A/N: This is the first time I've ever managed to write something that isn't at least ten chapters long, therefore comments would be very much appreciated.

I'm not pleased with the title but it's 1.30 a.m. and I cannot think of anything better. This was a few hours of work, written by hand on and off over a couple of days, attempted (and failed) microphone dictation and finally traditionally typed up by keyboard.

Because if I can do things the long-winded way, I shall.

Disclaimer: I don't own 'Transformers' or any of the affiliated companies.

Of Old Mechs and Unexpected Culprits.

Ironhide sighed as the red mech ahead of him vanished in the sulphurous smoke and disappeared altogether. Yet again, Wheeljack's lab had been infiltrated and the perpetrator had foolishly tinkered with some gadgets of unknown stability or completion in the hopes of picking up a new toy to entertain themselves… and probably some unwilling others.

The security cameras had stalled at just the time the culprit made his move. No energy signatures had been recorded during the break-in. The mech (or mechs) responsible had known Red Alert's security measures and Ironhide's procedures for capturing culprits. They had truly out-done him for the fourth time this week; and the week had only begun two days ago. Ironhide had to admit it:

"Ah'm gettin' old."

"You're getting old?" The sudden, grouchy presence made Ironhide turn in alarm – in the smoke, he had not noticed the minibot's approach. "My gears are stiff, some are out of sync, my pulleys are squeaking and I can't tell you how many loose wires I've found," Gears warbled. "Of course, Ratchet can never find the problem but they're there! I can find them! You ever find that Ratchet can do one of his routine check-ups, find nothing wrong with you an' then less than a mega-cycle later, right in the middle of a battle or emergency call, your pistons seize up? Ever get that?" Ironhide shook his head in response, a smile edging onto his faceplate. Ironhide did not realise it at the time, but Gears was trying to one-up him in the 'Grumpy (With Reasons) Old Mech' scale. And so far the minibot was leading marvellously.

"You know you're old when you have to use twice as much oil to lube your joints and need to apply it twice as often. But then again they just don't make quality oil like they used to. Why, back on Cybertron…" Gears wandered off down the corridor, his rant falling in behind him. It was his idiosyncratic way of saying goodbye whilst his ranting still amused his audience and before it became too excessive. The moment had passed. Ironhide had to return to his task – the one that had run away before him. He looked at his chassis and noticed the malodorous smoke had stuck to his finish, dulling his ruby shine. The mech responsible for this incident would be in the same condition: he would want to get rid of such an incriminating appearance and odour. To the wash-racks be it.

---

There was no-one at the wash-racks. What was more, there was not a single drop of water on the floor.

"Not been used in mega-cycles," Ironhide muttered to himself. Just at that moment, The chamber's doors opened. Ironhide abruptly turned, ready to tackle his criminal.

Time spanned as naught happened. No-one was there.

"Can I help you?" Mirage's voice asked quietly – nervously – of the older red mech.

"Ah'm lookin' fer a saboteur," Ironhide responded to the air. Why had Mirage not revealed himself?

"Jazz?"

"Nope – a lab saboteur."

"Why, what has transpired?" Ironhide could not help but notice the amused note in Mirage's vocals, and he did not like it.

"Why won't yer show yerself, Mirage?" Ironhide refused to answer the question Mirage had posed. As he asked his own, he felt Mirage's presence move closer to the doorway.

"I, erm, I currently do not look my best," the spy replied. Ironhide's optics narrowed into blades.

"Show yerself," he said bluntly. He had been looking for a red mech, but the smoke had been thick and coloured – perhaps his delinquent was not red at all.

"I would rather n-"

"That's an order, Mirage," Ironhide barked. Though he still could not see the Ligier, he felt him start.

"…Very well," Mirage said at last, gradually waxing into opacity. Ironhide tittered. Mirage looked straight ahead, coolly professional, refusing to look into his sniggering superior's optics.

"An' what happed to you?" The Ligier, caked in wet mud from crown to foot, looked very displeased. There was not a drop of mud on his back, leaving Ironhide with the amusing mental image that somewhere – quite likely nearby – there was a perfectly-shaped Mirage mud-mould for the front half of the spy's body.

"I hydroplaned into a rather large and rather deep ditch. I only escaped by transforming," Mirage admitted unwillingly. "Do you mind if I use the wash-rack? It is not really my wish to cleanse myself in the rain." With Mirage's last words Ironhide's smile fell off his faceplate. If it was raining outside, the lab thief had another way of cleaning off the smoke, and had probably done so by now.

To be honest, Mirage had been an unlikely suspect: it was not in his character to raid labs and cause explosions, nor would the light-footed mech make the heavy footfalls that Ironhide had heard his evader cause. Yet in his defence, Mirage had been acting suspiciously. Ironhide just wanted to catch this mech – he wanted someone to blame, and he cursed his inability to carry out his job.

"Perhaps it's time ah left the security an' all the runnin' around t' the younger mechs like Red Alert," he mumbled to no-one in particular. Mirage guffawed, having heard all too clearly the Security Officer's moping.

"Ironhide, you are only as old as you feel inside."

"In which case, ah'm ancient."

"I think the problem is that your latest adversary knows you all too well. Perhaps it is time to re-evaluate your tactics – plan something new." With those words, Mirage entered the wash-rack and began to rinse off the mud. He sighed with relief and pleasure at being clean and presentable once more. Ironhide thought on his words. Perhaps it was time to try something new – and he and his suspicious security director could come up with something that would make sure the lab saboteur was caught.

---

The red mech clanked along the hallway, cursing his size and wishing he had Bumblebee or Jazz's ability for stealth. Old Ironaft had nearly caught him last time, but 'nearly' had not put him in the brig and the buzz from the danger only made him want more. Wheeljack's lab was just up ahead, and inside lay another gadget just waiting for his attentions. The air-solidifier (or whatever technical name Wheeljack had given it) had been a fun gadget, turning the air around ol' Hound and Trailbreaker solid for about half a mega-cycle. Not even Trailbreaker's force-field attempts had affected its effectiveness. And the neural disruptor had been fun on Mirage and the twins – watching the spy lose control and go speeding into a ditch, he had nearly split his chassis with silent laughter when he saw the demure mech's facade on returning to the road. And Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had absolutely indescribable expressions of mystification when they kept falling over onto the floor for no apparent reason every few hundred astro-seconds. It was a shame that the gadget had imploded, meeting an end not too dissimilar to some of the other gadgets he had 'borrowed' before.

Now, he had turned the security cameras off and no-one knew he was here. He had plenty of time to peruse the shelves of Wheeljack's lab. Or so he thought: a silent alarm triggered by his motion had gone straight to the security director's computer. Red Alert and Ironhide knew he was there.

Ah, there was a gadget that caught his eye – something new he had not noticed before: shiny, small and discreet, the little contraption was perfect. He reached over and placed his hand on it to pick it up. It activated. He pulled his hand away. His hand would not move from the widget. The widget would not move from the table.

"Oh, Slag," he breathed, realising he had been caught at last. He tugged again. Nothing happened. He tried once more. Nothing. Well, if he could not pull… putting all of his weight onto the contraption, it crumpled and gave him a series of small electric shocks before deactivating. Holding back a curse that would have made Ratchet proud, he dashed for the door but as he got there, he abruptly found the floor dashing towards his faceplate. When had he tripped? Then he realised he was not alone.

"Well, well," the drawl of the security officer crisply entered his audios. "Ah wasn't expectin' you. Sideswipe, definitely. Cliffjumper, maybe. But you?"

"Eheh-heh…" Inferno mumbled nervously. "I was just looking! I didn't take anything and you can't prove otherwise." The older red mech smugly turned over Inferno's hands. There, on the hand that had grabbed the booby-trapped device, were the scorch marks resulting from crushing it.

"Ah'd say you've provided me with all the proof ah need." Well, this explained how the lab raider had known all about the security measures. Red Alert was going to have a paroxysm of paranoia once he learned it was his friend causing all of the trouble. And after that, he would just have a plain old fit. "Next tahm you git bored, ah'd go an' find a fire if ah were you." Ironhide pulled Inferno onto his feet and led him towards the brig. Prowl had already found ample time to come up with punishments for whomever was taking Wheeljack's gadgets. Inferno would be scrubbing Wheeljack's lab and the surrounding corridor for at least the next week. Ironhide could not help but feel some pride for catching his criminal after he had evaded him for the past few days. Though he would not admit it, he did not feel so old any more. And now he wanted to learn some more new tricks.

End.

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A/N: Homework for all of you fanfic writers out there: find a dictionary and learn the differences between 'lose' and 'loose' and 'affect' and 'effect'. I can't tell you how many times I've seen those incorrectly used. 'Then' instead of 'than' is absolutely rife: seems like a lot of people have trouble telling the difference between an adverbial of time and a conjunctive. If you are sure you know the differences (and I doubt that with many of you) spell-check! You still might miss some mistakes but you will improve the quality of your writing with the ones you do catch. I will now await (and ignore) any and all flames about the pedantic little mistakes I've missed in this (and other) fanfics of mine. I do check. Hopefully, you do too. End rant.