A/N: I apologize for how long it has taken me to get this posted, but the flu and my evil Adv. Visual Basic class have been kicking my butt. (Every time my muse has struck, I've had a program to write. ( And trying to write code while your mind is screaming "STORY STORY STORY!!!" really bites.)
Also, a note on the name, just in case some of you are not familiar with Latin: Cave Canem (pronounced KAH-way KAH-nehm) translates into "Beware the dog" or "Watch out for the dog." (Yes I like Latin and yes I'm a geek.)
And now, I'm sure you're sick of my rambling, so: On to the fic!
Gears woke up complaining, and Ratchet was quick to put a stop to it - by hitting him over the head with the biggest wrench he could find.
"Ow! Primus, what was that for?" the blue and red minibot demanded, rubbing the fresh dent in his helmet angrily.
"For being stupid," Ratchet replied menacingly. "Have you learned your lesson or do I need to beat some more sense into your head?" He waved the wrench again for emphasis.
Gears eyed the tool warily. "No, I think I'm good, thanks," he muttered, inching away from the medic as far as the repair table would allow.
"Do you even know," Ratchet asked conversationally, "how long it has taken me to put your sorry aft back together? Hmm?" When Gears shook his head fearfully, he informed him, "It has taken me the entire slagging day and night, you sorry fragger—and that was with Wheeljack helping! This ranks right up there with Jet Judo on the list of 'Extremely Stupid Ways to Get Hurt'—or was that 'Extremely Stupid Ways to Piss Ratchet Off'?!" By this point he was shouting, Gears had covered his head with both hands to protect himself from flying tools, and several heads had poked into the medbay to see the show. (It was considered high entertainment in the Ark to watch Ratchet deliver a dressing-down—as long as you were not the one on the receiving end.)
"Did you even stop to think that Sunstreaker might rip you to shreds, you idiotic, overclocked scrapheap? Fraggit, I will not fix you if this happens again. You'd best try your luck with Hoist or Wheeljack or First Aid—if I don't go ahead and assign Swoop to repairing you for the rest of your life." He nodded, as though the thought had just occurred to him and he liked it. "Yes, that's what I'll do—Swoop needs someone to practice on anyway—"
"No, no, that won't be necessary!" Gears interrupted hastily, staring at Ratchet in horror. "I promise I won't say another word to Sunstreaker!" He squeaked when Swoop wandered over from where he had been studying some datapad or other that Ratchet had set him too, obviously having heard his name.
"You Ratchet need me Swoop?" the Dinobot asked eagerly, peering down at Gears and grinning good-naturedly.
The medic echoed his student's grin—except his had a decidedly evil cast to it. "No, not at the moment, Swoop—Gears was just leaving, weren't you Gears?"
The minibot nodded frantically, slipping down off of the repair table and bolting out of the door, much to Swoop's puzzlement and the amusement of the crowd now gathered around the entrance to the medbay. Finally noticing the audience, Ratchet snarled for them to clear out, unless they had a good reason to be there.
"Why him Gears leave so fast?" Swoop asked, bewildered.
Ratchet shrugged and clapped the big Dinobot on the back, smiling. "I guess I just have that effect on some mechs," he replied. At Swoop's confused look, he added, "Don't you worry about it, Swoop. Now, did you finish that datapad?"
"Almost! Me Swoop go read the rest, now!" Swoop chirruped happily.
Ratchet nodded. "Let me know when you're done—we'll see how much you've learned." Swoop made a wordless squawk of agreement and scurried back over to the corner where he'd set up a chair and desk to study. He didn't even look up when Sideswipe sauntered into the medbay and kissed Ratchet thoroughly in greeting, by now used to the Lamborghini's attempts to embarrass the medic.
"You could learn to be a little more circumspect," Ratchet breathed when they parted.
"You could learn to speak a language I understand," Sideswipe retorted laughingly. "At this rate, I'm gonna have to start carryin' around a dictionary," he teased, running gentle fingers down the medic's arm.
Ratchet snorted. "Circumspect: adjective. Watchful and discreet; cautious; prudent. Not that any of those words are in your vocabulary, either."
Sideswipe laughed again. "Damn right," he replied cheerfully. "You like it and you know it. Anyway, I heard your 'conversation' with Gears—slag, any mech with functioning audios could have heard it—and that was a pretty low blow, babe, siccing poor Swoop on him."
"He deserved it," Ratchet grumbled, pulling away to begin cleaning up the repair table the minibot had vacated. "Besides, Swoop is shaping up to be a perfectly capable medic, aren't you Swoop?" He raised his voice so that the Dinobot could hear that last sentence, and got a pleased squawk in response.
Sideswipe decided to make himself useful and wiped the table down with a rag dipped in cleaning solution as Ratchet reorganized his tools. "Yeah, but I'll bet Gears doesn't know that," he chortled.
Ratchet couldn't help but smile back. "Well, no," he admitted, looking smug. "By the way," he added, "someone needs to inform Prime that the little slagger is up and about." Suiting actions to words, he activated his personal comm unit and did just that, deliberately ignoring Prime's annoyance that he hadn't kept Gears in the medbay where he could be found easily.
Oops.
Let Prime chase the glitch down—it would give him time to let his temper build up and make it that much worse for the minibot. Of course, he himself planned on being scarce when Optimus caught Gears. He had no desire to be mixed up in that particular slagstorm.
Sideswipe was suddenly right in front of his face, expression thunderous—it had not taken him long, after listening to Ratchet's side of the conversation, to realize why Prime was looking for Gears.
"You told him, didn't you?" he demanded angrily, ignoring the warning growl from Swoop.
Ratchet flinched a little, and then raised his chin defiantly. "It was either tell him, or let him throw me—and probably Sunny as well—into the brig. You know it wouldn't have done your brother any good to be locked up in a cage." He glanced at the alarmed Dinobot, who was beginning to rise to his feet. "Calm down, Swoop. It's alright."
"If you Ratchet say so," Swoop grumbled, grudgingly sitting back down—but he never took his optics off of Sideswipe. If being watched so intently bothered the red Lamborghini, he didn't show it.
"Damn it, Ratch," he swore, shaking his head.
"I was not willing to upset Sunstreaker even more than he already was, not when I could prevent it so easily," the medic said defensively.
"Who else knows?" Sides asked tersely.
"Only Wheeljack," was the soft response.
"Of course," the Lamborghini muttered bitterly.
"Look," Ratchet snarled, suddenly furious, "I am sick and damned tired of seeing you two get in trouble over this slag—and Wheeljack knows better that to tell one single soul about any of this because he knows I would reconfigure him as something unpleasant while he recharged. And Prime is planning on reprimanding the worst of the troublemakers privately. No one's making a big production out of this, but, fraggit, something is getting done! And it is about fragging time, too. Primus knows how long you've been putting up with this, this nonsense—"
"Long enough," Sideswipe interrupted, watching the medic with wide optics. "You're really worked up about this, aren't you?" he asked, sounding a little surprised.
"Primus," Ratchet said hoarsely. "Yeah. It's always bothered me, the way they talk to him, but I never really knew how much what they said affected him until now." He placed both hands flat on the surface of the table, trying to still his shaking.
"Hmm." Sideswipe gently pulled the medic into an embrace. "Hey, calm down," he murmured. "You get excited too easily. Sunny and I are big boys—we'll deal. We always have." Ratchet nodded in acceptance.
"I know," he said quietly, looking up into the red mech's face.
"A cube of high grade says Prime reams Gears when he gets hold of him," Sides remarked, neatly changing the subject. Ratchet blinked; it took him a moment to process the non sequitur, and when he did he laughed weakly.
"Hmph. Do I look stupid to you? Find another sucker to take that bet," Ratchet replied, pulling away and chuckling when Sideswipe snapped his fingers with an 'Aw, shucks, you caught me' air and said, "Damn, and here I thought you were an easy mark."
"Hardly," the medic murmured, stretching up to kiss the red Lamborghini softly.
"Mmm… much as I would like to stay, I mostly came to tell you that I'm heading out on patrol again. Got paired with Trailbreaker, of all mechs," Sideswipe said quietly, breaking the kiss and leaning his forehead against his lover's. He suddenly pulled back a little, cocking his head to the side in a 'listening' pose—Sunny must be speaking to him again. Ratchet had to admit, sometimes it was a little daunting, realizing that no matter how close he got to his lovers, they would always be closer to one another—two halves of a whole spark. It was not something he could really compete with, even if it was a different sort of love than what he shared with them. "Sunstreaker wants to know where the frag you've been all night. We missed you," Sides purred, putting an emphasis on 'missed' that made it sound vaguely obscene.
"I'll just bet you did," Ratchet retorted, pushing Sideswipe away in mock aggravation. "Is that all you ever think about?"
Sideswipe pretended to ponder that a moment, then replied brightly, "Umm, yep!" and laughed when the medic narrowed his optics and advanced on him menacingly. "And, uhh, I really gotta go, bye!" he said in a cheerful rush, leaning down to kiss lips gone thin with suppressed amusement, and then escaping through the door.
Ratchet shook his head after him ruefully, picking up the rag that Sideswipe had abandoned and putting it away. He looked up to see Swoop watching him speculatively.
"How him Sideswipe know what Sunstreaker want if him Sunstreaker in other room?" the Dinobot asked in a curious tone. "Me Swoop not know what other Dinobots are thinking, and us Dinobots are brothers…"
"You Dinobots are brothers, yes, but more in the sense that you were designed by the same creator for similar purposes. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe are spark-twins, which is something altogether different," Ratchet replied—it was as good a time as ever to teach Swoop about twinned sparks. "Where you and your brothers each have a separate spark, they were originally a single spark, which split at the moment of their creation and formed two distinct personalities. Because they were supposed to be a single entity—a single being—their sparks are bonded to one another. In essence, they share a spark—because at the core, they are the same being. Each one of them is a different facet of the original personality. Simply put, they are opposite sides of the same coin—where Sideswipe is outgoing and generally friendly, Sunstreaker is decidedly not—but they're both very similar when it comes right down to it."
Swoop frowned at him and hummed thoughtfully. "Them Twins seem like they each whole person," he said, sounding confused.
"Well, they are—in a manner of speaking. They're not the same person, certainly. As I've already said, they each have their own personality, and they definitely each have their own minds, but they're not really whole in and of themselves," Ratchet explained. "Their sparks behave as though they were still one—therefore the bond and their ability to know what the other is thinking or feeling at any given time. I also have a sneaking suspicion that what one thinks and feels has a great deal of influence on the other—they're often of one mind on something they feel strongly about, even if they drive me to the point of distraction with their bickering over pointless things."
"Ya know, Boss, if you're not careful you'll end up the galaxy's leading expert on twinned sparks," First Aid quipped from the doorway, startling Ratchet into jumping and swearing.
"Fraggit, 'Aid, knock when you come in from now on," the medic growled, scowling at the Protectobot, who nodded agreeably while Swoop roared with laughter.
When Ratchet turned his scowl on the Dinobot, Swoop gasped, "If you Ratchet could see your face…!" and collapsed into giggles again.
"Ha, ha, very funny—let's see who can give the old 'Bot CPU failure first, you two or those damned Lamborghinis," the medic muttered, giving both of them dirty looks.
"It was pretty funny, Boss," First Aid offered cautiously, no doubt grinning like a Cheshire cat underneath that faceplate. Ratchet just snorted in reply.
When Swoop finally recovered from his giggle-fit, he jumped right back into the conversation they had just left. "Why him 'Aid say you Ratchet be expert on twins?"
"Because out of all of us, he's the one that spends the most time with them, and twins are extremely rare," First Aid answered for him. "Most everything in the databases about them is theory. A bond is a very personal thing to begin with, and when the person you're bonded to is literally the other half of yourself—well, it's even rarer than twins themselves are to find a set that are willing to talk about their relationship."
Ratchet nodded approvingly. "You've been studying, I see," he murmured, and First Aid ducked his head in embarrassment at the rare praise.
"That makes sense," Swoop said, nodding himself. He hesitated a moment, as though debating whether to voice his question, then softly asked, "Ratchet, if them Sunstreaker and Sideswipe one whole spark, then what happens if one dies?"
Ratchet shuttered his optics for a moment at that, prompting First Aid to ask worriedly, "Boss?" The medic waved away the Protectobot's concern, opening his optics and saying, "No, no, it's a good question—the answer to which is, the other will die also, barring a miracle. And they both know it, too." He sighed, vents hissing as air cycled out. "I could kill them every time they pull one of their stupid stunts—they're well aware that they're playing with two lives instead of just one when they put themselves in danger like that."
"Maybe they don't think of it like that," First Aid offered. "Maybe they're so used to the fact that neither of them will outlive the other that it never occurs to them to take care."
Ratchet gave him a flat look. "If you believe that, then you're out of your processor. They do it for the same reason that Sideswipe decided to paint Grimlock pink. They just like it, the crazy sons of glitches. The danger gives them a thrill—and fighting is what they're programmed to do."
Swoop gave a little choked snort of laughter. "Him Sideswipe painted him Grimlock? Oooh, him Grimlock was so mad!" On seeing his mentor's concerned look, he giggled, "Oh, you Ratchet not worry. Me Swoop not tell him Grimlock," and he snorted with laughter again, no doubt at the thought of his commander's undignified bellowing on discovering he'd been pranked.
Ratchet felt his own lips quirk in a smile; the Dinobot's amusement was infectious. (Not to mention it had been hilarious—in hindsight—to see Grimlock stalk into the medbay dripping pink paint and demanding for someone to fix this now. Sides had been all the way across the room, but Ratchet had managed to nail him anyway—it had not taken the medic long to figure out the culprit behind that dangerous little stunt. The red Lamborghini had refused to speak to him for the rest of the day, and Grimlock had been mystified by the whole incident.)
"You should go on and get some recharge in, Boss," First Aid suggested, breaking into Ratchet's musing. "Wheeljack said that you were both up all night working on Gears—and he's already taken off for his quarters. I can keep an optic on this place until you get back," he added tentatively.
The medic regarded him searchingly for a moment, before finally nodding. He stretched stiff joints, saying, "I think I will. You'll be sure to call me if there's anything you need help with?"
"Sure thing," the Protectobot agreed immediately, and Ratchet left, confident that his two young protégés were capable enough to handle the medbay in his absence—and that they had enough sense to call him if they couldn't.
Sunstreaker was awakened from recharge when he felt Ratchet slip into the berth and lie down beside him. He opened his optics to see that the medic was already recharging.
"You're exhausted, aren't you," he murmured, softly so that he wouldn't disturb his resting lover. "I didn't mean to cause you so much trouble." He reached up and gently stroked his thumb across the thin lips, and was pleased to see the blue optics slit open for a moment while a half-hearted kiss was pressed to his thumb before the white and red mech fell back into recharge.
Sunstreaker studied his lover's face thoughtfully. Ratchet was far from ugly, he decided, but neither was he as outstandingly beautiful as Sunstreaker himself was. (This was not vanity, just the truth—no matter what everyone else thought.) It was a face he felt he would never get tired of looking at—which was a good thing considering Sunstreaker planned on sticking by him for the foreseeable future.
The first time he and Sides had interfaced with the medic, something deep within his processor had just 'clicked' into place—as though this were the way things were supposed to be, and he had known in the same instant that his brother had felt the same. The first time they were alone together had only driven the point home—because Ratchet was not afraid of him, even though (and he was ashamed to admit it) he had been far too rough with him. Just because Sides had told him later that the medic had insisted that Sunny had not actually hurt him—he had, in fact, all but said that the yellow Lambo had thoroughly blown his circuits—it was still not forgivable for him to leave so many dents and scrapes and little wounds all over his lover, but he just couldn't seem to help himself.
Once, after a particularly violent joining, he had followed the ambulance into the medbay where he had gone to start his shift, intending to help Ratchet repair the little dings and scrapes he had left on his frame by way of an apology, and had immediately ducked back out again upon hearing Wheeljack's furious tirade when he saw his friend. It was an unpleasant reminder that not everyone was pleased with his relationship with Ratchet—in fact, the only ones who did seem pleased with the entire arrangement were Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, and Ratchet themselves.
It was funny, though, that no one ever commented on Sideswipe's relationship with the medic—despite the fact that Sides had hurt Ratchet far worse with his bet than Sunny had ever done—and Sides was certainly a far more demonstrative mech than Sunny would ever be. The one time Sunstreaker had dared to kiss Ratchet in public view had been the last, since, although the medic's reaction had been gratifying, the black looks directed at him by the others nearby had not. It bothered the yellow warrior that his brother could get away with a lot more than a simple kiss in his unending crusade to embarrass Ratchet to death—without so much as an untoward look.
The straw that broke the camel's back, though, was that fragging minibot's taunting. Gears had gotten especially brave ever since Sunstreaker had decided to rein in his temper for Ratchet's sake and set himself to ignoring the usual comments from the usual crowd. (Cliffjumper had been feeling brave, too, but Gears had been alone when he decided to test Sunstreaker's patience.)
What had truly made him furious about the whole thing was wondering: Was it true? If it was, it certainly wouldn't be the first time that they had had a lover who would have preferred to have Sideswipe on his own, and only Sides' insistence on sharing with his brother got the generally moody and irritable yellow mech any attention at all. Of course, Sides also insisted that Sunny should make himself more 'approachable' if he wanted to attract a potential partner on his own merit.
Pfeh. If he had to pretend to be someone else to attract a lover, then he didn't need one of his own—there were plenty of mechs that wanted the thrill of a one night stand with Cybertron's most dangerous set of twins. He certainly didn't mind sharing with Sides.
And then there was Ratchet. For the life of him, Sunstreaker couldn't figure him out. When he had first joined this outfit, he could have sworn the medic hated him and everyone else that came through his medbay needing repairs—and he had slowly come to realize that, the more Ratchet yelled and threw things and generally had a temper-fit, the more worried he was about you. (The violence of the lecture you got when you woke up could also be used to accurately gauge the severity of your wounds—and you knew it was really bad when he was reduced to incoherency, and could only manage to demand that you get out, immediately.)
Of course, knowing this did not make Sunstreaker any more appreciative of the myriad dents Ratchet had left on him during the course of said temper-fits, but it did make him less inclined to maim the ambulance.
And now—well, now Sunstreaker really did not know what to think. Oh, that he was thoroughly, hopelessly in love, he knew; and that Sideswipe was just as enamored as he was of the medic was a foregone conclusion. It was just that—well, it worried him. Sideswipe was the only mech he had ever really cared about besides himself, and they were so closely bonded through the spark that they shared that they were unwilling—perhaps even unable, he had never tested it—to keep secrets from one another. It sort of unnerved him a little to realize that he could not accurately gauge the depth of the medic's feelings for him, and even though he got a sense of Ratchet's emotions every time they were connected, it was not really something that he trusted, since his mind was generally clouded by the pleasure created by the joining.
He huffed, a short burst of air through his vents, and gently, tentatively, pulled the medic into his arms—and was inordinately pleased when Ratchet's unconscious response was to press even tighter up against Sunstreaker's body with a soft, satisfied sigh.
It soothed his fears somewhat that Ratchet trusted him enough to offline beside him—to press up against him for comfort, even!—when other 'Bots were leery of getting too close. He was well aware that they all thought he was a loose cannon, liable to go off at any moment for any reason.
Well, it wasn't his fault that they all got on his nerves.
His attention returned to his lover when the medic made a soft, protesting noise and turned his face into Sunstreaker's shoulder, and the yellow mech realized that he'd been absently tracing the V-shaped crest on Ratchet's forehead. The light touch must have bothered him. He eased the medic's face back up and soothingly kissed where his fingers had irritated. Ratchet's expression became relaxed once more.
Like this, he's beautiful, Sunstreaker abruptly realized, and was struck by the need to capture the moment.
He gingerly wiggled his way out from underneath the medic, pulling a little pad of paper and a bit of charcoal out of subspace and beginning to sketch. At first he used light, sweeping strokes, creating a vague outline that slowly took on the appearance of his resting lover as the lines became bolder and the details clearer. Once the line sketch was finished, he shaded it lovingly, all of the nuances of light and shadow playing across Ratchet's face replicated on the paper.
He examined his handiwork critically; it was not up to par with the work he'd done before, but it was serviceable enough, and he nodded with satisfaction that he had not completely lost his touch. He checked his chrono, and was surprised to see that nearly the entire day had passed.
He was startled into leaping and swearing when Sideswipe's voice said right next to his audios, "Hey, pretty good, bro," and a black hand snatched the sketch pad away from him.
"Give that back," Sunstreaker snarled, lunging for it and inadvertently waking Ratchet when he bumped into him.
"What the frag is going on?" the medic demanded, peering up at the bickering twins with bleary optics.
The sight that greeted him would have been ludicrous if Sunstreaker hadn't been so seriously angry—Sideswipe was leaned back with one arm stretched out above and behind himself as far as it would go, and Sunstreaker had both arms wrapped around his brother and was making a good attempt at climbing him in order to reclaim the object clutched in the red Lamborghini's hand.
Seeing as how neither twin was paying him any mind whatsoever, he slipped off of the berth, walked around behind Sideswipe, and casually plucked the pad of paper out of the red mech's hand—and stopped dead when he saw what was on it.
"No!" Sunstreaker cried, finally realizing what had happened. He turned his attention back to Sideswipe. "I'm going to kill you, you pathetic excuse for a rusting scrap-heap!"
"Is this… me?" Ratchet asked softly, staring at the little sketch in awe.
"Yeah," Sunstreaker muttered sullenly, abruptly letting go of his brother—it was obvious, if you knew what to look for, that he was embarrassed.
The ambulance looked up at his yellow lover. "I know I'm not this good-looking—" he began, but Sunstreaker cut him off.
"I only draw what I see," he said in a tense voice, shifting his weight uneasily. Sideswipe laid a calming hand on his shoulder, and for once Sunstreaker did not brush him away.
Ratchet's expression changed to one of wonderment, and then, before either twin had time to react, he had walked over and yanked Sunstreaker down for a bruising but thorough kiss. "Thank you," he breathed after pulling away slightly, shivering at the feel of the yellow Lamborghini's engine revving against him.
Sideswipe had wrapped his arms around him from behind and was pressing distracting little kisses along the back of his neck and shoulders, and Sunstreaker had opened his mouth to say something in reply, but his words were lost as an explosion rocked the Ark.
The three of them looked at each other for a moment in shock, then, in unison, they said, "Wheeljack!" and darted for the door.