Notes: Here's another little bonus story for you.

Robots-as-humans-for-no-explicable-reason. I started thinking about the kinds of things the speech therapist at my work would do with Mudflap and the thought wound up running away with me. So here you go.

Clearly, this is not part of the movie continuity OR the regular "Speech Therapy" continuity (I'm not writing the Epsilon's crew into RotF). It does, however, take place after RotF and, in this drabble, Hoist and Grapple are, apparently, on Earth.

These are purely written for my own amusement, but if you like them, be sure to drop a line. I love answering questions readers may have!

Important Things

"Those stupid slaggers couldn't tell us apart!"

"And they wath makin' fun o' our nameth!"

"Yeah, the morons. It ain't our fault what we named and that it ain't right fo' humans! And we ain't gonna be called by stupid human names that don't even mean nothin' or-"

"He got in trouble for pickin' hith nothe!"

"Yeah, well you was scratchin' yo' aft!"

"They wouldn't let uth thit togethah!"

"Said we'd cause way too much trouble if we did -who told 'em that?- and that we needed to work, not goof off!"

"The thpeech perthon ith really weird-"

"It don't seem like she know nothing!"

"-and the ain't nearly tho cool ath you! Why can't I jutht thtay wit' you, Hoitht?"

"Said I talk too much and the way I talk ain't right and mebbe I need speech stuff too. Can you 'magine that? What the slag, right?"

"He got thent to the commander 'cauthe he thlugged thomebody inna face!"

"…Only 'cause he told me you's a dopey lookin' idiot."

"HE THAID WHAT?"

It was hard not to bury his face in his hands in exasperation, but Hoist managed to do it. He knew, of course, that Skids had punched a human in the face, but apparently, that was only the tip of the iceberg, as his young wards were informing him of numerous other misdeeds they'd performed throughout the day.

They had been stuck in organic bodies for two weeks now and the little twins -who were, according to Sam, about twelve human years old (and they certainly Iacted/I it, Sam had informed them)- were driving every one up the wall. They were smaller and even more hyper than they had been as robots, capable of causing -though the older Autobots found it hard to believe- even more damage and mischief than before. The only time any of the adults got any rest was when they were sleeping, which didn't seem to occur often.

The end of the first week found the first arrivals all avoiding the twins like the plague, Sideswipe threatening to slaughter them at least once an hour, Grapple locked in an office with a sheaf of 'important' blueprints, and Hoist on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

It had been Sam's creator who suggested sending them to school, 'where kids belonged'. It would give them a chance to brush up on human culture, help them focus a little (hopefully), let them burn off some energy, give Hoist a rest and maybe some one would even be able to do something about Mudflap's speech impediment.

Plus, she had argued, it was that time of year where students were least likely to focus -right before the mysterious holiday called Christmas- so it wouldn't matter if they there a little disruptive.

It seemed like a great idea at the time - Good PR for the Autobots, something different for the twins, gave Hoist a much needed break…

But now it seemed like the worst idea in the universe.

Hoist didn't even want to know how many other minor problems they'd caused throughout the day. He probably would have found out anyway, except their chattering about the day quickly dissolved into an argument and they went tumbling across the floor, pulling hair and smacking each other until they grew bored with it, then scampered off to rot their minds by way of video games and cartoons.

That left the medic alone in the kitchen, where he sank wearily down into a chair, taking a moment to collect his thoughts.

Truth be told, there was no way Hoist could stay mad at them. He adored the twins; loved them as if they were his own creations. He knew they annoyed almost every one else, but he'd been taking care of them for so long that their small idiosyncrasies and odd behaviors didn't bother him any more. And now that they were in fragile human bodies, with stick-out ears and stick-up hair and spindly, gangly limbs, he found them even more dear. It wasn't their fault - not that their processors weren't up to speed or the ADHD or any of it.

But what could he do? None of them had any idea how long they were going to be stuck like this (the twins were alternately cursing and praising Wheeljack's name - It depended on their mood and whether they found something good about the situation or bad) and they had to make the best of it, but he wasn't sure any more how to solve this problem of the twins' behavior.

Or how to keep his own sanity in the meanwhile.

He was still pondering the dilemma when Grapple wandered into the room, a file folder and T-square under his arm, pencil tucked behind his ear. He had this way of looking disheveled even when he was neatly groomed -he had almost a little bit of an absentminded professor look- that Hoist found oddly appropriate and he was almost always carting around graph paper, tools, bits of things for scale models…Almost anything that could be used as an excuse for escaping the insanity that was the twins.

Hoist loved him to bits -they had been friends for a long time- but he sorely wished his partner would stop avoiding the problem at hand and help him with their charges.

"I won't bother asking how it went." Grapple set his things on the table and -as if on autopilot- put a kettle on to boil. He knew there was no reason to ask if his friend wanted tea; the medic looked as if he needed it. Badly. And he wasn't really sure how else to help Hoist, anyway.

"Skids punched a human." Hoist flopped forwards, head against the table, posture clearly displaying exasperation and weariness, "Mudflap couldn't stop moving and proved to be a constant, noisy distraction." He sighed dramatically, "Perhaps this wasn't a good idea…"

Grapple plunked a mug down in front of him, brow quirked. "Only perhaps?"

Hoist perked back up at the scent of the tea, taking it gratefully and wrapping his hands around the mug, reveling in the soothing warmth. A sheepish grin crossed his face, "Okay; okay…It was a terrible idea."

"Only terrible?" Grapple plunked down in a chair across from him, opening the file and removing some schematics. He paused to glance up at Hoist, then plucked the pencil from behind his ear and made a note on one of the papers.

"Fine, it was the worst idea ever." This time, the medic was laughing, worry over the situation slowly dissipating as he sipped the tea (his one major weakness as a human), "But at least it wasn't my idea…"

Two days later found Hoist in a chair in the twins' classroom, face to face with the flustered-looking teacher. The medic could tell that the poor woman was at her wit's end; she seemed jittery and tense. Though he could appreciate that, he couldn't help but thinking that she shouldn't have been so stressed already. It had only been three days for her and he had known the twins for centuries. It didn't seem fair that he had been called in here to be reprimanded for their behavior, when she got to send them home and he was dealing with them the other sixteen hours of the day.

Or maybe he was just so tired that he wasn't thinking straight.

"I'm sure they must be delightful children…"

Oh. Ouch. It was the wrong way to begin and it immediately set the medic off on the defensive.

"…But they are impossible. Every one is having difficulties telling them apart, to begin with. And they seem to enjoy that; they're constantly trying to switch places. Really, the only way we can tell is when they're speaking, since they sound distinctly different. Skids is, as far as I can tell, intelligent, but his impulsiveness and poor judgment often interrupt his thought process. And he likes to talk, doesn't he?"

Hoist opened his mouth to answer, but she didn't give him the chance, just barreled on with her tirade.

"And Mudflap, bless him, simply can't contain himself to his seat. He seems to be trying, but unable to remain still long enough for it to make a difference. He is friendly and outgoing, but doesn't seem to know how to behave around other children. His poor speech is also already becoming the butt of many jokes. I'm afraid children at this age can be quite cruel…" Another pause followed, as the teacher seemed to be collecting her thoughts, but -again- it wasn't long enough for Hoist to jump into the conversation, "And I'm a bit worried about their literacy skills as well. It seems that-"

This time, the medic cut her off. He hated to be rude, but enough was enough. He was already well aware of the challenges that came with educating the twins, as well as their shortcomings. He didn't need a rehash of it from some one who didn't even know them.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, ma'am" -He wasn't, really- "but I am already aware of many of these issues. There are some things you probably don't understand about the twins that perhaps I can shed some light on."

The teacher, who'd looked somewhat taken aback by his sudden interruption, sat back in her chair. "Then please do tell, Mr.…Hoist."

"The twins' primary function is not that of the academic or intellectual variety. They are designed to be nothing more than service bots or perhaps low level soldiers. We will never know what their fate would have been, were their creators not destroyed, but we are nonetheless pleased and surprised by the strides they have made. They are both quite capable of reading, though it is neither of their strong suits. And you must take into consideration that their native tongue is not your native tongue." Hoist was frowning, brows drawn in concentration. It was not right how this woman -who was supposed to be an educator and nurturer- was so ready to cast aside his charges after such a short period of time.

"Furthermore, their individual problems can be met head on, with a little patience and work. I have been watching over them since long before your creation and know that, while they seem brash and undisciplined, they are both quite loyal and, with the right kind of attention, can make great improvements. And is it not your function of offer them your support and assistance in meeting their educational needs and goals?"

He didn't mean to sound accusing, but he couldn't help it. These were his children they were talking about; he had been raising them for a long time. She had no right to be so…so…He wasn't even quite sure what word would apply, but it bothered him that she seemed so opposed to their being there.

"Yes, but…I feel as though my classroom is ill-equipped to meet their needs." She began slowly, leaning forwards, elbows on her desk, fingers steepled, "Perhaps they are more suited for one of our…" She paused again, trying to find a tactful way to suggest the twins be removed to a special education classroom, "…more structured rooms, where more support can be provided. We could work out behavioral and educational plans for them. We have many programs that offer more one-to-one support, plus Mudflap would be able to see the speech therapist more often and-"

"That is the last thing they need." He cut her off again, this time not at all concerned with being rude. "Skids will learn the routine. If you are firm with him -as I expect you should be with any ill-behaved youngster- he will respond and listen. He talks excessively because he hopes desperately that he will be noticed and praised for his knowledge, because he is not as skilled a fighter as his brother. And Mudflap's speech issues correlate directly with his ease in his surroundings and will correct themselves with time, as he becomes more accustomed to the situation. His attention deficit is manageable, if he knows what is expected of him, information which I suspect you have not provided, given you are used to your students having already attended a school. You have hardly given them sufficient time to adjust, and you are already expecting them to perform as the rest of your students do. I do not find that fair in the least." Here he paused, suddenly remembering the need to breathe, and absentmindedly ran a hand through his hair.

The teacher looked at him, a small frown on her own face. He was an attractive man, with patrician features, conservative clothing and a slight, almost-British-sounding accent. He was nothing like the two rambunctious hooligans that had been terrorizing her for the past three days, who were awkward and gangly and spoke as if they just crawled out of a gutter. "I've heard rumor of why you decided to send them here and I don't think you're being fair. If it's true that you dumped them on us because you're sick of them…" Her voice was carefully neutral, but Hoist could easily detect the hostility, bitterness and accusation that flickered across her face.

"Imagine looking after them for an entire day." He said it bluntly; he was not one to mince words, "Imagine the trouble they can get into in familiar surroundings. Too put it simply, I am exhausted and need a break. I am in no way 'sick' of them. Besides being their caregiver, I am also a medic, and have a duty to many others. Therefore, I cannot always keep an eye on them."

She folded her arms, not at all moved by his plight. "Can't any of your people baby-sit them for a while? That is NOT my job." Annoyance had crept into her voice and her brows drew together, the corners of her mouth turning down further, "I understand that there are many of you at that military base."

"There are many others," Hoist agreed, "who have duties to carry out. Even my longtime companion is of little help." When she opened her mouth to say something further, he continued on, "And I don't begrudge him that. We all have our functions and must see to them. I am their primary caregiver and it is my duty to look after them and keep them out of trouble, not any one else's. After the death of their creators, it was I that they imprinted on. They listen to and respect me because of this, and because I do the same for them in return."

Here, the medic stopped speaking and rose from his chair, bright blue gaze never leaving the woman's face. "If you, however, are unable to handle them, I will remove them from this institution and keep them at base. Perhaps they are exhausting and troublesome, but I would much rather have them in a place where they are liked and respected as the individuals that they are than here where they will be neither wanted nor appreciated. And now," He inclined his head politely, "I will stop wasting your time."

And with that, he was out the door.

Grapple was waiting on the sofa for him when he returned, something which somewhat surprised Hoist. But his presence was hardly unwelcome; the medic sank down beside him wearily, hands folded in his lap.

"I told her that I will not send them tomorrow." He informed Grapple, who turned to look at him, expecting defeat. Instead, what he saw in his friend's eyes was a renewed sense of determination, coupled with the usual quiet dignity he maintained. "Or again at all."

"…You gave up your free time for them." Grapple edged closer, resting a gentle hand on his partner's arm. Hoist perked up a little at the show of support, smiling suddenly and leaning into Grapple's side.

"I hardly consider it a sacrifice." He murmured, "Something which I learned today. Perhaps that school isn't the best place to educate them, but it taught me something. I like them just as they are, worrisome behavior and all. I don't want them to change and stop being themselves, which is what that human wanted of them."

"You're too kind, Hoist." Grapple smiled, fond. He felt a little guilty, too; Sam's creator had given him a lecture while Hoist was gone, reprimanding him for not helping his friend more. "You're his partner, Grapple." She'd told him, hands on her hips, lips pursed, "And by human standards, that means you're half responsible for them as well. He's not a single parent, so you shouldn't be treating him like one." It hadn't occurred to him prior to that that he should be doing anything to help out; Hoist was their caregiver. But the woman had a no-nonsense way of tackling a problem, and it had left him feeling overwhelmingly remorseful for not thinking to offer his help. "And, um, if you ever need a break…You can count on me to help."

At that, the other man's face lit up, a beaming smile brightening his face. Grapple was surprised when Hoist impulsively and enthusiastically hugged him -they were both usually much more reserved in their displays of affection- but returned the gesture, if a little tentative.

"Thank you." Hoist's smile didn't fade in the least as he sat back, all of the tension draining out of his body. Grapple felt like an idiot; if only he had offered to help out sooner! If that was all it took to make his friend so happy…

Grapple returned the smile easily. "It's no problem. You deserve it."

"Where are the two of them, anyway?" Hoist suddenly looked around, noticing for the first time how quiet it was. There were no sounds of anything breaking, no screaming, no thumping or crashing, nothing but peaceful silence. And now that he thought about it…It was kind of eerie.

A ghost of a frown crossed his companion's face. "In their quarters, I believe…I think they finally got it through their thick heads that they're in trouble and Skids even mumbled something about homework."

"I see…" Hoist nodded, disappointing Grapple a little by getting up and heading down the hall, seemingly lost in thought.

Mudflap and Skids were in their room, curled up together on their bed and trying to make heads or tails of a book they were supposed to be reading for school. The room, of course, had two beds, but they preferred to share one and the other had an untouched, pristine and out of place look to it. Mudflap was nestled against his brother's side, a hand wound through Skids' hair (no wonder it was always sticking up…), as he struggled to sound out a word. "Thith maketh no thenthe!" He was whined, throwing the book across the room in frustration.

"I know that, stupid." Skids shoved him away, crawling over him to go and retrieve the book, "But you know we gotta do it."

"No you don't."

Both of their heads jerked up at the sound of Hoist's voice. Neither of them had noticed when he'd appeared in the doorway, watching them struggle with human literature because they thought it would make him happy. It had tugged at his spark instead; how could he let them suffer like that? Academics just weren't their thing. "You're not going back there." A pause, "Ever."

They were silent for a split second, then they exploded into wild chatter, jumping on the bed and blabbering about how awesome that was. Mudflap even went so far as to spring at him in excitement, bouncing off the bed and latching on to Hoist, sending him crashing to the ground in the process.

"Nice goin' afthead!" Skids cackled, falling back onto the mattress and laughing maliciously.

"Oh thorry!" Mudflap squeaked, instantly contrite about his impulsive behavior. "I didn't mean to! I wath jutht…exthited." A sheepish grin crossed his face, "'Cauthe I jutht hate that fraggin' academy."

"It's okay." Hoist gave him a pleasant, reassuring smile. "I should never have sent you to that place to begin with. It was not right for either of you and I apologize."

"We don't mind."

"It wath kinda fun metthin' wid all thothe humanth."

"Yeah, teach looked like she was gonna offline if one a us even smiled."

"An' that food fight wath tho worth gettin' thent to the offithe."

"So we didn't mind much."

As they erupted into chatter again, Hoist glanced between them, fond. It didn't matter so much that they were bad, no matter how exasperated he got with them. The important part was that they were his.

He silenced them as they were high-fiving, simply by lifting a hand. "I'm glad the experience hasn't damaged you at all." He said cheerfully, picking himself up off the floor and straightening his clothes, "That said, I have work to do. Do try and keep out of trouble for a while."

They both saluted, as was their usual response to such a request. The gesture was almost purely mocking, but Hoist didn't mind. "Oh and Twins?"

"Yeah?" They replied in unison, heads cocked, mirror images of one another.

"Don't ever change."

They looked at one another for a moment, faces screwed up in thought, then broke into identical grins.

This time, they saluted and meant it.