Kiss Me, Then Let's Rock & Roll
CHAPTER 3
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Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Transformers. If I did, you would have seen lambos in the live-action movies.
A/N – This is based in an alternate 2007 movieverse (ignoring ROTF for now), using what I think are elements of the characters G1 personalities.
Anything science-related I made up.
Thanks to cleargold for her awesome beta work.
I read 'binary blockhead' somewhere, but I don't remember what story. If it was you, dear reader, drop me a line and I'll credit.
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astrosecond = 0.498
nano-klick = 1 second
klick = 1.5 minutes
breem = 8.3 minutes
joor = 6 hours, 37 minutes
orn = 13 days
vorn = 83 years
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Unfortunately, the seven-breem estimation of Decepticon arrival and the detonation of Wheeljack's device were slightly miscalculated.
The base had been successfully evacuated, but the Decepticon flyers had caught up to the stragglers. This wouldn't have been so dreadful if Wheeljack had been with the rest of the Autobot evacuees. He had lagged so far behind that he was left out of the circle of protection the Autobots routinely kept for their science and medical teams.
Over time, the Autobots had discovered Wheeljack possessed a line of glitched code in his CPU that impelled him to watch the destructive results of his more volatile projects. In this instance, his glitch got him into serious trouble.
Wheeljack exulted as his explosives certainly did their job, but he was so close to the action that the force of the blast knocked him off his feet and flung him high into the air - within scanning range of the advancing Decepticons. Wheeljack hit the ground hard, and he felt something inside his torso crack. He squealed and writhed in pain and immediately sent Ratchet a general distress signal with his coordinates on their private frequency.
"Heehee, ooh, that's not good, not good at all," Wheeljack wheezed. "Ratch is going to deactivate me for sure. That is, if the 'Cons don't delete me first."
Huffing in pain, Wheeljack forced himself upright and was instantly hit with a series of cluster bombs. They blew off one of his lower arms and pounded him back into the ground. He found just enough strength to crawl under the dubious protection afforded by a collapsed wall before his systems crashed.
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On the march far ahead, Ratchet was blithely discussing with Perceptor the relative merits of including an ultraviolet spectrum in a diagnostic scan when Wheeljack's signal lit up his commlink.
"But Ratchet, reflecting upon the substantial difference in wavelength, wouldn't it be advisable to refrain from allowing that sort of radiation in proximity to a spark?"
"I have done some limited research on the effects, Perceptor. And with that in mind – excuse me Perce, I'm getting a ping from Jack…Primus' Blood!" Ratchet swore. "I'm going to shake that slag-brained, aft-headed glitch until his head falls off, then I'm going to throw it into the bowls of the fragging Unmaker!"
"Ratchet! What is wrong?"
"Jack's in trouble, he got caught in the base explosion. I've got to notify Prowl!"
"Oh, no!" Perceptor squeaked in dismay.
Immediately upon being apprised of the situation, Prowl readied a squadron to rescue their valuable scientist/engineer. "Ratchet," Prowl commed, after huffing a deep, long-suffering sigh, "I would like you to accompany the team and provide medical assistance. I pray, by Primus, that this is a rescue and not a recovery."
"Yes, Prowl. I'm more than willing," Ratchet said fiercely. "I am the best choice. Plus, this will give me first crack at demonstrating to Wheeljack the error of his ways."
Fighting a smile, Prowl nodded and said "I'm sure you will, Ratchet. I'm sure you will. Prowl out."
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The slight skirmish over a downed and injured 'Bot turned into a real battle. Angry over the explosion that had destroyed the troop commander and decimated a quarter of their number, the Decepticons had demanded reinforcements. At this time, their leadership was nonexistent and the fighting mechs were in chaos, allowing the Autobots the upper hand - for the moment.
Ratchet would never have found his friend if Wheeljack hadn't had the presence of processor to send his last coordinates. As Ratchet gently dragged him from his temporary shelter, Wheeljack slowly regained awareness. Clucking in dismay at Wheeljack's missing arm and the large puddle of blue liquid spread on the ground, Ratchet scolded his friend. "You really did yourself a good one this time, Jack."
"Heehee," Wheeljack gasped weakly. "Hey…Ratch…. Guess I should have…paid better… attention…to what…was sneaking up…behind, huh?"
Ratchet ducked at the sound of missals flying over his head, a little too close for comfort. The middle of a battle wasn't the ideal place to do repairs, but Wheeljack couldn't be moved any farther until his fuel pump was patched. More fluid had already pooled underneath Wheeljack's lower lumbar.
Ratchet was furious at his friend's stupidity. In between the booms of artillery and the screams of flying shells, Ratchet scowled and berated his best friend. "Don't even start! You should have known better than to leave the protection of the Collective, you glitched aft! I've told you time and time again to patch that line of code so you don't get so close and personal to your explosions. Slag you - I'm tempted to just knock you on the head a few times to see if that will fix your quirk. If you offline, Prime's going to make me bring you back to from the Well of Allsparks just so he can offline you again himself."
"I'm sorry. I just…wanted to see…. If they had only…been a few…klicks later…I would have destroyed…their entire forward phalanx."
Ratchet bristled. "Shut up! Just…shut up. Enough talk, save your excuses for The Prime. He's going to be very irritated. We were supposed to sneak away, and now we're in the middle of a major firefight. Thanks a lot, Jack."
"Heehee. Sorry…," Wheeljack grimaced, as Ratchet – none to gently – jerked on a loose cable. "Aargh!"
"Quit your nattering. I'm tired of you always being sorry. That glitch of yours is going to be your deactivation. And mine, most likely. Archive this, Jack – I swear by Primus' bolts, if I die here with you, I will haunt you forever. Forever! You hear me? I have future plans, you know." Ratchet grabbed one of Wheeljack's remaining hands and continued, "I'm going to put you in standby for a bit. When you come back online, we'll be safe in our new base." Ratchet mentally added, 'I hope', not wanting to cause Wheeljack any more stress.
Without waiting for a response, Ratchet shut down Wheeljack's motor functions and forcibly put him into stasis mode. A piece of the wall Wheeljack had sheltered under proved to be an adequate operating table. Ignoring the bedlam happening all around, he commenced field repairs to Wheeljack's pump.
Four point two seven klicks later, the main leak was sealed and Ratchet was almost finished. "Slag, I'm good," he muttered to his unappreciative patient, as he prepared to withdraw his medically enhanced fingers.
A too-close snarl off to his right made him start. Jerking his head around, he searched for the source. His optics landed on one of Soundwave's four-legged, symbiotic drones. Crouching, it was preparing to spring upon the two apparently defenseless mechs.
"Slag me!" Ratchet swore. He attempted to gently disconnect his hands from Wheeljack's internals without ripping any of the just-completed repairs. His rotary saws would be adequate protection - if he could only bring them to bear.
Ratchet was no tactician, but during those astroseconds of panic, his processor attempted to calculate their survival odds. He could tear his hands free of Wheeljack's torso and bring his saws to hand to protect himself. But by doing so, he would rip out the essential fuel lines he had just replaced. That would certainly destroy Wheeljack. Save himself to doom his friend? Not likely. They would die together as a couple of processor-impaired fraggers – destroyed by a pathetic 'Con who was little more than a drone. Just their luck. Ratchet's spark stuttered.
Setting its front paws, the Cassetticon braced itself to pounce. Just as it leapt into the air, a yellow streak flew over both Autobots to tackle the creature. Both beings rolled, screeching and clawing just paces from the exposed mechs.
Lights flared. Mechs screamed as Ratchet hurried to complete the closing of Wheeljack's torso. He'd just finished an outside weld when a soft thud just behind had him jerk upright in fear. He instinctively transformed his left limb to bring out his saws and swung back blindly, surprising himself when he actually hit something. Ratchet blinked as the head of a Decepticon soldier fell onto the ground, energon spewing from severed lines. "Well, I guess I showed him not to mess with a medbot," Ratchet said proudly to the still unconscious Wheeljack.
Hearing a roar of anger, Ratchet started and glanced over to see Sunstreaker on his back, with the drone's jaws clamped around his left forearm. "Unmaker take you," their savior bellowed, "you slagging, pit-spawned, Primus-forsaken, aft-headed, glitching, ugly fragger! That's a new finish!" Sunstreaker wiggled his knees up and under the belly of the beast, and kicked out with his feet, flinging the pest over his head. Ratchet's optics tracked the figure as it crashed into a couple of small Decepticons halfway across the battlefield before milling figures blocked his view.
Jumping nimbly to his feet, Sunstreaker gestured rudely at his vanquished foe and yelled, "Take that, you downgraded piece of trash! Come back here again and I'll rip you a new waste extraction port!" Looking down at his arm he frowned and brushed ineffectively at the deep punctures and scratches on his armor growling, "Slag, that's gonna rust." Turning, eyes narrowed, Sunstreaker scrutinized the speechless medbot and his comatose patient. "What's the matter, Ratchet?" he smirked. "Having problems fixing Wheeljack? Do you need my help again? Jeez, if you want an excuse to interface, you don't have to go through all this drama. You just have to ask."
Ratchet's vents stuttered at the thought. Discomforted, he sputtered, "In your recharge defragmentation, you little automaton."
"Ratchet, you wound my spark. I thought you and I had something meaningful. Wellll," Sunstreaker drawled, striking a suggestive pose, legs akimbo, chest out, hands on hips. "I hope I won't be waiting too long for you to make it a reality." Not breaking optic contact with Ratchet, he theatrically raised his hand to his mouth, licked his finger, and ran it slowly from his lip, down his chin, across his breastplate to his right thigh.
Ratchet's optics shot open in surprise and his vents kicked into high.
Sunstreaker winked, turned and took a protective stance a few paces away from the two mechs, guns drawn and optics tracking the action, both on the ground and in the sky.
Unable to think of a suitable scathing retort, Ratchet shook his head and hurried to finish his work on Wheeljack. On more than one occasion he had boasted, "You break it, I'll remake it." He should have kept his vocalizer quiet. But, he had a reputation to uphold, fixing anything, anywhere, under any condition…no matter what the distraction. Even if said distraction was a well-built, attractive, fascinating, virile front-liner who kept shaking his shiny aft every few kllicks and turning around to see if Ratchet had noticed.
Grumbling to himself, Ratchet thanked Primus that Wheeljack was offline and that there were no other conscious witnesses to this circus. "I'm surrounded by morons," he moaned. Sometimes, it was hard being the best.
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Everyone was exhausted. In addition to the recent battle, mechs were busy and stressed just trying to settle in and become accustomed to a new base of operations.
In Ratchet's humble opinion, the quality of this place was far below what he deserved. But, poor mechs on the run can't be choosey; they were lucky to escape this latest skirmish with no casualties and only a few wounded.
Ratchet was tired, irritable and filthy. His hands and most of his torso were plastered with energon stains and scrapes – souvenirs from Wheeljack's latest lapse of judgment, and the few repairs Ratchet had been required to do for Jack's rescuers. He also had a mild case of kainotophobia. It was going to take him orns to bring order to that pitiful supply closet they were calling a med bay after their relocation. He felt justified in being grumpier than usual.
Wheeljack was doing well and showed no after effects of his recent surgery. Currently, he was sitting on an abandoned generator near the parts washer in the newly commissioned Recreation Area, working out the stiffness in the cables of his replacement limb. Most of the off duty mechs were present - either gossiping, refueling or boasting of their prowess in the skirmish. Ratchet was standing next to Wheeljack as they watched Perceptor clean his lenses for the third time. Ratchet's back was to the door, so he didn't see Sunstreaker enter and pause, giving the room a once-over.
Wheeljack, who was facing the door, noticed Sunstreaker immediately and grinned.
"Percy! Accelerate it, will you?" Ratchet grumped. "How many times are you going to clean your slagging lenses? I've got to get to recharge before I involuntarily shut down. My logic circuits are totally fried."
Perceptor retorted, "I am just being efficient Ratchet. Cleanliness brings a mech closer to Pri…."
"Blah, blah, blah," Ratchet interrupted the proverb. "Well, some of us have things to do, places to be…."
"Mechs to molest," Wheeljack interjected.
"Jack!" Ratchet wheeled on Wheeljack in annoyance, "you're pushing your luck. Shut it or you're going to find my fibrillation de-macramizer tool in your mouth. And you're not gonna like it."
As Ratchet turned, he noticed Sunstreaker deliberately making his way in their direction and his spark gave a little jump.
"Hurry up, Perceptor. Sunstreaker is coming and Ratchet has to beautify his filthy self," Wheeljack teased.
Perceptor jerked and looked around, clueless once again. "Sunstreaker? Where?" he blurted.
"Shhh, not so loud you rusty gear! He's coming this way," Ratchet shushed his friend, embarrassed.
Wheeljack grinned, "What's the matter, Ratchet? Heehee. Is something going on that we don't know about?"
"Cease! This is all your fault!" Ratchet turned on Wheeljack, prepared to make good on his earlier threat, and saw that the mech under discussion had arrived and was standing within speaking distance, hip cocked and arms crossed over his chest, waiting to be acknowledged. He was staring at the trio, face expressionless.
Ratchet's optics widened, and his mouth dropped open. "I…I…I…gotta go." He spun on his heel and practically ran for the exit, giving Sunstreaker a wide berth. Most of the other mechs in the room stopped whatever they were doing, and watched their CMO turn tail and flee like a Decepticon tetrajet was on his aft.
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All the mechs involved in the earlier battle had been given three joors of leave to settle into their new lodgings and unwind. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had already been assigned their new quarters, and were quite pleased with the lottery. It was not the cleanest room on the new base; in fact, there were quite a few patches of rust on the north wall and an interesting pile of armor scraps left in the corner by the previous occupants. But, the berths were oversized – made for mechs much larger than themselves. What luck. If they could convince Ratchet to participate in a relationship, there would be no excuses about having no place for all of them to stay. Sunstreaker had set out to find the medbot, while Sideswipe finished up the last bit of room organization.
Following the loud talk and music to what was obviously the new base's recreation/refueling room, Sunstreaker had paused in the doorway to scrutinize the room's occupants. "Ah, just the mech I've been looking for," he muttered to himself. He transmitted over the twin bond. "Sides, I've found Ratchet. He's here in the rec room."
"I'm on my way."
Sunstreaker had strutted into the room like he owned it, ignoring everyone except the scruffy mech in the back. Yes, Ratchet desperately needed a wash and wax. Sunstreaker wondered what it would be like to give Ratchet a thorough cleansing and a quality detail - to run his hands over that form as he and his twin settled down with the medbot between them in one of their large, comfortable berths…. He'd stopped before Ratchet and his science nerd buddies, lost in fantasy for a moment.
And his processor almost froze in shock as Ratchet looked at him with panic, mumbled something, turned and raced toward the exit. What the…?
Sunstreaker immediately commed his twin for backup. "Sideswipe, Ratchet's running away from me!"
"Primus! What did you do, you binary blockhead?" Sideswipe yelled.
Sunstreaker retorted, "I didn't do anything. He just saw me and took off. I'm in pursuit mode, down the Epsilon passageway."
"Keep me posted, I'll catch up with you in about 3 klicks. Sides out."
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Ratchet darted out of the rec room, pump heaving in distress. Could Perceptor have yelled Sunstreaker's name any louder? Ratchet didn't think the mechs in the hallway heard. He couldn't handle this right now, he was too tired, he needed more time, he needed at least…a few orns. He always played the predator; he wasn't used to being the prey.
Needing to collect his thoughts, Ratchet ducked into an unmarked door, which turned out to be an empty storage room. He slammed the door closed and leaned against it, panting. Rubbing his hands over his face, he pulled deep drafts of air through his intakes and forced his fans to slow down.
"Okay," he mumbled to himself. "This is no big deal. Stop acting like a sparkling, get out there and if you see either of them, just act pleasant. No pressure…they already know you are interested. Just come right out and tell them that you need rest. Recharge now. Talk later. They will understand. Where are your bolts, mech?"
One last huff and he cracked open the door to take a peek. No one was in the corridor, so he slipped out and slunk along the wall towards the med bay. Just as he approached to the intersection, Ratchet heard the soft clunk of metal on metal. A mech was following him. Glancing back, he saw Sunstreaker with a scowl marring his handsome face.
"Eep!" Ratchet squeaked. That was not the face of a mech who would take time to listen to anything Ratchet had to say. Putting on a burst of speed as he rounded the corner, Ratchet palmed open the first door he saw. Steps invited him upwards and, after quickly locking the door behind, Ratchet wasted no time scampering up to the next level.
Reaching the top of the landing, he heard a small pulse burst from the corridor and the door blew halfway up the stairs. With an impending sense of dread, he couldn't help but pause and look back at his doom. Sunstreaker slithered through the shattered door and started deliberately climbing the steps. "Oh, Primus!" Ratchet twirled to continue deeper into the room. But, waist-high horizontal cables hampered him, strung with no rhyme or reason across the vast space. What was this, a Primus-slagged Vosnian puzzle room? Ratchet did his best to navigate the haphazard placement, but there was really nowhere for him to escape to. Huffing, he glanced back to see Sunstreaker following in his wake, gracefully ducking under cabling, optics intent on the pursuit of his quarry.
Attention diverted, Ratchet tried to move forward but didn't notice that he was now practically trapped in the junction between two cables. He tried forcing himself forward, but the cables had slipped between his armor plates and pinched tender wires in his waist. Ratchet had to admit to himself he was stuck.
"Ah, frag me." Giving up, Ratchet flopped to the floor and started crawling away underneath the strung cables, trying to make his way back to the stairs. He didn't get far. Sunstreaker pounced, none-too-gently, on his lower half and grabbed him around the waist.
Truly caught, he gave up. "What," Ratchet panted, face down on the floor, "do you want?"
"Dominance," was the growled reply.
Whether Sunstreaker meant dominance over Ratchet, or something altogether different didn't matter. Visions of the physically powerful mech looming over him made Ratchet shiver in titillation. His fans kicked on to disperse the heat that one word generated in his systems.
Sunstreaker stroked Ratchet's back plating. "Ratchet, what's the matter? I don't scare you, do I?" He revved his engine to send a soothing vibration into the medbot's frame. "I'm sorry, but Sideswipe and I need to talk to you. Please, just relax. Sides will be here in a few klicks. Then I'll let you up."
Ratchet was too weary to protest. The heavy weight of the mech on his lower half actually made him feel very safe. There was a pleasant vibration throughout his whole frame, and the touches on his back were very comforting. Ratchet languidly nuzzled the hand that was now gently caressing his face. This wasn't so bad, he could get used to this kind of attention. Ratchet shivered again, but couldn't keep his CPU from idling. He gradually slipped into a peaceful recharge as exhaustion finally claimed him.
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Sunstreaker was content to just lie on top of Ratchet, gently touching whatever armor he could reach. The shivers from the recharging mech underneath him were intoxicating. His twin bond told him that Sideswipe was just making his way up the stairs. "Sideswipe, I've got Ratchet," he commed.
"I can see that," Sideswipe verbally replied, standing over the two mechs. "You might have been a little too heavy handed there, bro. What'd ya do, knock him out in order to catch him? I didn't think Ratch would be that much of a challenge for you."
Sunstreaker glowered back at his twin and continued to stroke Ratchet's helm and back. "Mute it, glitchhead. He's completely worn out. Let's get him back to our berth and clean him up a bit. I think we all could use some recharge right now. This emotional slag is very exhausting."
Sunstreaker rose as his brother laughed and together they hefted the unconscious medbot between them. The next few cycles should be very interesting.
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END CHAPTER 3
