Author Note: I wrote Ratchet to be far more like his G1 counterpart then the live action movie version. For me there are a lot more things to be done with him that way. Oh, and writing an intellectual with a bad temper was just irresistible.

As for the other two characters I have showing up in this chapter… I regret nothing!

Disclaimer: Just Borrowing

Related Music: Apoptygma Berzerk - Suffer In Silence

Grease Monkeys

Chapter 2 - What Iz Yo' Malfunction, Doc-bot?

Hmmm, if that was all it took to stabilize her processor I should have calculated and then suggested it sooner, Ratchet mused while rereading a paragraph over for the third time. Now that the hanger was finally quiet it became his central processor's turn to act up. Though satisfied at having eased the girl's mainframe somewhat, his own was still quite glitchy. Gears twitching, he contemplated the possible viral nature of unease and discomfort as he failed to focus once again on the data packet. It seems as though I will not be accomplishing much today either.

Stepping away from the cluttered workbench a loud hiss emitted from his hydraulics. Startled, he immediately shifted apprehensive optics to regard the recharging organic sprawled out on his stretcher. Relief flooded his cords as he noted that sleep continued to engage her. The girl's delicate servos twitched slightly but otherwise Mikaela remained still. Thankfully her vocal processors stayed offline as well. Though now that his visual sensors were locked onto her finally serene features he could not help but openly stare. Dark strands of dead cells hung about her cranium, some of which wafted lazily as a combination of atmospheric gases were released from her-

No. That is not right. His optics flickered slightly as he accessed the globe's national information infrastructure, flipping through various sites in regards to human anatomical explications. After considering several descriptors he finally settled on her hair danced playfully about her face as luscious lips freed a gentle breath. His own vents discharged a rush of air at the thought.

The small organic had become proficient beyond his expectations in regards to cybertronian mechanics. So much so that it was becoming hard for Ratchet not to view her as something more advanced than her species. She had innate talent when it came to manipulating machinery which was something he had been more then delighted to cultivate as they continued to work alongside one another. However she had not been the most attentive apprentice since her arrival. He frequently watched her stumble into a mindset that compromised her processor's ability to function adequately. It was more than apparent that the girl's circuits have been quite fried to a degree, causing her work with him to become sloppy and counterproductive as a result. Even still the medic preferred to work alongside her over any of the other humans they kept trying to weld him with.

Twice now she helped fight for their cause. The least he could do was offer her an opportunity working in a top secret government facility that came with exceptional benefits. Initially he was uncertain whether or not she would accept. Mikaela clearly enjoyed her occupation regarding automobiles and their maintenance. Paired with her creator's recent freedom, Ratchet detected a rather low percentage of success acquiring her. Yet once again she surprised him by not only accepting but flying out to join him on base shortly after the invitation. He had an inkling that the cause for her arrival had more to do with young Samuel and his appointed guardian Bumblebee's current arrangement more so then anything else.

The medic could not help but muse over the nature of that relationship. Especially after Mikaela's comment in regards to what Bumblebee could provide that she was not adequately capable of. Since he still had several links open to fairly relevant source material the mech proceeded to study the organic's anatomy in a different manner then before. Optic guards pulling back in surprise, he delved through various images and documents detailing the extensive possibilities the human body was capable of in regards to pleasure. Oh... my. He thought as he found himself intrigued beyond all logical reasoning.

Ratchet probably would have wasted the rest of his evening in this manner if not for the all too recognizable shriek of a cybertronians's vocal processor. Dragging a servo down his face plating in irritation he promptly shifted into vehicular mode mid step while mentally sending an activation code to open the hanger doors. Practically drifting out onto the concrete, the hummer surveyed the scene before him with headlights blazing.

Just as he suspected, the disturbance was the result of yet another tussle between Mudflap and his twin brother Skids. Primus, will I never again know peace after committing my transgression? He lamented ruefully while driving over to the battling bots.

"O' nah ya din't, gitch."

"Bea-ot please. Ya' iz cramping muh mutha-boardin' style, ya process?"

"Yo' style? Ah downloaded dat thang first!"

The twins were yet again tangled in one another's servos, flailing about recklessly while auspiciously destroying two perfectly good languages every time they opened their audio units. Mudflap and Skid's incessant need to surpass one another only ever succeeded in grinding everyone else's gears. Particularly those of the fast approaching medic who floored his gas pedal as he charged into the twins, knocking them apart.

"What da well o' all sparks?!" Skids cried out in alarm as his oversized right arm managed to smack him in the face plating upon being thrown from his brother. His already wobbly gold denture dangled pathetically before finally coming loose and falling to the ground.

Mudflap was already righting himself as he whined, "Yeea. What iz yo' malfunction, doc-bot?" The brick red mech shifted his weight as he stumbled before getting his bearings back. Optic guards narrowed at Ratchet, giving him a rather offended looking expression.

The hummer didn't even bother to transform, rolling back slightly to give the bane of his spark room as Skids continued struggling to regain his balance. "Put a muffler on it before I dislodge your voice modulators, you malfunctioning slag heaps." Ratchet practically roared out his speakers. "I may have had some misbegotten virus when I brought you cogs online in the first place, but do not process for a cycle that I would not send both of your sparks to the pit." His frame practically rattled with fury.

"Coolant down, muh mech." Taking a defensive position, Mudflap backed away from the seething vehicle cautiously. "We's iz just goin' ta ninja our afts out o' ya'lls range, aight?" In his haste he practically tripped over Skids, who had just managed to steady his stabilizing servos.

The lime green mech took hold of his brother for balance before shouting out, "Haz ya'll blown a diode? Don' be up in mah spark box like dat!" Once again balanced, Skids shoved his twin roughly.

Mudflap's face plating rearranged into a look of outrage as his enormous left arm came up offensively, "Why ah ought ta-"

Ratchet's voice emitted from his speakers, low and threatening. "If either of you do not switch off your vocal units and get your slagging afts to separate hangers I will personally pulverize both your pistons." Even at the decreased volume his words proved efficient as evidence by their abrupt transformations to alt mode before driving off in the direction of the main autobot hanger. And I thought Starscream had been a few circuits shy of a full processor.

While driving back to the med-bay hanger Ratchet attempted to focus on anything other than the misbegotten sparks he just reprimanded. Sending a signal to close the door behind him, the hummer rolled to a stop between the work bench and Mikaela. Either was capable of providing a far more unobjectionable distraction. Though one far more than the other, he noted complacently. Taking in the sight of his apprentice, Ratchet allowed his thoughts to wander freely. It was an enjoyable venture for some time as he considered their work together in this very hanger. Nevertheless he soon found himself reflecting further back to a time before she arrived.

They may have become astoundingly adept concerning suggestions for combat, specifically strategic maneuvers, he paused in his musing while looking back on several scenes that confirmed this. Yet their jive-talking outbursts and 'gangsta' mentality hardly make keeping them online worthwhile, he bitterly ended the thought. Sinking his tires slightly in exasperation the hummer cursed to himself upon realizing that once again he sulked over the memory file which persistently opened within his mainframe.

The remaining sides involved after the battle for the All Spark in Mission City had much to execute in regards to the aftermath. The organics worked to cover up the incident along with the overall existence of his species. Yet it slowly became more then apparent that their efforts were wasted, concerning all the speculating websites and conspiracy theories posted throughout cyberspace. In the meantime, his fellow autobots focused on handling the remains of the deceased cybertronians. The decepticons were laid to rest easily enough. Unfortunately not all of them had enough logic circuitry to stay that way, he reflected while considering Megatron's inopportune restoration. As for their own ranks, one of the many questions remaining concerned what was to become of their fallen comrade. Jazz's body had been torn apart, leaving their already small squadron reduced in number. If the bot's spark chamber had not been torn in half as well the medic could have easily welded Jazz back together. The loss weighed considerably on the remaining mechs and while a transmission had been sent out at the time there was no grantee that their ranks would increase any time soon, if at all. Also, Ratchet had finally allowed himself to lament internally, I miss that rambunctious saboteur.

Looking upon the remains of his fallen comrade, sparks began to fly through the medic's processor as a plan pieced together. He went about connecting various files of information in his mainframe, considering something he thought only Wheeljack's unique processor could concoct. They still had a fragment of the Allspark which might be utilized in the reactivation of Jazz. The percent of success may seem minimal and in all likelihood would fail, yet at least the medic's spark could be put at ease that he undertook all possibilities.

It was not difficult to convince Prime to let him test this new theory. The melancholic soldier was perfectly willing so long as it would in no way backfire. Ratchet should have known between then to provide blind assurance in return for blinder authorization. Not that he could blame the autobot leader for trusting in his brief stint as a mad scientist. By all outward appearances Ratchet's face plating seemed calculatingly confident. After preparing his new med-bay on their assigned base, Ratchet was finally ready to implement his research. After scrutinizing the diagrams and shooing the remaining autobot's out of his way the medic finally began the tedious ordeal. Nearing its conclusion he felt something akin to what Wheeljack described to him so often in regards to executing a hypothesis when he flipped the last switch. He recalled that moment as the last time he was truly happy in his position.

In retrospect the procedure was neither a success nor failure. In its aftermath the remaining fragment of the Allspark was once again returned to a heavily guarded facility while the autobot's continued their preparations, awaiting the arrival of possible allies and foes alike. Not that their ranks were left waning. The experiment had indeed reanimated Jazz's body, just not Jazz. In his place stood two half amour plated protoforms. The small mechs were online, functional, and already would not shut up before either could have possibly processed their first full thought.

Coming back to the present Ratchet grimaced at the memory. Not wanting it opened and unable to recycle it the file was shifted out of the way, replaced with significantly more pleasing thoughts. Such as how best to challenge his apprentice so the next time they worked together Mikaela would be too distracted to think of the new intimate bond between Bumblebee and his charge, Samuel. While no suitable solution was calculated, the experience eased his spark considerably.

After a time, he felt his com link beep as Optimus called them to a meeting. It was not until the hummer began his transformation that he noticed the call was put forth to all the autobots, meaning he would be seeing the twins yet again this cycle. His dread increased as he noted that the spanning com link also meant the cause for Mikaela's distress would be returning to base. So much for our progress earlier, he thought bitterly. One would think I had become used to so many botched attempts by now. Cringing silently the mech again departed from his med-bay that evening, leaving Mikaela to continue her recharge alone.