Today was a long day.

Ratchet sighed quietly, swirling the last dregs of hot oil in his mug. He thought to drink it, but it had gone cold long ago and was beginning to thicken grossly. Still, he would need something in his systems to keep him going for the next few cycles...

A servo took hold of the cup just as the labrador was lifting it to his mouth; the smiling face of one short australian shepherd meeting his own. "Here, sir," the mech beamed, swapping the vet's cup of sour oil for a steaming, fresh one.

"Thanks First Aid," Ratchet replied, quickly drinking from the new cup. He didn't mind that the heat scalded his glossa a little; it was all worth it in the end when he felt his circuits jolt a little with the sparked beverage, a brighter light coming to his optics. "How many patients do we have left...?"

The smaller autodog continued to smile still, merrily flipping through the stack of medical datapads in his arms. "Well, not many now, sir. You have a simple check-up for the Pugs' newest bornling, followed by an appointment with old Mrs. Skyskipper who keeps complaining about this rash she's gotten all along her va-"

"Alright, I get it," the vet interrupted. "I don't need to hear anymore, thanks, First Aid."

The australian shepherd merely wagged his tail happily. "No problem, sir!," the assistant beamed.

"So, that's it then? Just those two and I'm free to flee from this slagging Pit of a place?"

"Uh, well, not quite, sir...," First Aid cut in. Ratchet tried not to groan.

"What is it now?," he asked, hoping it was some pointless, mundane thing that the other autodog had a habit of pestering him with and not another patient. He was getting really tired of all his appointments today.

"You have one more appointment to see, sir," the australian shepherd explained, cruelly dashing Ratchet's hopes. "A follow-up appointment for the two hybrids."

"Come again?," Ratchet said, turning to face the other mech fully this time.

First Aid blinked up at the labrador, oblivious to the cloud of darkness slowly beginning to curl about the vet's helm. "You know... those two mixed younglings? You did a full frame check-up on them just last week. I remember because I was the one that helped you write up the file. I think their creator is Perceptor... But, yeah! Follow-ups are standard, are they not, sir?"

"They are...," the vet grudgingly agreed. "But I sure as slag know that they weren't scheduled in for a follow-up of any sort!" If that was the case, Perceptor would have come straight to him personally, and demanded that Ratchet take time out of his day to look at the twins then and there. Since that hadn't occurred, it was illogical that the labrador would suddenly have an appointment for the two younglings.

"Oh...," First Aid replied, cheekplates flushing nervously. "But I already told them to wait for you in your office..."

"You WHAT?!," Ratchet yelled, dropping his cup of oil in shock.

The australian shepherd flinched at the cry, quickly lifting his servoful of datapads before his face like a shield. "S-sorry, sir," the mech stuttered. "I-i-i-i th-thought it was a-alright, I wa-wasn't aware..."

Ratchet sighed loudly, waving his servo in the air. "Don't worry about it First Aid. This sort of stuff happens to me a good amount of time. Unfortunately," the vet grumbled. "You're not to blame; you were just doing your job after all."

"O-okay, sir," First Aid replied softly, slowly lowering the datapads. He was almost afraid that the labrador would change his mind and suddenly smack him upside the helm with his stethoscope, as he was rumoured to do with other vets and patients alike. "S-shall I g-go then...?"

"Yeah, go ahead," Ratchet replied. "Go do your reports or something. Oh, and First Aid?"

The smaller autodog cringed as he was trying to slink away; fearfully looking back over his shoulder plating to his superior. "Y-yes, s-sir?"

"...Would you mind bringing me another cup of oil...? I kinda...," the vet trailed off, gesturing to the floor bashfully, to where the dark beverage had fallen and made a mess. Seeing that he wasn't going to be punished suddenly, First Aid perked right up again, beaming at the older mech.

"Oh, yes, of course sir! Right away, sir!" Then he scurried off cheerfully, his tail wagging all the way.

Baffled by his subordinate's rapidly shifting moods, Ratchet turned on his pede and started down a separate hallway, heading for his office.

xxXxXxx

"Part of plan being this, yes brother?," Jetstorm asked, turning to his twin.

Jetfire spun a little in Ratchet's chair, before coming to a stop and facing his brother. The other youngling sat nervously on the edge of the vet's desk, far enough off the surface so that he wouldn't accidentally disturb any of the pens or datapads covering it. Jetfire could feel Jetstorm's anxiousness over the bond and silently soothed his twin. "Yes, brother," the orange hybrid answered. "Part of plan being. Knowing Ratchet first must are we, so... if doing so, must to him go if him come to of the us not. Yes?"

"Yes, brother," Jetstorm replied. "Sense making, but..."

"Scaredy being of, is but," his brother supplied, shaking his helm in understanding. "Knowing are I. Still, brave are we doing." Jetfire reached across the desk and took one of Jetstorm's servos, giving it a comforting squeeze as he smiled up at his twin. He was happy when the blue youngling began to finally relax some. Taking the initiative himself, the orange hybrid rose to his pedes, leaning in closer to Jetstorm; who leaned in to his brother as well. Their lip components were barely brushing when suddenly the door was opened, Ratchet striding right into the room.

"S-sir!," the blue hybrid squeaked, jumping to his pedes and away from his brother quickly. His cheekplates burned immediately at the strange sound that had slipped from his vocalizer, turning his helm to the floor to avoid meeting the vet's optics.

Ratchet quirked an optic ridge at the curious action, before dutifully ignoring it and glaring at the orange youngling still standing behind his desk. "And just what do you think you're doing?"

Jetfire grinned sheepishly, moving from behind the desk and standing next to his twin. Jetstorm immediately clasped his servo, holding it tightly within his own. The next few kliks were silent. The two hybrids weren't speaking and Ratchet was attempting to think of ways to approach this situation without blowing up in the younglings' faces.

"You're here...," he eventually started, enunciating his words slowly. "Without Perceptor..."

"Yes sir," the twins answered in unison. Jetstorm was still looking at the floor, and Jetfire had his gaze fixed firmly with the labrador's.

Ratchet exhaled heavily, lifting a servo and pinching the bridge of his olfactory sensor testily. "Why are you here, and without your creator? Am I to assume that you indeed enjoy sneaking off and causing no end of trouble for him? Or is Perceptor merely waiting somewhere out in the hallway, set on ambushing me after I haul your afts out of my office?"

"We come for upping of the check only," Jetfire replied. "We-"

"You don't need a follow-up, believe me," the vet growled. "I already administered all shots and the like, and I know for a fact that Perceptor is more than comfortable with tracking your progress afterwards, though he really should be leaving that sort of work to the professionals. Unless of course you're here for another reason altogether... something to do with interfacing, perhaps?"

"Wh- No!," Jetstorm choked, snapping his helm up. "No, no, no, no, no, no!," the youngling exclaimed, waving his servos before him fearfully.

"Relax, pup," Ratchet said, folding his arms before his chassis. "I was only saying. But if you really don't have an emergency, and considering you don't have an appointment, I have no choice but to ask you to leave. I'm heading out for some lunch before I have to come back here and finish all this slagging work."

This was it! The opportunity they were looking for! Faster than one could blink, Jetfire and Jetstorm were standing just before the labrador, servos clasped imploringly as they looked up at the taller mech. Ratchet, unnerved by their closeness, leaned back to distance himself from the hybrids, but they only followed his motion; pushing in closer.

"...you've grown...," the vet noted lowly. "You're both about chin level now."

The younglings ignored this distracting comment, pouting at the older autodog. "Ratchet, sir," they beseeched. "Taking of us you with? Often not we are going outside -mommy mind of not much being if you with are we. Pleeeeeeeeease?"

Their gazes were practically screaming their desperateness to escape outdoors once more, and even Ratchet could see part of the logic behind their begging. He was already aware of Perceptor's phobia to everything and everyone around him. But to take these two tricky younglings with him out for lunch? That was just asking for trouble, the vet knew... and for a slew of rumors to start up about him berthing two femmes at once. Didn't Jetfire and Jetstorm have some more mechly clothes?!

"Oh, please, Ratchet sir!," Jetstorm started pleading again, noticing the debate going on behind the labrador's optics. "Be of goodest behaviour we are, promising! Not make of the trouble, sir!"

"You're being troublesome now...," Ratchet mumbled under his intakes. The autodog sighed again, admitting defeat. If he simply turned the younglings away, he had no doubt in his processor that they would just sneak off somewhere else, further distressing their creator and Wheeljack in the process. If they were with him, then at least Perceptor wouldn't need to worry so much, though the border collie would probably be more than perplexed as to why his sons were with the vet in the first place.

"Let's go," Ratchet acquiesced, turning to the door. "But then you're going right back to your babysitter, understood?"

The two hybrids purred merrily, leaping forward and grabbing hold of the labrador's arms each. "Much being thanks!," Jetfire and Jetstorm chirped, nuzzling the vet's shoulders.

Well, that wasn't right. Ratchet squirmed against the affectionate attention, trying to pull away with little success. "Alright, quit it!," he eventually just snapped. "Doing things like that with somebot other than family is a sure way for people to get the wrong message."

The twins blinked up at the vet sadly, before withdrawing. "M-may us be holding sleeve, alright if?," Jetfire asked timidly.

Silence for a moment.

"...fine," Ratchet sighed. He really knew he shouldn't have been pampering them so, but he really just wanted to get out of there and go get some food already. If letting the two younglings hold onto his sleeves would keep them from clinging to him, then so be it. As it was, Jetfire and Jetstorm did perk up at this offer, and quickly grabbed a servoful of the vet's coat immediately.

"Now go, we are?," they asked together.

"Yes... Now we can go," the labrador replied. He headed to the door, trailed by the two hybrids. "So... who'd you run away from?"

xxXxXxx

Jetstorm was happy. Really, really happy. His black border collie tail was wagging consistently, and even the energon sundae he was eating tasted a thousand times better. The sky was bluer, the sun brighter, and everything felt absolutely perfect in the world. And it was all because of the old labrador seated across from him.

Ratchet, the vet that their creator had taken to see the previous week for a check-up, had taken both of the hybrids out for lunch -after a little cajoling and sneaking about on their part. Still, it was worth it in the end to sneak away from Uncle Wheeljack, because they were now sitting on the patio of a cute little restaurant, in the company of their crush. Jetstorm tried his very best to keep his excitement contained. The older autodog didn't seem to take kindly to physical contact out in public, and the younglings were anything if not affectionate. They reveled in constant contact with their loved ones; it was just part of their programming. Yet, if they wanted to make any progress with the astute vet -and Jetstorm wanted to very much so- they would have to take things slowly.

Jetfire, sipping on an oil soda, shuttered his optics at the labrador. "Sir, eating not?," he asked, removing his lip components from the straw.

Ratchet seemed to startle at the question, frowning first at the orange hybrid before glaring down at his plate of iron linguine. It was mostly untouched and had started to get cold by now. "Not hungry is all," the vet grumbled in reply, turning his helm away from his food and the two younglings. Truthfully, he was starving... but it felt too awkward to be out and eating with Perceptor's rambunctious sons.

Already, other mechs and femmes were casting them strange looks. Not surprising, Jetstorm and Jetfire remained oblivious to the odd attention they were receiving.

"Maybe food liking not?," Jetstorm piped up. His visor gleamed eagerly, an excited blush coming to his cheekplates. "I make of meal good! Energon goodies specially! Ratchet, sir, like of trying some?"

Jetfire nodded his helm vigorously beside his twin. "Brother make food good. Better not one thing!"

Ratchet scowled somewhat, facing the younglings. "You're making it sound like we're gonna see each other again soon, pups," the vet remarked. He didn't miss the embarrassed ducking of both of the hybrids' helms. "Anyways, food is food. As long as I can eat, it doesn't really matter."

Jetfire pouted at the labrador's refusal, while Jetstorm merely lowered his helm further. His blue ears lay sunk on either side of his helm, tail limp behind his chair. Ah, slag... he had upset the mech. Ratchet sighed, refraining from pinching at his olfactory sensor again. "E-energon goodies... I probably wouldn't mind," the autodog started, "And I'm sure Wheeljack wouldn't mind delivering them to me either."

Jetstorm lifted his helm quickly, two little pearls of coolant still gripping at the edges of his visor. "R-real, sir? Okie for dokie is being?," he asked anxiously.

The labrador nodded his helm solemnly. As was expected, it made the younglings perk up again; tails wagging merrily behind each of them. Trying to put their pleased expressions out of his processor, Ratchet looked to his wrist watch. He had twenty kliks before his lunch break was over... and Jetfire and Jetstorm's babysitter hadn't come to retrieve them yet. When was the mech gonna get here?

"Hello, Ratchet sir. Twins," greeted a voice.

Speak of the Slag-maker.

Ratchet turned his helm to the newest individual, glaring at the flaming golden retriever. "Took you long enough."

"Brother Rodimus!," the younglings chirped. Quickly the two of them were out of their seats, circling around the table and hugging the other autodog tightly. Rodimus smiled down on the younger mechs, patting their helms and scratching behind their ears. Jetfire and Jetstorm purred at the attention.

"I see you pups have been running off again," Rodimus teased good-naturedly. "Sentinel never stops talking about it."

Jetfire and Jetstorm giggled a little, nuzzling the golden retriever's chassis further. "Not have class him with this day. Being of Uncle Wheeljack with... but wanting to trip go, are we. We be of careful still!"

"Is that so?," the other mech inquired. "I see that you at least managed to find yourself a supervisor of sorts. Though I wasn't aware that you knew Ratchet..."

"Perceptor had them come in for a check-up last week," Ratchet supplied, rising from the table as well. He gestured to a waiter passing by, handing the other autodog a handful of credits. "Keep the change," he said, before turning back to the other mechs.

"Ah, I see," Rodimus hummed in acknowledgement. "I suppose that Jetfire and Jetstorm have become attached to you then."

"Don't see why..."

The younger autodog chuckled lightly. "Don't worry about it too much. The twins have a habit of doing that with 'bots they like... even those that they meet only once." Ratchet made a noncommittal noise in the back of his vocalizer.

"Now," Rodimus started again, "We must be going. Our lesson is about to start, and I'm sure Wheeljack will be comforted to know that you are both with me at the designated time."

Jetfire and Jetstorm whined at this news.

"Boys- Propriety expects that we, what?," Rodimus scolded, looking at each of the younglings.

At the prompt, the hybrids turned to Ratchet and slightly inclined their helms to the vet. "Thanks of much, for the meal and granting of us company of yours," the twins said in unison. "Most appreciating action we are."

"...you teach them manners?," the labrador replied, looking from the younglings to the golden retriever in stunned disbelief.

"Yes," Rodimus replied coolly. "I did learn from the best, after all. Or did you expect Sentinel to teach them it?"

"Who?," was Ratchet's eloquent reply. The younger autodog rolled his optics, patting Jetstorm and Jetfire on the helm again.

"C'mon, time for us to go."

"Byes, Ratchet, sir!," Jetfire chirped, waving violently as he hurried after the retreating mech.

"See again soon you," Jetstorm smiled brightly, before he too was turning and skipping after his brother and babysitter. Ratchet watched them go, feeling dread slink into his fuel tanks heavily. There was no doubt in his processor that he would be seeing those two up-start younglings again.

xxXxXxx

"Yes, place your servo just right there. We clasp our free servos up here, and... one step, two step, three step. Rotate to the left, one small step to the right, and repeat." Rodimus spoke softly, chin lifted, as he and Jetstorm moved about the room. All the furniture had been pushed back so that there was a clear space where they might dance. Waltzing was some of the many things that Rodimus taught the twins; etiquette, polite speech and table manners also among that list of lessons. As it was, the younglings were exceptional learners and their natural demeanour made picking up the high-class mannerisms easier. Still, they were young, and youthfulness had a habit of making even the most learned of 'bots foolhardy and impulsive in their actions. These classes of propriety would continue until Rodimus was certain that Jetfire and Jetstorm had them wired into their processors.

Today, though, the hybrids were doing really well. "Good job," the autodog praised, "Your motion has improved greatly, Jetstorm. Your steps are quick and light, and you do not lead as if you were herding a floak of petro rabbits. Very good indeed."

"Thanking you of most flattery praise," the blue youngling replied, ducking his helm slightly with embarrassment.

"No, lift your chin," Rodimus smiled. "There's nothing for you to be ashamed of. You should show everyone that pretty smile. You're more than worthy of the compliment." The shorter mech lifted his helm at the order, gracing the autodog with his blushing cheekplates.

A vocalizer cleared at the lapse of silence, and the two dancing mechs came to a stop. Turning to the door, both Rodimus and Jetstorm were shocked to see Ultra Magnus there. "I apologize for my interruption. If I may though, could I steal a moment of your time, Rodimus?," the great dane asked.

"Oh, yes. Of course, sir," the golden retriever replied. He turned to the corner of the room where Jetfire was sitting, waiting for his turn to dance. "Jetfire, Jetstorm, if you'd please -continue on with each other while I go talk to Ultra Magnus for a klik." Rodimus waited until the orange hybrid had risen to his pedes, joining his brother on the make-shift dance floor, before the older mech was leaving the room.

Quietly, Jetfire let Jetstorm lead him in the steps; together slowly making their way about the room. "Happy are being you, brother?," Jetfire asked, smiling.

Even without Jetstorm's confirmation, he could feel the bubbly, fuzzy warmth seeping across their bond from his twin, surrounding his spark as well and cocooning it in that blanket of positive emotion. At the needless question, the blue youngling smiled back at his brother, purring quietly. "Very," he answered. "See of Ratchet, and go to have him eating energon goodies mine of. Happy very being."

Jetfire beamed brighter at his twin. "Saw, yes? Plan work, yes?"

Jetstorm chuckled. "Yes. Right being are you, brother." He leaned in closer to Jetfire, their lip components meeting in a spark-felt kiss. They languidly pulled apart a klik later, olfactory sensors still brushing as they were loathe to distance themselves entirely yet. "Thanking you brother," the blue twin whispered.

"Well of come," Jetfire whispered back.

"Pups," came Rodimus' voice. The younglings jolted at the call, turning to the doorway. The golden retriever leaned against the door frame, smiling wryly at the two hybrids. "You stopped dancing," he remarked, chuckling an astrosecond after as Jetfire and Jetstorm attempted to fall back into the music's rhythm.

"It's alright, you can stop now," the autodog laughed just as the younger mechs tripped over their pedes and crashed to the floor. "Wheeljack is here to pick you up."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Jetfire and Jetstorm were jumping off the floor and racing for the door. Rodimus wisely stepped out of their path, shaking his helm and smiling at the younglings' antics. "Uncle Wheeljack!"

The engineer, who had been standing just outside the door, turned at the call and quickly scooped the two hybrids up. He crushed them tight in a big bear hug, leaving their pedes to dangle in the air as he pressed them tight to his chestplates. "Uncle Wheeljack us crushing," Jetfire laughed a little within the firm grasp.

"Miss lots us, suppose?," Jetstorm added.

"Don't you two ever do that to me again!," the bulldog said, finally putting the twins back down again. He kept a heavy servo on each of their shoulders still, blue optics fixing them with a slightly frustrated stare. "I didn't know what happened to the both of ya, you were just suddenly gone when the smoke cleared. I thought for sure that I had finally blew the both of you up! I know Perceptor gets iffy about you boys joining me in my lab, but I always keep you safe enough... but that stupid machine backfired, and there was smoke everywhere... Primus, what would I do -what would Perceptor do!- if I lost you both?!"

The younglings lowered their helms contritely, kicking at the floor with the tips of their pedes. "...sorries," they whispered sadly, "Scaring not is what we to do mean."

Wheeljack sighed, pulling Jetfire and Jetstorm back into his arms. "It's alright... I know you didn't mean any harm by it. But please at least leave me a note, or call me next time you decided to sneak out while one of my projects begins to fritz."

The younger mechs purred in agreement, wrapping their arms around the bigger autodog and nuzzling under his chin. Wheeljack accepted the affectionate touch, placing a kiss atop each set of kitty ears. "C'mon... it's time to go home now," he announced, withdrawing his arms.

Jetfire and Jetstorm stepped back from the hug, taking up position on either side of the engineer; clasping one of his servos in their own. "Now tell me," the bulldog spoke up, as they started for home, "Just where in the world did you run off to in the first place? I mean, Rodimus called me to inform me that he was going to go pick you both up for your lesson... but he never said from where."

"Ratchet is with!," the orange youngling piped up before his brother could. "Him go see at hospital."

"Yes! Take for lunch us, is doing him," the blue hybrid intervened quickly. Jetstorm wanted to state his piece before his twin could. "Food liking not, so promises to making energon goodies I are."

"Y-you... you were with Ratchet?," Wheeljack replied, stunned.

The bulldog nearly stumbled when the twins suddenly pulled on his servos together; the both of them urging the older mech to hurry up. "H-hey!," Wheeljack raised his voice in surprise. "What's the hurry for?"

"Go home quick, must we!," Jetfire and Jetstorm chirped happily. "Making of treats Ratchet for!"

"I... uh... see..." Confused, the poor engineer just let himself be dragged back home by the two excited younglings.

xxXxXxx

Perceptor arrived home later that evening.

Shutting and locking the door behind him, the border collie was quick to note the silence of the apartment. With the exception of running water in the kitchen, there was no other noise to be had. Silently, the scientist made his way further into his home, turning into the kitchen. "Wheeljack..."

"Ah, Perceptor!," the bulldog grinned, turning away from the sink. "Just gimme a klik. I'm almost done washing these up."

"Action is not necessary," Perceptor replied, walking up to the engineer.

"Nonsense," Wheeljack retorted, waving a servo in the air. The motion tossed a few bubbles about the room. "The twins felt especially creative tonight and made up a whole new, fresh batch of energon goodies. They tuckered out shortly afterwards though... and I know they wouldn't want you to have to wash up their extra dishes from the baking." The bulldog finished scrubbing out the last bowl in the sink, giving it a rinse before placing it along with the others in the dishrack. Pulling out the drain, Wheeljack turned to face Perceptor.

"Come... you must be tired after everything." Wheeljack lightly grasped the border collie by the shoulders, steering him out of the kitchen and into the living room. Perceptor allowed himself to be led to the couch, taking a seat.

"Energon goodies? What motive prompted this decision?," the scientist asked, looking to the taller autodog.

Wheeljack stepped away for a moment, scratching at his ear. "Oh, well, that... Uh, the twins and I ran into Ratchet earlier today. Seems they like the vet now too. They wanted to make him some treats as a gift," the bulldog replied, heading back to the kitchen. It wasn't really a lie he was saying, but it would be better if Perceptor didn't know of every single moment that the younglings ran off.

"Speaking of which," Wheeljack continued. He returned to the room with a tray in his servos: a plate of copper ravioli, a glass of oil and a small plate of energon goodies placed on its surface. With this, he headed towards Perceptor once more. "Jetfire and Jetstorm were wondering if they might be allowed to go see Ratchet tomorrow at the hospital. I'd go with them of course, but they want to give Ratchet the energon goodies as soon as possible. Here, your dinner."

"Thank you, Wheeljack," the border collie responded as his friend placed the tray in his lap. The bulldog settled onto the couch beside the scientist, silently watching as Perceptor picked up his utensils.

"Tomorrow is... the weekend," the smaller autodog noted.

"Yeah it is. The twins won't have lessons tomorrow, and it'll be fun for them to go out for a trip. The weather has been really nice this past little while too," Wheeljack added. His little tail wagged anxiously behind him, hoping that Perceptor would grant him his request. He didn't want to have to tell the younglings 'no' come the morning...

Perceptor though remained silent as he ate his meal. After a klik, he set down his utensils and turned his helm to face the bulldog. "Very well. They may go," the scientist replied.

Wheeljack beamed. "And what about you Perceptor? Are you able to take a day off to come join us? I was thinking that we might go have a picnic as well."

The border collie shuttered his optics, turning back to his food. "No, I think not," he replied. "There is too much work to be done. Perhaps another day."

"Alright...," the engineer mumbled. He swallowed back the sigh that threatened to slip out, tucking away his disappointment. "You should eat one of the energon goodies," the bigger mech added. "Jetstorm put them aside just for you. I know he'll be just ecstatic if you were to eat some tonight."

At the prompt, Perceptor reached for one of the pink biscuits, bringing it up to his lip components and nibbling at it delicately. As usual, the treat was delicious -Jetstorm was truly talented when it came to baking. "They are wonderful," the border collie said, after he had finished eating one. He picked up another and held it out for the other autodog. "Would you care to have one as well, Wheeljack?"

"Don't mind if I do," Wheeljack answered, happily taking the energon goodie from the scientist's slim fingers. The engineer tossed the biscuit whole into his mouth, chewing on it contently. He sighed blissfully when he was done. "That was real good. Jetstorm's got a magic touch with those energon goodies. Haven't tasted anything better."

"Anyways," the bulldog went on, glancing at the clock on the wall. "I suppose I should probably get going. It's getting late and all..."

Perceptor lifted a servo and placed it on Wheeljack's forearm, just as the taller autodog was getting to his pedes. Startled by the touch, the engineer looked back to his friend. "Stay here for the night, Wheeljack," the scientist said. "It is late and dark. It would be dangerous to go out at this time of night."

"A-are you s-sure, Perceptor?," Wheeljack stuttered. "I-i-i don't w-want to be a b-burden or anything."

"I am certain," the border collie answered without hesitation. "We will simply open the pull-out couch. That is no trouble." Perceptor rose to his pedes, lifting the tray with him. "I shall go get spare blankets and pillows," he announced, before turning and leaving the room.

Wheeljack could only shutter his optics stupidly at the mech's exit, before he was grinning; humming happily to himself under his intakes as he set out on unfolding the pull-out bed.