A/N: I've now seen the movie, and I didn't like it in the slightest. Do not expect any movie references or fics from me unless I am completely ripping it apart. I doubt it's even worth expending my frustration and disapointment over.
Naughty.
"Where is the silicone?"
"Erm…" Wheeljack waded through the mess of equipment on the floor and thrust his hand into the nearest open drawer, rapidly sifting through the contents before moving to the next partly open drawer and repeating the process. "Erm…" Now where had it gone? He was more than vaguely aware of Ratchet tapping on the table impatiently as he made his way to the only unopened container.
"Jazz and I are waiting, Wheeljack," the CMO exhaled heavily. Jazz lay on his back on the operating table and deliriously sang 'Girls Just Wanna Have Fun', although neither, for the life of them, could understand why it had suddenly become a 'Jazz-song'. In front of his face, his index fingers twitched to the beat. The inventor went through the clutter on the far examination table, passing over the unwanted items, brushing them aside and adding to the floor heaps.
"Erm…" Wheeljack's non-positive reply forced Ratchet to move away from the table, kicking gadgets out of the way with his foot.
"How on Cybertron-"
"-On Earth-" Jazz interrupted before quietly going back to his lyrics.
"-Thank you Jazz," Ratchet commented dryly. "-Did my medical bay get to be such a mess?!"
"Well, in between the operations on Huffer, Cliffjumper and Bumblebee, we didn't have enough time ta clean, sterilise an' return all a' the materials to their propa place, so we put 'em down ta clean later, gettin' out the spares an'-"
"It was a rhetorical question, Wheeljack." The background music changed to 'I need a Hero' and both standing mechs gave a cursory glance over the medical room's quagmire to the Special Operations Officer, quite happily in his own little world.
"Oh, hey Blue!" Jazz's greeting directed their attention to the med-bay doorway, where indeed there was a Datsun – or at least, they could see half a Datsun, and half a smile on his face. He was hiding behind the door.
"What you up to?" He said with a smooth charm that Ratchet only related to Sideswipe. Warning claxons sounded in his processor.
"Are you damaged?" Ratchet asked.
"Nnnnnnope," said the young mech.
"Then get away from my med-bay!" Bluestreak giggled and disappeared with the promptness of his alt-mode's reputation.
"Honestly, Wheeljack – those kids decide to cause me more trouble on the worst possible days."
"Hey Blue!"
"Shh!" Bluestreak's curt reply stilled Jazz with the wonder of his secrecy. Ratchet had long since fallen asleep in his office, leaving the half-cleaned med-bay still in a state of chaos. He had never seen the place in such a mess. How had this happened? He'd heard that the Dinobots had 'helped'.
"What are those strings for?" The Porsche tried to pull himself closer to Bluestreak. "Are those magnetic strips you've tied 'em 'round?"
"Wait and see!"
Ratchet awoke in the morning and waddled through to check on Jazz. Heavily tired, he mainly went through the motions. In this case, it meant he watched to see if Jazz moved when he poked him.
"Hey! Stop that, man!" Assured that his charge still functioned, Ratchet left to get high-grade. It was only when he returned that he actually took notice of his med-bay. The floor was clear. Someone had spent the time to completely clear the floor; and the deviant had hung each and every object that had not been put away on a string suspended from the ceiling. At least it was only his spare set of equipment items – he could not see any of his rarer or more expensive objects dangling precariously from the ceiling. In curiosity, Ratchet pulled down one of the strings and it extended slightly. Releasing it caused the wrench on the end to bob up and down frantically in mid-air. Jazz began to hum again.
"…The…slag…" As Ratchet stared in confusion, drink half-raised to his mouth, Bluestreak appeared in the door. "Those damn twins."
"It wasn't the twins, Ratch'," Bluestreak commented, complete with that cheeky smile from before. Ratchet half-turned towards the Datsun, a dry, questioning frown marring his usual morning scowl. Wheeljack appeared in the door.
"Oh."
"I don't think you'll have any trouble finding your equipment now, eh Wheeljack?" Wheeljack gave no verbal reply, but unconsciously nodded to Bluestreak's words. He grabbed one wire in each of his hands and tucked his legs up, swinging upside down for a moment before the elasticity of the strings left his head against the floor. He could see the magnets were strong, and were not going to come down in a hurry.
"I think they're pretty," Jazz rejoined, mind still swirling from his sedatives. "I like th' way the light glints offa them – like a disco ball." Ratchet stood there a moment longer, a glower focussed on the gunner. He put his drink down between Jazz's feet and picked up the suspended clippers to cut the string to the glue gun.
"Come here, Bluestreak." The mech in question giggled like a childish villain at the CMO's level-voiced request. "I'll glue your aft to the middle of the far med-bay wall!" Wheeljack still considered the med-bay's new filing system as Ratchet shoved past. Bluestreak pelted down the corridor, weaving to avoid the glue gun's touch. And in the background Jazz started his strident rendition of 'It's Raining Men'.
End.