Notes: Sorry for the long wait!

I'm bringing Grapple into this chapter as a sounding board for (poor, long-suffering) Hoist. What I want to leave you wondering is "are they or aren't they?" because I totally ship it. You can interperet their relationship as you will.

As for what exactly Skids was trying to do...Well, you can just use your imaginations.

Misao-CG: I kind of like to think that Hoist is unoffically their "mom." I think Mudflap pretends that sometimes too.

As always, please enjoy and leave comments, concrit and questions in the form of a review. I will try to answer any questions or address any concerns!

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"Speech therapy."

The sound of Hoist's voice alone would have been enough to make Grapple glance up from the blueprints he was looking over. The added thunk of a data pad hitting the table near his elbow made the other mech downright impossible to ignore.

Not that Grapple ever would have intentionally ignored Hoist. Sometimes, he just got so caught up in a project that he forgot the rest of the world, but he was hardly the only mech with that problem and it wouldn't have been odd if it took more than one attempt to catch his attention, given the complicated design he was contemplating.

What was odd, however, was the fact that Hoist chose those words as his greeting. Grapple was usually gifted with a 'hello' or a 'how was your day?' or even a 'what have you got there?' And it was peculiar to hear something else, given he hadn't seen Hoist all day -- Which he completely understood; the team's semi-annual physicals were approaching and that usually meant a lot of prep work for the medic, but that didn't make it any less peculiar.

"What's that?" He asked as Hoist plopped into a chair opposite him across the small table. The medic looked downright cheery -not that it was easy to tell, given the face mask, but they had been long-time companions and Grapple was good at guessing at Hoist's moods- his body language suggesting it was hard to keep himself still.

"Speech therapy is the treatment of speech defects and disorders, especially through use of exercises and audio-visual aids that promote the development of new speech habits." Came the chipper reply, "This," He indicated the nearly-forgotten data pad lying on the table, "contains a most fascinating article on the subject. It was written by a researcher who witnessed the process while visiting a foreign planet."

Grapple waited for a moment before asking the oh-so-obvious "So what?" Hoist was obviously very excited about this article and its contents and he didn't want to insult his partner. But he didn't quite understand why Hoist was so thrilled with the find, so the question inevitably slipped out.

"I think this may be something we can use to help correct Mudflap's speech defect." Hoist explained, visor shining, "We've ruled out many of the other possibilities in regards to his problem. There's nothing wrong with his vocal apparatus; all of its parts are in working order. His auditory reception is fine, so he's not hearing and repeating things incorrectly. It is not a processing glitch, either. This article mentions that some speech disorders such as Mudflap's are common among the young and emerge as a result of stress. Given that there's nothing physically wrong with him, this seems to be the most likely cause."

Grapple cocked his head as he rolled his blueprints and stored them safely in a cylindrical canister. "Hold on an astrosecond, Hoist. That's a great idea, but…" He set the container aside and picked up the data pad, glancing at it briefly, "There is no stress in either of the twins' lives. They just hang out and do whatever they want."

"It does seem that way…" Hoist mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully, "But I suspect it's not true. It might be so if there were just one of them, but since there are two, Mudflap is in constant competition with his brother. He's aware of his academic shortcomings and the fact that Skids is 'smarter' than him. Skids is not quite so hyperactive and is also noticeably better at controlling himself. He's also constantly reminding Mudflap of this. And then there's the battle training they've begun…There's actually a remarkable amount of pressure on the two of them."

"And you think his way of dealing with it is his glitch?" Leave it to Hoist to figure this out when none of the braniacs could. Grapple smiled. "Well, if it is, I'm sure you'll be able t--"

He was interrupted by a huge CRASH from somewhere out in the corridor, the sound echoing through the room, followed by a lot of banging noises and muffled yelling. It wouldn't take a genius to guess that a fight had erupted in the hallway and it wouldn't take much more than that to guess who the culprits were.

Hoist was out of his seat in a flash, Grapple clattering after him as the door slid open, revealing -expectedly- the twins.

They were in a tangled heap on the floor, limbs flailing, screechy insults and punches flying between them. It must have been quite the brawl; there was a Skids-shaped dent in the wall; his brother had undoubtedly thrown him there, the metal buckling with the sheer force of the impact. Mudflap, who was perched on top of his twin and shrieking something incomprehensible, had a cracked headlight and a shreaded tire.

"What in the name of Primus is going on out here?"

Both of the twins froze at Hoist's startled exclamation, looking up contritely. For a moment, silence reigned in the hallway, then they exploded into wild chattering again.

"Thkidth tharted it!" Mudflap screeched, scowling and pushing a hand into his brother's face, shoving him back down towards the floor, "He wath tryin' to-"

"I didn't start nothin', yo!" Skids' arms were swinging wildly as he tried to deck his brother sight unseen, his voice muffled by the hand in his face, "It's all his stupid fault, as usual!"

Hoist sighed, vents cycling wearily. "Both of you…knock it off." He couldn't help but being curious about what they were arguing about this time that dissolved into this show of barbarity. "And drag yourselves to the med bay so I can repair you."

Looking somewhat apologetic, Mudflap climbed off his brother, who ignored his outstretched hand, struggled to his feet and stomped down the hall. Skids' posture was tense, though any anger he felt was probably really a result of the humiliation of being slammed into a wall hard enough to leave a dent. Mudflap limped after him, muttering something about exhaust ports.

…On second thought, Hoist didn't want to know.

The medic took a moment to compose himself, jumping a little when Grapple clapped a friendly hand on his shoulder.

"Well," The architect said, sounding almost too cheerful (which left Hoist wishing to cuff him, though he, of course, refrained from doing so), "I hope you're right about this speech therapy stuff so you can get this problem straightened out before they destroy the entire ship."