A/N: This one's a little short, but it defied all attempts to make it longer, so... --shrug--
Once again, thanks to VAWitch aka okami-myrrhibis for beta-ing and all my lovely reviewers for reviewing!
"I know it was you," Ratchet hissed when Sideswipe sauntered into the medbay after his patrol, and the red Lamborghini pressed his hand to his chestplate with fingers splayed as though to say, Who, me?
"I don't know what you're talking about," Sideswipe replied, optics sparkling with innocence.
"You know fragging well what I'm talking about," the medic snarled, pointing to a peacefully recharging Red Alert. "Every one of you slagging Lambos are so damn high-strung—"
"What happened to him?" Sideswipe interrupted, staring at the other Lamborghini with a great deal of interest. Ratchet's jaws ground together with a squeal of metal, and Sideswipe looked to him in surprise.
"His fragging CPU crashed, that's what happened," the medic grated. "I know you had something to do with it, too, you sneaky little glitch. You can't hide it from me."
Sideswipe crossed his arms over his chestplate with a superior air. "Alright then, what have I supposedly done to crash Red's CPU?"
"Look, don't play dumb with me—you set Teletraan to display that fragging message every time someone logs in to any terminal in the Ark!" And to demonstrate he typed in his access code, stabbing a finger angrily at the monitor as the message in question popped up.
"Huh… well, will ya look at that," Sideswipe remarked, showing only polite interest. The medic growled, and the red Lamborghini's attention returned to his bondmate warily. He sent a tentative soothing overture to his riled white lover through their link, and recoiled as though struck when Ratchet rebuffed him.
Primus, he's really furious, Sideswipe thought in shock, and he knew that Ratchet caught it when the medic's optics twitched almost imperceptibly.
"You're fragging right I'm furious," Ratchet hissed, poking Sideswipe hard in the chestplate. "D'you even know how hard it is to reset Red's systems when he's fighting you every step of the way? Do you?"
"I—" Sideswipe began, but Prowl chose that moment to make his entrance.
"Sideswipe. My office. Now." His clipped tone and the stiff way that he held his doorwings were the only indications of his ire; his expression was as calm as always. Sideswipe made one last attempt to placate Ratchet through their bond, and nearly staggered when the medic completely and effectively shut him out. Only the clenched white jaw gave the lie to the ambulance's composure; he didn't even look at the red Lamborghini when Sideswipe whispered his name in shock.
"Sideswipe," Prowl said, a hint of impatience coloring his voice.
Sideswipe followed the black and white Datsun without another word.
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Sideswipe was on his hands and knees scrubbing the floors on one of the lower decks when Ratchet finally sought him out. Guilt at overreacting at what was probably (for once) meant to be a harmless joke had gnawed at him all day, especially once Prowl had told him that Sideswipe had surprised him by readily owning up to having done it.
He had looked a little lost, Prowl had said, almost disapprovingly, and Sunstreaker had resolutely ignored him every time he had seen the yellow twin.
For a few moments he was content to stand and watch Sideswipe work, admiring the clean lines of his frame and the smooth interplay of gears. Not for the first time he wondered if the twins would have ever considered him as a lover if it hadn't been for a drunken bet.
"Probably not," Sideswipe said quietly, not looking up from his scrubbing. He dunked his brush in a bucket of cleaning solution and attacked another patch of floor. "Oh, we wondered in passing what you would be like, but I doubt we would have acted on it."
Well that was unexpectedly painful.
Sideswipe must have caught his wince, because he sat back on his heels and finally looked at the medic.
"Would you stop second-guessing yourself?" he asked irritably, sloshing cleaner out of the bucket when he dropped the brush in it. "Primus, you have about as much self-confidence as Bluestreak—would you have ever seriously considered us before we made that bet?"
Ratchet's jaw dropped at that, an automatic protest forming on his lips before he shut his mouth with an audible 'click'. "No," he admitted softly, not looking at Sideswipe.
"Thought so," the Lamborghini muttered, nodding to himself in satisfaction that he had proven his point.
Silence stretched between them after that like a living thing, broken only by the hushing sound of the brush as Sideswipe went back to work.
The Lamborghini stilled uncertainly when a red hand, clutching a brush of its own, appeared and began scrubbing alongside him. His optics traveled from the hand up the white arm, over the cross-marked shoulder and finally to the face of the mech it belonged to, but Ratchet was fully focused on the floor and the brush he'd apparently pulled from subspace.
"Ratchet—"
"I came to apologize," the medic interrupted in a matter-of-fact tone, and before they became lovers Sideswipe would never have noticed the fine tremors that shook the white and red frame. "I overreacted—please forgive me," Ratchet added in a whisper, brush-strokes faltering and stuttering to a halt.
"It hurt when you shut me out," Sideswipe said bluntly, but reached out and touched his lover's arm when the medic shrank in on himself. "Hey, listen to me before you start with the self-recrimination…" He paused, and then grinned almost despite himself. "See, I can use big words, too," he teased. "You're rubbing off on me, fraggit—but anyway: yeah, it hurt. But if I'm honest with myself, I can admit that, if I'd been that mad, I'd have probably done the same thing to you."
Ratchet looked up at him, startled, and Sideswipe sighed. "You would think," he mused, much to Ratchet's astonishment, "that after all this time I would have figured out that you're very protective of your patients. And, well… I realize that Sunny and I have caused more than a few of the injuries that've come through your medbay—you've got every right to be angry. In my defense, though, I never thought Red would freak out over that little message." He paused, and then added ruefully, "It's that old 'Sideswipe doesn't think before he acts' glitch, I guess."
"Gonna have to fix that sooner or later, I suppose," Ratchet murmured, lips quirking ever so slightly upward at the corners.
"Nah, I've long since come to the conclusion that it's incurable," Sideswipe replied, amused.
"Is that a firm diagnosis?" the medic asked teasingly. "And are you a fully qualified medic?"
"Uhh… I live with one! Does that count?" was the flippant response, and the red warrior pulled Ratchet into his embrace to the sound of the medic's laughter. "Please don't shut me out again, even if I deserve it," Sideswipe whispered into his lover's audio, and the ambulance nodded. As one, they reached for one another.
Both breathed a sigh of relief when their minds touched and merged, and each sought and granted forgiveness. After an indeterminate amount of time, Sideswipe pulled back with obvious reluctance.
"I better get this done or Prowl will have me scrapped," he grimaced, giving Ratchet one last caress before picking his brush back up.
"No need," a voice startled them both. "Prowl's decided that you've learned your lesson," Jazz added, smiling as he walked over and patted the Lamborghini on the top of the head—Sideswipe scowled at him—and then paused. "'Course, he had some help makin' that decision," he said, grin growing wider with a distinctly self-satisfied air.
"In other words, you talked him into it," Sideswipe guessed. "Jazz, man, you're my hero. I owe you one."
"Don't worry, I'll collect later," the saboteur laughed, and they got the impression that, if it hadn't been for the visor, Jazz would have winked.
"You realize that you're just encouraging him to keep doing things like this, don't you?" Ratchet asked dryly, trying to hide his amusement.
The Porsche laughed again. "Hey, I gotta look out for my partner in crime, don't I?"
Ratchet's optics widened, then narrowed. "You didn't have anything to do with this, did you Lieutenant?" he asked dangerously.
"Moi? Why, I'm as innocent as the day I was sparked," Jazz replied, apparently affronted.
"Uh-huh," Ratchet muttered dubiously.
The saboteur regarded him in amusement. "Well, I'm sensing that the welcome is getting distinctly colder. I'll be goin' now," he remarked, and disappeared around the corner just as a soapy brush bounced off the wall where he'd been standing.
Sideswipe laughed. "Your aim is dead on, babe, if only Jazz were a little slower," he teased.
"Shut up," Ratchet mumbled, giving him a playful shove.
Sideswipe shoved him back, and the medic retaliated by tackling him. They barely missed the bucket as they rolled across the floor grappling with each other and chortling madly. Sideswipe finally managed to pin Ratchet with a triumphant "Gotcha!" and draped his frame over his struggling lover in an attempt to keep him still.
"Hmm…" the red Lamborghini murmured in his audios, "Now the question is, what should I do with you, since you're all helpless?" before he trailed his lips along the medic's jaw to his neck.
"Sides!" Ratchet hissed, redoubling his efforts to escape. "This is a public hallway!"
"So?"
"So get off of me!" Gray lips brushed white, and Sideswipe grinned as he pulled back.
"C'mon, Ratch, where's your sense of adventure?"
"Right where I left it, thank you very much," the medic growled. "I'm not an exhibitionist."
"I could make you one," the red twin purred, then yelped when Ratchet finally bucked him off.
"You. Room. Now," the ambulance hissed, hauling his bondmate to his feet and pushing him in the direction of their quarters. Laughing, Sideswipe gave in and led the way.
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It was much, much later when Sideswipe woke to the most obnoxious sound—his brother braying with laughter.
"Buahahahahaha!" The yellow twin paused, caught another look at Sideswipe, then:
"Buahahahahaha!"
"Will you shut up?!" Sideswipe snarled. "What the slag is so funny, anyway?" he demanded, glaring at Sunstreaker.
In between gigglefits, snorting and shaking with mirth, Sunny pulled a mirror from subspace and handed it to him. Confused, Sideswipe took it, wondering why in the world Sunstreaker would give him a mirror—
Oh.
OH!
He looked up with murder in his optics and shoved the mirror back at his brother, who took it and subspaced it again with another snicker.
"Shut. Up," he growled, before stalking out of the room.
The medbay held only First Aid and Wheeljack, who stared at him in bemusement when he walked in. "Ratchet. Where?" he gritted out.
"Command center, talking to Optimus—hey Sides, are you—"
"I'm fine," he replied flatly to Wheeljack's half-formed inquiry.
He stormed down to the command center, earning odd looks all along the way—and he completely ignored the comments aimed in his direction.
He was pretty sure that they would only make him mad.
All optics turned to him when he burst through the doors at his destination, and he stood still for a moment while he searched out the object of his ire.
Finally he spotted him; he had somewhat camouflaged himself by standing near Jazz and Prowl, but all that white massed together was still eye-catching. With a shout, he leaped at the now-laughing medic, but he didn't get even close before Ironhide tackled him to the floor and sat on him.
"Hey now, cool yer jets there, Sides," the weapons specialist grunted, pinning him so he couldn't get back up. "Don't get yer wires in such a twist."
"Let me up, Ironhide," Sideswipe said in a dangerously calm tone. "I just wanna thank Ratchet for my new look." He glared daggers at the still-sniggering ambulance.
"Payback's a bitch, ain't it, Siders?" Ratchet asked pleasantly, patting the Lamborghini on the head, only to yank his hand back when his fingers got snapped at.
"Frag you," Sideswipe spat back.
"What is going on here?" Prime demanded, wading through the quietly snickering crowd of officers. Of all of the mechs present, only he and Prowl were unamused. "Let him up, Ironhide. I want an explanation."
Sideswipe clambered to his feet, pretending to brush dirt off of his paint, and Prime's optics went wide when he saw the full extent of what had been done to the Ark's resident prankster. He turned to Ratchet.
"You're responsible for this?" Ratchet nodded cheerfully. "Then I do believe congratulations are in order—you're the first mech I've seen that's managed to trick the Trickster King," Prime said, glad that his faceplate hid his smile. "Though where you got the horns…" and he shook his head.
Sideswipe's jaw dropped open then snapped shut, and he crossed his arms and tossed his head petulantly. Right in between the horns that adorned his head were two new additions, red plastic horns that stood out like sore thumbs amongst all the black, and trailing down from the small of his back was a long, red, triangle-tipped tail. A triangular black goatee and a pencil mustache colored in permanent marker across his face completed the look—Sideswipe had unmistakably been dressed up like a devil.
"Appropriate, ain't it?" Ironhide drawled to Jazz, who apparently couldn't take it anymore and burst out laughing.
"Oh, man…" he gasped, doubling over. "Oh, man! If you could see your face…!"
Sideswipe, fuming, glowered at his bondmate. "Your aft is so mine for this," he growled.
"Is that a promise?" Ratchet asked suggestively, and the onlookers hooted and jeered with laughter.
"Shut up," the Lamborghini muttered, suddenly embarrassed as well as angry. "You planned it this way so everyone would see me, didn't you?" he grumped.
"Maybe," Ratchet replied slyly.
"You fight dirty." There was a grudging respect beginning to color the red twin's tone.
"I learned from the best," the medic quipped, and there was another round of chortling.
"He's got ya there, Siders," Jazz snickered. Sideswipe nodded, watching his lover appraisingly.
"Just remember—it's on now," he remarked, and then turned and left to the sound of more catcalling.
Ratchet just laughed.