime decided to elaborate. “Jazz was sitting at the desk working on datapads, while Prowl was… well perching on it, trying to distract him.” Deciding words weren’t enough, Optimus located the relevant feed of the security cameras the recently arrived Red Alert had installed everywhere and simply showed the medic.
The medic watched it and proceeded to crack up laughing, leaning back to lean on the medbay doors as was his habit. He failed to notice the suddenly wide optics of his Prime, heard to late the shouted warning “Don’t lean on the doors.”.
He already did… and was promptly dumped on the floor outside the medbay, looking up at the ceiling and wondering how in the pit he got there. His gaze was drawn in by a swinging movement. Once his optics had homed in on it, he stopped in the middle of getting up and stared.
Where once his steel medbay doors had been, perfectly normal doors operated by mechanical door panels, there now was a pair of wooden swinging doors, covering a third of the entrance, waist high for middle sized mechs. Humans and minibots could have walked underneath them, albeit the latter would have to duck. They were beautifully carved examples of craftsmanship, the Cybertronian glyphs on the top naming Ratchet as their owner. They also looked like the swinging doors to a saloon in the old Western movies.
Sputtering Ratchet pointed at them, to surprised to say anything coherent, while Prime stepped through them and cautiously poked them, causing them to swing again, sqeaking slightly.
Smothered laughter drew their attention further down the hall, where the red-chevroned helm of Prowl and the visored helm of Jazz were poking around one of the corners, both grinning and snickering. When they realized that their cover was blown they both transformed and sped away laughing, swiftly followed by a roundly cursing Ratchet who promised to “reformat you both into oversized slagging toasters, once I get my hands on you two fraggers! No one touches my medbay doors!”
As he watched the medic tear after the disappearing couple, sirens wailing, Optimus couldn’t help but smile. Undisciplined, crazy and chaotic, even dysfunctional his troops had been called, but to be honest, he wouldn’t want them any other way. After all, with all their quirks and idiosyncrasies, they really put the fun in dysfunctional.
Maybe The End, Maybe Not…
So, tell me what you think?
Author: Thalanee
Prompt: Do Not Lean On The Doors/You put the fun in dysfunctional/Devil Inside
Verse: AU- Movieverse
Rating: pg13
Warnings: crack! Don’t eat or drink while reading this, for the sake of your poor keyboard. Also some suggestive language and Cybertronian curses.
Disclaimer: They don’t belong to me.
Summary: Never, ever piss of a carrying mech!
Author’s Notes: For darkeyes17 and moonlightbeam305, so they have something to laugh about! I hope this brightens your days a little and I wish you both the best!
Belongs in the same verse as the other oneshots, meaning Blue and Sunny are a couple, Prowl is Blue’s sparkling and the twins have now adopted the tactician. I have to find a name for this universe, but what could I possibly call it?
XXXXX
To any outward observer the perfect peace and quiet pervading the NEST base would have seemed highly desirable and relaxing. To anyone who actually knew what he or she was talking about it was highly disturbing. The base was supposed to be a noisy, chaotic place, bustling with activity, and the occasional sounds of gunfire, explosions and human and Cybertronian curses, music and laughter in general. But there was a good reason for the uncharacteristic silence.
Prowl was… well on the prowl.
Carrying was proving to have an odd effect on the Praxian mech. When the mood swings surprisingly had lessened somewhat and Prowl had some more control over his usually well hidden but still impressive temper, every mech, femme and human on base had been relieved, gladly embracing what they now knew to be the calm before the next storm.
Only none of them, not even those who had known Prowl for a very long time, could have anticipated that the tactician would discover his more playful side. If playful was what you would call it. Truth be told, the previously by the book, rule-hugging, strict SIC of the Autobot army was putting Sideswipe to shame!
Something the adopted uncle had been quite proud of, especially when he witnessed the result of one rather spectacular, if insane, prank that somehow made Wheeljack literally explode everything he touched, be it datapads, controllers, doors or other things, in a puff of smoke (but not much else, it seemed the tactician had gone to great lengths to ensure there would be no permanent damage). The twin also took great delight in reminding bots that it was due to him and their shared prank on Galloway prior to Prowl and Jazz’s bonding, that Prowl had gotten into touch with his playful side. Until Prowl turned his attention to him.
No one was quite sure how Prowl had managed to do it, but to the great surprise and hilarity of all bots and humans involved they had one day entered the rec room to find the silver Corvette locked in his alt mode, his insides filled to the brim with confetti. A few hours and long laughs later Ratchet had finally managed to undo the block, but a week later the swordsmech was still randomly spouting confetti all over the base out of his internals and air vents.
In fact the only mechs who had not been pranked so far were Bluestreak and Jazz, who were both enjoying this immensely, Optimus Prime and Ratchet, both of whom knew their time would come sooner or later. Especially considering that Prowl had been conspicuously absent the last couple of days. Hence everyone was doing their best to stay under the radar.
Had they been able to listen in on the following conversation every single one of them would have instantly vacated the surrounding ten mile area. That is, if they hadn’t crashed from the sight of Prowl perching on Jazz’s desk.
“Jazz, what is that?” A long, slightly clawed finger pointed at the offensive detail.
“What’s what, Sparkles?” As innocent as the answer sounded Prowl wasn’t fooled at all, he knew his mate to well for that. Jazz had to have something to do with it.
“There is a bumper sticker on my aft. What is it doing there?” It had most certainly not been there, when Prowl went to recharge a few hours ago, the carrying tiring him out. His little sparkling needed the additional energy provided by recharge and refueling. When he had woken up a cursory glance in the mirror had revealed the newest addition to his looks.
“Ya mean tha one next to your tattoo?” The saboteur lowered the datapad he had been fiddling with to have a good look.
“I do not have a tattoo as you very well know.” Prowl frowned.
“Yeah, ya have. There’s that white writing on your gorgeous black hips sayin’ “To Protect and Serve”. That’s your tattoo.” Jazz sounded very smug as he pointed that out. He simply loved the contrast of the white writing on black hips and he could never help looking at it.
“It is not a tattoo and you are avoiding the question. What is the meaning of this sticker and what is it doing on my aft?” How Jazz came up with the idea of calling a decoration on his alt mode a tattoo was still a mystery to Prowl, then again the saboteur’s creativity was one of the reasons Prowl loved him so much. But really, a bumper sticker?
“Ya mean the white one with the red circle like thing and the red writing saying “Devil Inside”?” Any human would have instantly recognized the slightly altered logo of a certain computer company. Altering its text to apply to different situations had proved to be quite popular. Jazz certainly found it hilarious.
“Yes, that one.” Arms crossed, Prowl stared down at Jazz from his vantage point on the desk with burning golden optics, waiting for the inevitable banter.
“Easy, Ah put it there.” Jazz had noticed the way the corners of Prowl’s had twitched, signifying that he was enjoying their verbal sparring just as much as he was.
Prowl rolled his optics. “I am aware of that. But why did you do it?”
“Ya said something about how everythin’s supposed to be properly labeled, so I got ya this sticker.” It sounded very reasonable the way Jazz phrased it.
“I was talking about inventory. And may I ask how labeling me with a term usually used to describe a major personified spirit of evil in religion is properly labeling me?” he inquired dryly, aware that his mood was starting to take a turn again, he just didn’t know what direction it was going to be. Hopefully not the one Ratchet had termed “weepy femme- mood”. Speaking of which, he still had to get back at the chartreuse medic for that one…
Jazz sensed his carrying mate’s mood was going to take a dive into slagged off or wounded, so he clarified. “Ah prefer the definition ´energetic, mischievous, daring and clever person`.”
Prowl perked up at that, doorwings fluttering at his mate’s compliment. “So, would you like to help your energetic, mischievous, daring and clever mate with a prank?” The tactician’s voice was a low croon that had Jazz as excited as the prospect of pulling a prank with his mate. Mood swing averted, the silver Solstice grinned in anticipation.
He was just about to answer, when there was a knock at the door and the Prime’s deep voice asked for permission to enter. The blue, flame detailed mech did so ever since he had once walked in on a rather intimate encounter between them…
On the spur of the moment, Prowl sent a suggestion over their bond, one to which Jazz giddily agreed. Poor Prime…
XXXXX
When Optimus entered to ask Jazz about some mission reports- the TIC had to deal with his mate’s workload now that the carrying SIC was officially off duty- the sight that greeted him made him reboot his optics not once but twice. It was like stepping into an alternate reality, and a highly disturbing one at that.
Because there was Prowl perched on Jazz’s desk in a suspiciously seductive manner, doorwings fluttering gently and his full lips in a luscious pout, long legs crossed and dangling down. Behind the desk and its towers of datapads sat a scowling Jazz, trying to concentrate on working, his posture ramrod straight, giving of a no-nonsense business air.
“Those pads don’t do themselves, as ya very well know, Prowl, so please let me work.” Jazz’s posture was perfectly stiff, as he acknowledged his leader’s entry with a short nod and a “Good evening, sir”, placing one pad in the done pile and picking up another.
“Aw, come on Jazzy, they can wait for a couple of hours while you come to the rec room with me.” Prowl leaned closer to Jazz, almost directly in front of the saboteur now, preventing him from working on the new pad. Optimus couldn’t stop his left optic from twitching. The ever attentive and respectful Prowl hadn’t even looked at him yet, just waved in an eerily Jazz-like manner.
“A couple o’ hours delay could prove crucial for the effectiveness of those battle plans Ah have ta take care of. An’ call me Jazz, please.” Absentmindedly Jazz curtly waved a servo in Prowl’s face in an attempt to get him to back off. The scene got more bizarre by the minute.
“Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport, Jazzy, and loosen up some. You have been cooped up in this dusty, dreary office for hours now…” Was it just Optimus or had Prowl whined? Prowl? The Prime was almost willing to believe that he was still in recharge, but a discreet pinch of a sensitive wire and the following pain convinced him otherwise. This, whatever it was, was really happening.
“And Ah’ll be here longer, tha more ya distract me, Prowl. So please get off of ma desk, so Ah can work properly.” The TIC even pointed in the direction of the door, signaling to Prowl to leave already. Poor Optimus could feel his processors straining to make sense of this bizarre event. Was there something wrong with his officers?
“I haven’t even started to distract you. Do you want to get out of your office by yourself, or do I have to make you?” And now Prowl even started purring. It was almost too much for the poor Autobot leader to handle, watching his senior officers, who had apparently decided to completely switch personalities in the last couple of hours.
“Ah already said, I need to do those datapads…” He had never heard Jazz sound so irritable and … well Prowl-like.
In response Prowl actually sprawled on top of the table in a pose more suited to the centerfold of a certain kind of magazine, his voice dropping to a sultry purr. “Why don’t you do me instead?”
That was the last straw. Sparks flew from the Prime’s helm while his optics turned a blue usually associated with what the humans called a bluescreen, signifying a processor meltdown. Optimus Prime, the calm and unflappable leader of the Autobot Army, was pulling a Prowl, complete with the locked up frame and the resounding crash of a Cybertronian body hitting the floor.
Both mates looked at the downed frame of their leader and friend, highly pleased with their performance, until one of them said: “Look, we broke Prime!”
XXXXX
“So he came into your office and just crashed on the spot? You expect me to belief you and your crazy mate had nothing to do with it?” The eye-blindingly chartreuse medic was waving one of his trusty wrenches in the silver saboteur’s faceplates, since his programming wouldn’t allow him to do so with the also present tactician.
“We were just bantering a little when he came in.” Prowl calmly explained, neglecting to mention their switching roles. He had other plans for Ratchet.
Ratchet snorted in disbelief. “Like the time he walked in on the two of you in your office?”
“Just some verbal sparring, Ratch-mech.” Jazz snickered. “Poor Prime.” Silver servos patted the still offline Prime`s helm. The red and blue mech had been brought to medbay with the help of Ironhide who had come racing the moment he had heard the loud crash and was now being worked on by a grumbling Ratchet.
“Yeah, right.” Rummaging around in one of the cupboards he finally found what he was looking for and held out a greenish glowing cube of energon towards the carrying Praxian, who eyed it with obvious distaste. “Grab this, down it now where I can see you so I can make sure you actually drink it and then get the pit out of my medbay.”
Gingerly holding the cube between two of his clawed fingers Prowl forced himself to drink it, knowing the sparkling needed the nutrients in the sickly looking and vile tasting medical grade energon. That didn’t mean he had to like it though. He actually gagged when he had swallowed it all. The first time he had to drink it, Ratchet had cheerfully handed him the cube with the words “Don’t worry, it doesn’t even look or smell half as bad as it tastes.”
“Happy?” The doorwinger growled at the medic.
“Yep.” Ratchet pointed at Jazz, who had watched the proceedings silently, watching the medic dig his own grave as the humans said, all the while sending soothing pulses to his mate and the promise of some sweet energon goodies later to get rid of the vile taste. “Take you mate out of here, before he decides to go crazy on me.”
Poorly hidden snickers from the silver saboteur accompanied their leave, while Ratchet returned his attention to getting the Prime back online. The process was accompanied by the occasional curse and some loud clanking and crashing of various metal parts, a steady litany of mutters and grumbles being part of it.
Which was why he never realized what happened to his doors…
XXXXX
“Now that you’re back among the living, will you tell me what those two glitches did to make you crash?”
Optimus flinched, he should have known Ratchet would know the minute he was awake again. Why was he here again? Oh, yes he had crashed, because his two most senior officers had switched personalities on him. Now that he could think clearly again he realized the two had pranked him.
Chuckling to himself, he reviewed what had happened and now saw the humor in it. Admitting to himself that he would have laughed himself silly, had Prowl and Jazz done that to another bot the Prime gave in to laughter.
A bang to the helm stopped him, the wrench hitting its intended target. “Quit laughing and spill already!”
“The happy couple played a prank on me.” He muttered, rubbing the sore spot on his blue helm.
“Tell me something I don’t know.”As was his habit the medic wandered around the medbay randomly fiddling with his instruments and cleaning things up, giving his hands something to do while he talked. “The smug look on Prowl’s face was enough to clue me in. So what did they do.”
“They acted like they switched personalities.” At Ratchet’s raised optic ridges, the Prime decided to elaborate. “Jazz was sitting at the desk working on datapads, while Prowl was… well perching on it, trying to distract him.” Deciding words weren’t enough, Optimus located the relevant feed of the security cameras the recently arrived Red Alert had installed everywhere and simply showed the medic.
The medic watched it and proceeded to crack up laughing, leaning back to lean on the medbay doors as was his habit. He failed to notice the suddenly wide optics of his Prime, heard to late the shouted warning “Don’t lean on the doors.”.
He already did… and was promptly dumped on the floor outside the medbay, looking up at the ceiling and wondering how in the pit he got there. His gaze was drawn in by a swinging movement. Once his optics had homed in on it, he stopped in the middle of getting up and stared.
Where once his steel medbay doors had been, perfectly normal doors operated by mechanical door panels, there now was a pair of wooden swinging doors, covering a third of the entrance, waist high for middle sized mechs. Humans and minibots could have walked underneath them, albeit the latter would have to duck. They were beautifully carved examples of craftsmanship, the Cybertronian glyphs on the top naming Ratchet as their owner. They also looked like the swinging doors to a saloon in the old Western movies.
Sputtering Ratchet pointed at them, to surprised to say anything coherent, while Prime stepped through them and cautiously poked them, causing them to swing again, sqeaking slightly.
Smothered laughter drew their attention further down the hall, where the red-chevroned helm of Prowl and the visored helm of Jazz were poking around one of the corners, both grinning and snickering. When they realized that their cover was blown they both transformed and sped away laughing, swiftly followed by a roundly cursing Ratchet who promised to “reformat you both into oversized slagging toasters, once I get my hands on you two fraggers! No one touches my medbay doors!”
As he watched the medic tear after the disappearing couple, sirens wailing, Optimus couldn’t help but smile. Undisciplined, crazy and chaotic, even dysfunctional his troops had been called, but to be honest, he wouldn’t want them any other way. After all, with all their quirks and idiosyncrasies, they really put the fun in dysfunctional.
Maybe The End, Maybe Not…
So, tell me what you think?