"I said I. Need. My. Paint. Wheeljack."
"And I said, We. Don't. Have. Any. Sunstreaker. Not in your color, anyway. Guess you'll just have to wait until tomorrow when the next shipment comes in," Wheeljack retorted cheerily, headfins flashing. "You'll live."
Sunstreaker gestured angrily at his mottled paintjob. "I can't go out looking like this!" he wailed, loud enough that Ratchet stopped pretending to count inventory long enough to look at him for the first time this morning, and Sideswipe stopped moping and pretending he was not watching Ratchet.
"Oh, shove it up your tailpipe, Sunshine," the red twin said sourly. "At least you're in one piece."
"Says the mech who's already gotten his paint touched up. And my name's not Sunshine," Sunstreaker snarled back.
"First Aid did that yesterday because I was the last one to be repaired except for you. And I can't help it if you use so much paint that we're out of your color, you sociopathic dandelion—"
"Ooh, where'd you learn such big words, you—"
What looked to be working its way up to a beautiful argument was neatly derailed when Ratchet calmly shoved Sideswipe off of the table where he had perched to snipe at his brother.
"Out."
"What?"
"Out," the CMO reiterated, pushing Sides again without as much force. "I'm in no mood to hear you two bitch at each other this morning."
"But Ratchet, my paint—" Sunstreaker whined.
"Will be sent to you tomorrow when it arrives. Please," he added desperately when the patchy yellow Lamborghini's expression became mulish.
The twins shared an alarmed look. Ratchet never, ever pleaded with them. He yelled at them, he had temper fits, he threw things, but he never begged.
::This is bad:: Sunstreaker sent to his brother.
::Really bad:: Sideswipe agreed. ::This is our fault. We have to fix it::
::What's this 'we', kemosabe? Last I checked, you were the one with the great idea to jump his bolts on a dare:: The golden twin felt his brother wilt at that, then become determined once again, though his expression never changed.
::Then it's my fault and I have to fix it:: Sides returned grimly, and turned his attention back to the situation at hand.
::When did you get so concerned?:: Sunstreaker demanded, but never received a reply.
Meanwhile, Wheeljack was looking from the brothers to Ratchet and back again in confusion. "Did I miss something?"
"No."
"Yes."
Wheeljack blinked. "Huh?"
Ratchet and Sideswipe glared at each other. "Leave. Now," the medic gritted, advancing menacingly on the Lamborghinis while waving an arc welder. "If you don't," he added maliciously, "I will personally mangle you beyond recognition."
"Now Ratchet, no need to get violent—" Sideswipe said placatingly, exchanging a horrified look with his twin.
"GET!" the medic roared, leaping at them. They didn't need to be told what would happen if he caught them—they beat a hasty retreat. Ratchet slumped, setting the welder down wearily and rubbing his optics with his thumb and forefinger, only to jump nervously when Wheeljack laid a concerned hand on his arm.
"Ratchet? You ok?" his oldest friend asked quietly, peering into his optics. Ratchet looked away.
"No, 'Jack, I'm not," the medic replied honestly. His fingers gripped the table so hard it creaked.
"Care to tell me what's wrong?"
Ratchet hesitated. "C'mon Ratch, I'm your best friend. You know you can trust me." Wheeljack was startled when his friend's face crumpled.
The white mech opened his mouth, coughed a little, tried again: "Sideswipe—" he shook his head. "Sideswipe… came on to me last night. And I let him," he added despairingly. "He… we… aw, frag, why is this so hard…?" Wheeljack patted his shoulder comfortingly, suddenly understanding what his friend was getting at as all the pieces clicked into place and vowing to take that fragging Lambo's head off.
"S'all right, Ratch, I get ya." Oh yes, everything was falling neatly together, he thought, recalling a little bet that Bluestreak had been babbling about in the common room a couple of weeks ago. Frankly, he was surprised Ratchet hadn't heard anything about it; they must have been taking great pains to hide it from him. Wheeljack himself had ignored it because he didn't think anything would ever come of it—he didn't think even the twins would be so crass as to mess with Ratchet like that. They had to have known how fond the medic was of the two troublemakers—everyone knew that the more Ratchet yelled at you, the better he liked you.
Apparently, he was wrong, and they really would stop at nothing to win a bet. Well, let that piece of slag try to collect one iota of his winnings—Wheeljack would find some way to ruin him. Though the red Lambo had appeared more than a little upset himself this morning…
Regardless, as the humans say, there was no use crying over spilled milk, and it was time to make sure Ratchet didn't land himself in a funk over all this. And if for some reason this all actually worked out, (and the romantic in Wheeljack secretly hoped that it did, for Ratchet's sake if no one else) then maybe the physical aspect at least would give the medic some outlet to release some of the stress that keeping their little outfit together put on him.
The Lancia deliberately put a lecherous expression on his face as he wrapped an arm around Ratchet's shoulders and leaned in close. "So what's he like?" he leered conspiratorially. "Did his brother join in? I've heard that they're demons, and they like to share—"
"'Jack!" Ratchet managed to sound scandalized, but couldn't seem to help the little grin quirking the corners of his mouth at his friend's irreverent antics. "I'm being serious!"
"So am I," Wheeljack deadpanned. "Answer the question, and tell the truth, now."
Ratchet snorted. "You're impossible, you know that?"
"I try," the engineer preened innocently.
The white mech wandered over to a shelf and took down a box of supplies to sort through, and Wheeljack thought for a moment that he was not going to answer.
"Well," Ratchet drawled, examining a servo thoughtfully, "Well, I would have to say…"
"Oh, get on with it, already!" Wheeljack said impatiently, receiving an amused look in return.
"It was passable," the medic said slyly, optics gleaming with remembered passion.
"He blew your circuits, did he?" the engineer chortled, walking over to slap his friend on the back. "It's about damn time someone did!" He paused as a thought came to him. "If the interfacing was that good, then why were you so upset?" he asked, and cursed himself when Ratchet's optics clouded with misery again.
"I can't get too attached. How would you like it if your lover came back slagged again and again, and you couldn't do anything but put him back together and hope that the next time wouldn't be the last? I'm not sure I can handle that; it's bad enough as it is. And I'm not sure I could keep it the relationship purely physical, either—you know how I am, 'Jack, I just can't keep it separate from my emotions." He stopped for a moment, head bowed. "And to answer your question, Sunstreaker didn't come in 'til after we were done. All he did was lay down and cycle back into recharge, too, so don't go gettin' any ideas. I think he just missed his brother… Anyway, not long after that was when my logic circuits caught up with the rest of me, and I panicked and left. I just…" he cycled air through his vents in an explosive sigh. "I don't know what to do," he confessed helplessly. "I'm slagged either way—if I pursue this I'll lose them to battle, and if I push them away I'm letting my fear take them from me; I'm terrified that I'm already too involved for it to make much of a difference regardless."
Wheeljack shuttered his optics in grief at that, glad that his faceplate hid most of his expression. "You are, to quote the humans, in a pretty pickle, old friend. My advice is to go for it though—might as well be happy for as long as you've got them, instead of torturing yourself by putting them just out of your reach. Besides, you have no idea when or even if they'll get deactivated by the enemy, but if you give up on them now, you'll lose them for certain."
Ratchet nodded at that, looking determined. "I think I'll pay our resident twins a visit tonight, after we're all off-duty. We have some things we need to discuss," he said, and Wheeljack patted his back again encouragingly.
"Oh, and Wheeljack?"
"Mm?"
"Breathe one word of this discussion to anyone and you're slagged."
Wheeljack grinned behind his faceplate. "You got it."