A/N: Edited due to a name mistake. This is why you shouldn't run through your work, checking for errors when you're tired at 1.40 am. Thanks again to the person who spotted the fault.

Decorations.

After driving through Portland and several other towns over the past couple of days, Prime had to admit it: the base looked bland. He had assigned the task of buying Christmas decorations to three of his crew: Tracks, Sunstreaker and… Ratchet. The first two were obsessed with gaudy beauty and would make sure that the Ark got the very best. Ratchet would be there to make sure that they did not take things too far (and, Primus forbid, heal any wounds if the two came to blows). With a budget of $100, they were to decorate the entrance to the Ark, the corridor of the living quarters, and the common-room. Considering the length of the corridor, the size of the two rooms and the size of human decorations, their generous budget really was not going to stretch very far.

"We already decorated a tree – do we really have to spend up to one hundred dollars on worthless glittery bits just to decorate the Ark for a few weeks?" Ratchet complained over the communications system as they drove into Portland.

"Oh, come now, Ratchet!" Tracks retorted. "It's meant to be fun! How often do we get to do things like this and really integrate with the locals?"

"We get a big chance to integrate with the locals: see Spike and Sparkplug at the base all the time? They're integrating! We're welcoming them! And according to Sparkplug, Christmas is supposed to be 'less enjoyable than breaking every bone in your body and feeding yourself through a pair of sheet-metal rollers'."

"Ah, you big spoiler-sport, Ratchet!" Sunstreaker countered. "I am going to give the base the best decorations ever and all within our budget – you'll be stunned by my beautiful creation as well as my usual beauty!"

"I think you'll find my choice of decorations more appealing, Ratchet," Tracks interrupted. "They'll be far more tasteful than anything that garish yellow monstrosity could ever pick." Sunstreaker answered by swerving in Track's direction, causing the Corvette to move away and off the road as swiftly as possible.

"Stop it, both of you!" Ratchet hollered. "I swear by Primus, if you two don't behave the only thing you'll be decorating is my med-bay – with your body-parts!" Ratchet added, as if he had not made himself obvious enough. Apart from the occasional mutter, the three spent the rest of the journey in quiet contemplation of what they would buy in Portland.

"You see this?" Tracks asked the shop-keeper, pointing to his Christmas card. "I want those."

"That's mistletoe, sir," the shop-keeper replied.

"Well I want eight branches. Bunches. Bushels – whatever you call them!" The shop keeper nodded and went inside. Ratchet was currently filled with three rolls of peel-off snowflake wall decorations, several kinds of stretchy ceiling decorations and Sunstreaker was just loading him up with fifty large sheets of different metallic coloured pieces of paper for the others to make paper-chains out of.

"I can't decide on the red tinsel or the yellow tinsel," Sunstreaker said to himself. "You know, the yellow is more colourful, but it's not a nice shade; it's not a classy yellow."

"Just like you then, is it?" Tracks replied. Sunstreaker looked about ready to wring Track's neck with the glittery rope.

"Sunstreaker, just hurry up and choose! We've been here for four hours already!" Ratchet demanded, receiving a clip around the roof for his outbreak. "Hey!"

"Your own fault – it's your own fault," Sunstreaker countered unconvincingly. The mistletoe and reams of red and gold tinsel were packed into the back of him and they were finally done.

"How much money do we have left?" Ratchet queried.

"Twenty-two dollars and seventy-six cents," Tracks answered. Sunstreaker snatched it from him.

"I know what I'm going to spend this on! You go take Ratchet back to the Ark," Sunstreaker ordered.

"But-"

"Nope, now scram!"

"You'd better not spend it on a premium carwash, you self-obsessed slag-heap!" Ratchet growled.

"Takes one to know one," Sunstreaker brilliantly riposted.

"I know you're one because I've had to put you back together so many times!" With that, Ratchet sped off with his Corvette escort trailing behind.

The moment Ratchet made contact with the Ark flooring, he unceremoniously dumped the decorations onto the ground and went to the nearest energon-dispenser.

"Have fun putting up the decorations," he grumbled as a gang of Autobots trotted past him. "Oh, and that paper is for making paper-chains. Ask Wheeljack for glue but if you get your hand stuck on or up your aft don't come running to me." Bumblebee, Sideswipe and Bluestreak were the first ones to get to the decorations. Surprisingly, Ironhide was one of the first few to take interest as well, despite his leisurely pace. Well, Sparkplug did say that Christmas was for the kids.

Ratchet had to admit, Wheeljack had done a brilliant job with the strings of lights: when he had sat alone in the dark, he could almost imagine the bulbs being tiny, twinkling stars. It was such a pretty effect, he felt a touch of sadness come over him at the thought that they would all be taken down in a few weeks.

Ratchet left the common-room the moment the gaggle of goons came waddling in. He wanted peace and quiet, and knowing that he had no patients in his med-bay at the moment, that is exactly where he retreated to. Only, someone had been there before him. Snowflake designs had been put onto the wall in sporadic patches that were – thankfully – not gaudily overdone. He admired the designs and leaned against his work-surface, brushing up against something made of cloth. When he turned to look, he saw a small host of angels of varying sizes standing on his desk. There was a short, hand-written note beside it: 'Thank You' was all it said, yet it meant far more than the formulaic 'Merry Christmas' greeting ever would. He knew it was Sunstreaker's writing.

"Huh." Sometimes, the anti-social troublemaker surprised him with his thoughtfulness: Ratchet spent most of his time repairing damaged Autobots or helping Wheeljack and never really got to see the common-room or the tree. Now he had his own little piece of Christmas in his own special little space. Sometimes… sometimes the troublemakers could be the most thoughtful, and they helped give him that extra little spark to his daily life.

End.