Medical Consequences

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It had taken a great deal of time, planning, and money (all of which, admittedly the government had in abundant supply when it came to such matters) to make this happen. General Motors was flailing wildly for a foothold in the plummeting economy (and failing spectacularly) and wouldn't waste valuable funds constructing a hypothetical concept design for any paltry sum, even at the polite—and insistent—requests of men with dark suits and shiny badges.

And, Lennox surmised, when the company higher-ups had realized just how badly the government officials wanted this car built, they had milked it for all it was worth.

He wondered how many millions of dollars were sitting in front of him in the sleek, silvery curves of the only existing 2010 Corvette Stingray concept.

All because the latest arrival wouldn't settle for anything else.

Personally, Lennox didn't see what he big deal was. One exorbitantly priced sports car was the same as another in his books, and he thought Sideswipe would be suited just fine by the new Lamborghini Gallardo design or even something more classic like a Countach. Either would certainly be much more attainable (though Sideswipe was contrary enough that he probably saw the car's nonexistence—no one had managed to figure out how he'd even found the design specs—as especially tempting), but they'd gotten him his concept Corvette in the end.

But he was taking his sweet time with the whole, crucial reformatting bit.

"Sideswipe," Lennox said after the bot had spent several minutes just staring at the stupid chunk of taxpayer money. "Get on with it."

But Sideswipe did not get on with it. He did not do anything at all except frown and tilt his head to the side. It was the first time he'd moved in ten minutes.

"Sideswipe." Lennox was unable to conceal his exasperation. "What's wrong with the car?"

"Oh, nothing's wrong with it," Sideswipe said slowly in a manner which seemed to Lennox to be quite ominous. "It's actually a pretty nice set of wheels for a planet with such a primitive level of technology, but I was just wondering…"

He trailed off, and Lennox mentally prepared himself for whatever ridiculous request was sure to follow. "What?"

"Can I have it in red?"

Lennox blinked. Several times. He'd been told Sideswipe was fond of practical jokes; perhaps this was what passed for humor by Cybertronian standards.

"No, Sideswipe," he said in his best I'm-being-patient-but-don't-push-it voice (generally reserved for Annabelle or unruly subordinates), "you may not have it in red. You may not have it in red because it doesn't exist in red. It doesn't exist in silver either—so blending in is pretty much out already, but silver is at least less conspicuous than red."

"But I like red," Sideswipe whined, petulance overlaying deep reservoirs of obstinacy.

GM wanted their car back that evening. Not enough time to give it a new paint job. "Can't you just, I dunno, paint yourself red or something?" Lennox suggested hopefully.

Sideswipe's face twisted into an expression indicating extreme distaste.

Lennox's cell phone rang before he could think of another argument. "Please say you have something for me to shoot," he begged whoever was on the other end of the line.

"Not that lucky," Ironhide replied, sounding infinitely amused, "but you won't want to miss this anyway."

Lennox glanced up at Sideswipe. He was glaring inscrutably at the Corvette. "'Hide, buddy, I'd rather be just about anywhere but here right now."

"Not in a minute, you won't." Ironhide sounded suspiciously close to laughing. "Optimus found out what was going on and called in reinforcements."

"SIDESWIPE!"

Said Autobot, who Lennox had seen rip apart Decepticons while cackling in glee, flinched and turned to face the speaker.

"Yes, Ratchet?" he said timidly.

Ratchet was standing in the entrance of the hangar with the sun at his back. Cast entirely in shadow and wreathed in light, he could have been a holy protector or a demonic harbinger of doom.

His tone suggested the latter.

"What the slag is taking so long?" he growled. "Get your aft in gear and scan the fraggin' vehicle so I can make sure everything's properly aligned! I don't have all slaggin' day!"

"But Ratchet—"

"What?"

Definitely the latter.

Sideswipe quailed under the force of his glare. "Never mind," he mumbled contritely.

Lennox watched in amazement as Sideswipe meekly transformed into a silver Corvette Stingray and drove obediently behind the Search and Rescue Hummer.

"Ironhide," he said after a minute, "we're lucky Ratchet's on our side, aren't we."

Ironhide answered with a deep rumble of laughter.

"You have no idea."

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A/N: Written because I love movie-verse Sideswipe's alternate mode and I'll never have it!

This is very depressing to me. I've always been a fan of Corvettes, but that one was beyond gorgeous.

Movie-verse Sideswipe is in serious need of some personality, though. And Sunstreaker, but I'll keep my whining (and my inexplicable adoration of that arrogant jerk) to myself.

And this took far too long to be titled. I've had it done for two weeks.

--BlackMarketTrombones