Title: Ratchet, What's Interfacing?
By: Anvarah
Summary: Will Lennox challenges Ironhide to a dare.
Disclaimer:
Will Lennox: "Say it."
Me: "No"
Hide: "Say It. Now."
Me: "Never!"
Ratchet: *Points wrench at me* "SAY IT PIT-SPAWN!"
Me: *squeaks* "Okay. I don't own Transformers" *Runs away crying*
Ratchet paced around his new, but temporary, makeshift Med Bay at the current outpost housing the robotic organisms, also known as Autobots, at the present time. Almost a week after the Misson City incident, Ratchet had, at last, had some time to rearrange his equipment – supplied by the American Government at the request of the Secretary of Defence; John Keller.
Walking over to the large pile of various tools on the large custom made metal berth, Ratchet vented deeply. The past week had consisted of fruitless hours of unsuccessful attempt to piece together and revive the First Lieutenant, Jazz. Every attempt brought him closer to the realisation that his skills, that were the reason other bots before had survived, were absolutely useless in this situation. Jazz, one of his dearest and oldest friends, had offlined and no amount of replacement cables and energon transfers would fix that.
Ratchet was brought out of his silent grieving by the soft knocking of metal on the doorway to his professional domain. Turning, his optics met Ironhide's, before travelling over the weapon specialist's frame. 'No physical injuries' the CMO mused to himself frowning, "What is it Ironhide?" he barked "What did you do this time?"
Ironhide didn't answer immediately; snuffling on his pedes and wringing his servos. Ratchet tapped his pede against the concrete floor of the Med Bay in irritation. "Ratchet, I think there's something wrong with my processor" Ironhide finally admitted, venting slightly. The medic growled in response before gesturing towards an empty berth. Obediently, Ironhide climbed onto the metal surface and settled his bulk carefully on top of the human made instrument.
Gathering the necessary cables and hardline wires, Ratchet stepped in front of the black mech and sorted through his collection before choosing a blue cable and inserting it into the data port in the weapon specialist's wrist. Quickly running diagnostic after diagnostic he came up with only one conclusion, there was nothing wrong with Ironhide's processor and other than the helm injury he received earlier that week, he was perfectly healthy.
Disconnecting the cable he inserted another and recorded the mech's general readings as precaution, in the event that he try skip his next check up. He was so focused on his work that he didn't see the exasperated looks Ironhide was sending to the organic just inside the doorway of the Med Bay. Or the 'go on, do it' hand gestures the organic was sending to his patient.
The human waved frantically from the doorway of Ratchet's Medical Bay. Holding the borrowed video camera tightly in his right hand, he signalled the weapons specialist again impatiently. This time Ironhide nodded his head in recognition as the human held up both thumbs; in the agreed signal to begin, before positioning the video camera in the most opportune position to capture the madness that was sure to follow.
"Ratchet," Ironhide mumbled, "Did you find the problem?"
Ratchet looked up from his patient's forearm as shook his helm. "No," he stated, "There is no evidence to support any glitches or viruses have scrambled or disturbed your systems."
"Okay," Ironhide mumbled, "So, what's wrong with me then?"
Grinding his dentures Ratchet fumed silently before replying. "What are these symptoms that you are experiencing?"
"Well," Ironhide relied uncertainly, trying to hide the smile pulling on his mouthplates, "…I keep having these fantasies and situations go through my processor."
"Explain" Ratchet asked as his processor began fritzing.
"Its just," Ironhide stuttered trying to sell his performance, "… I keep thinking what a hot aft Prime has… And how cute Prowl is when he's lying on the floor after he glitches… Or what Bumbleebee's reaction would be if I touched his doorwings."
Ratchet's processor began to malfunction at the things that Ironhide was saying. Struggling to keep his processor from crashing in result of the mech's admissions.
"That's not the point Ratchet," Ironhide whimpered pitifully, successfully capturing the CMO's attention, "…For the life of me I can't remember what 'Interfacing' is!"
Ratchet barely registered the last statement the weapon specialist made before his processor shuddered and crashed at the illogical nature of the situation.
Ironhide snickered as he saw the medic glitch and hit the ground as his processor crashed. Taking a few pictures for blackmail purposes later, he saved them to an encrypted file before turning to Will Lennox who stood in the doorway with a video camera in hand.
"Get it?" Ironhide asked smugly, grinning as the Captain of N.E.S.T nodded his head with a grin plastering his face.
"Good." Ironhide smiled, slipping off the medical berth. "Now where's this 'clay pigeon shooter' you promised me?"
I thought this would be a funny situation. I came up with this idea after writing my own '10 characters and situations' that most people post on their profile. :)
It's amazing how one moment of harmless idiocy can make and flesh out a story. LOL.
Read and Review. Thanks