Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews. Please choose "story alert" in the lower left corner to get update notices as new chapters post. This is set in the ROTF universe with G1 characters mixed in. Soundwave here is the blue cassette deck and not the satellite grabbing silver form in ROTF.

And a glimpse into Ratchet's POV. I have been an EMT and volunteer firefighter for over seven years and understand the frustration of both seeing people in pain and unable to fix them and dealing with injuries that never should have happened. Like one of us use to say, "Stupidity should be a diagnosis. It is treatable with knowledge, training, and enough yelling to make them listen." Thanks to ladyofdarkstar for her suggestions and beta help with Ratchet.

TF TF TF TF TF TF TF TF TRANSFORMERS

You know you're addicted to Transformers when:

1. Someone says Transformers and you look for a mech or femme and not a power pole attachment.

The hidden Decepticon base remained at bare minimum power, the repair work on the main generator continuing. Inside the command center, the darkness failed to bother the mechs waiting by the transmission grid. Available power flowed to the communications, shielding and defensive systems, not the lights. The reflected light of their red optics lit the console panels, unnecessary as their enhanced layers of vision discerned every button and key pad. The image of the Decepticon second in command Cybertron forces gazing out at them from the center screen held their attention. Shockwave barely changed expression as he listened to the earth-stationed mechs explaining the situation.

"Understood. Delay in the next shipment of stolen energon but work will continue on the spacebridge. Inform Lord Megatron of its completion on schedule with the shipment adjustments I allowed," he said. His single red optic glowed against his purple plated armor.

"He allowed? Ain't he the big processing one," a seeker's voice from the back of the control room muttered.

Shockwave made a mental note of the implied insubordination and contempt in the comment. The large square chested blue mech added it as another notation to the ever growing list of possible blackmail and problems to deal with later. "Standby orders?"

Shockwave smiled, a rare expression for him. "Until Lord Megatron returns or the generator is fixed, play a game," he suggested as the transmission line closed. White static replaced his image before fading to black on the screen.

"What the pit is that suppose to mean?" Starscream screeched, slamming both armored fists into the console. "We need help and he suggests games? Who does he think he is? Heir of the dark bringer?"

"Lost bet, design codes reference," Soundwave intoned emotionlessly, interrupting the tirade.

"And that means?" Thundercracker asked, ignoring his trine leader's temper tantrum. As long as Starscream's null rays remained offline and the vocal screech within normal range, he was not worried about collateral damage.

"Program downloads," Soundwave answered, knowing his expression remained hidden behind his battle mask.

"That explains everything," Skywarp commented, the sarcasm dripping across his vocal tone again. The blue seeker leaned against the other console, his wings spread back as far as the wing joints allowed. He found the lightning strike on the outside generator funny. The lack of available space to move with so many mechs crowded in the room bothering him more than the darkness or the howling thunderstorm outside.

Wordlessly, Soundwave keyed a setting on the main control panel. A single grey control window appeared, linking them to the internet. Swift key strokes logged them into a major human game site. "Watch." Soundwave said, choosing a highly rated game.

"Do you wish to download the Shockwave Player?"

"The what?" Skywarp exclaimed, reading the pop up window that appeared on the screen.

"No way!" Rumble realized it first, playing the most games. "You two wrote this? And gave it to the humans?"

"High performance multimedia," Soundwave answered.

Starscream blinked, his red optics creating a flashing effect. "You created a program, for humans to allow them to play games?"

"Multiple players, animations, presentations and games and its free! There must be millions of copies out there by now," Rumble corrected, listing off a variety of game titles he knew and played before finishing. "And made by one of us. A great way to kill time when you're waiting."

The lights flickered, returning to full power before blacking out with cracking and breaking glass like sounds. "What were those game titles again?" Starscream's voice echoed in the darkness.

2. You use the terms like sparkling, youngling, mech, femme, aft or slag.

3. Someone says "wrench" and you duck, looking for a yellow green medic.

DIEGO GARCIA ISLAND – NEST BASE

PRIME'S OFFICE

Optimus read the request twice to confirm what he thought it said. The sides of the datapad flexed as his armored fingers tightened on it. His blazing blue optics rose over the edge to examine the mech standing in front of his desk. "You want to carry a prototype weapon, being made by Wheeljack as we speak, on your patrol route tonight?"

"Yes Prime," Hound answered crisply.

"What's wrong with your current weapon?" His regal baritone held a tone of puzzlement. He has seen Hound fighting with the others breems before their current meeting in his office. Beside him, Prowl stiffened, his advanced logic processors attempting to calculate the answer and relevant rules. The black and white mech gazed at the scout before the barest movement of his head to the side told Optimus he didn't know either.

"Nothing other than its melted beyond recognition," Hound became sheepish, rubbing at the back of his green armored helm with one hand. "The cleaner that we used on the Lennox farmhouse floor? We had some left over."

"That would explain the med bay report from Ratchet," Optimus fast processing made the connection from the incident the week before and the current request. Memory cores reviewed the report to confirm. "The substance is normally non corrosive to our armor."

"It is reactive to energy sources. As in firing my weapon this morning in the battle," Hound said.

"And the Decepticon seeker energy charge that hit Trailbreaker, Hoist and Grapple," Prowl's white armored fingers tapped across the report pad. "Shift schedules are rearranged to allow Trailbreaker recovery time as the new leg is attached. Hoist and Grapple stayed at the power plant to reinforce the wall supports. Once Ratchet cleared them for duty."

"Once he stopped throwing wrenches you mean," the green scout quipped.

Official Med Bay Log Entry.

05:10 AM Checked on patient recharging. Filed a repair request for power relay on medical berth one.

Ratchet's Private journal

Remind me to clean Wheeljack's favorite lab counter with that cleaner. He knows better than to give out any extra strong chemical on anything human made. Worse, our resident idiots use it on themselves. I am a medic not parts maker. On top of that, the retrieval team brings Trailbreaker in here and set him on the first medical berth available, not noticing how the edge is bubbling where his affected armor is over a square metal patch. They talk about the battle, about femmes and even the stormy weather yesterday. Meanwhile, slag one in berth installed power emergency power relay. Do they go out of their way to complicate my repairs?

Official Med Bay Log Entry

07:45 Retrieved and treated NEST soldier from under mechanical cleaner. Released into care of human medics with non-threatening injuries.

Private Journal

Dumb aft. Any human driving a street sweeper should be smarter than the vehicle he is using. It jams and with the engine and power running, he tugs free the palm branch, releasing the rollers with predictable results. By Primus, I have never seen a species so intent on self-destructive methods involving blatant stupidity. He was lucky it only pulled him between the bristles and into the holding tank. Scratches and minor sub dermal bruising. Glad I am not the medic required to change his shorts.

Official Med Bay Log Entry

11:52 Assisted in repairs to Bumblebee's right wrist gear and lower arm cabling. Reminded mech of standing medical protocols and rescue procedures.

Private Journal

Caught Bumblebee sneaking into med bay. Even without a broken vocalizer, he squeals like a surprised youngling when I clicked the lights on and he saw me. He knows better than to hide an injury like that. Throwing pumpkins into the river is not a holiday tradition any college dorm should observe. Retrieving the stranded car of the human too stupid to drive into water, especially when they could not see the depth of it, showed his concern for humans. But pulling that SUV out by extending his arm in partial transform while in his Camaro alt mode put him on creative ways to injure myself list this month. Third behind the twins. Worse, it took a breem to clear his smell from my med bay. Nine discarded fast food bags removed out of various parts of his transform. I must pin Sam down on his eating. He is in enough danger without choosing into it by eating fat, salts and empty calories.

Official Med Bay Log Entry

13:48 Reviewed armor paint use by fellow mechs.

Private Journal

I try to help my fellow mechs, easing their pains and sufferings and how do they repay me? With mischief and neuron aches. Especially those dratted twins, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. I discovered nine cans of bright armor paint missing out of my storage. Only two mechs here use that shade of red and blue, both not on my current repair list. Backtracked the locations the twins visited lately through the security cameras before cross-referencing the duty roster for the next few orns. They swear I have a programmed ability, to be a psychic as humans use the word, when I caught them and handed them over to Prowl. Nevertheless, I probably saved their afts, sparks and every part in between. Three things I know. Never mess with a femme's reproductive programming, her spark relays or her choice of paint colors. Though five femmes coming out of the wash racks painted the same way as Optimus and Ultra Magnus might have been interesting. Fan girls indeed.

Official Med Bay Log Entry.

15:30 Reminder to Optimus on his missed afternoon medical appointment sent.

16:20 Fourth reschedule of his physical this month, completed this time. No abnormalities or conditions found.

Private Journal

"Ratchet!" Optimus regal baritone deepened with his anger. The loud volume covered the entire med bay as the double doors slid apart, the mech nearly rocking them off their tracks as his red and blue armored chassis pushed past.

"You bellowed Prime?" Ratchet greeted, leaning far enough out of his side office for his helm and shoulders to clear the doorway.

"Explain this," the ancient leader pointed to the holographic image across his simulated glass window chest plates. Feetpads braced widely, hips forward and his wide armored shoulders pulled back, the Prime stood an image of power and controlled force.

"What does it look like?" the medic smirked, rising to feet pads, updating his medical datapads while walking into the main room. A single gesture of his arm indicated the waiting medical berth and scanners.

"I don't find it funny," he grumbled, sitting down on the berth.

"Nor is skipping routine physicals. I reminded you verbally, emailed you a 'You're late for your checkup again, Prime' message three times and highlighted the entry on your planner before it came to this," Ratchet reminded, his fingers transmorphing to repair tools.

"I was in a Joint Chiefs of Staff conference meeting when this flashed on," he gestured again at the two bright red holographic words still there.

"Check engine"

"Really Prime. Humans use it all the time to know when they need a tune-up," Ratchet chuckled.

To be continued...