Chapter 9
-0-In a darkened room near Wheeljack's lab
He sat on the berth clearly listing to one side as he tried to move as his processor circled the outer rings of Saturn. He had never before outside of combat felt so wretched and he could almost remember some of the shenanigans that happened while he took his walk on the wild side. They involved others and he prayed with what little propriety he had left that they were done in a place that wouldn't have allowed him to be too big a fool.
Fool.
That was what he was, Prowl thought. At least, he thought around the edges of a thought because the idea of actually articulating a full blooded thought made him want to purge his tanks. He wondered in the tattered edges of his sentience how the twins could do this so often and not die.
-0-In a darkened room that was Wheeljack's lab
He came to the surface of a big sea of yellow, his systems caterwauling their extreme displeasure as they did. He licked his lips finding that his tongue felt as big as Sideswipe's basketball. That would not do, Wheeljack thought, then he didn't. It hurt across his circuits down to the energy port that dared not speak its name. Or rather saw little coed use but for a curious owner exerting attention on the odd nights when the moon and a card game weren't enough.
"I must be at the Matrix," Wheeljack whispered, his lights muted in the muddy versions of colors they threw up. Then he turned to the side and actually threw up. It, too, was very colorful.
-0-In a darkened room that wasn't Wheeljack's lab or Prowl's quarters
Ratchet stared down at the silent figure of his dearly beloved and smirked. Ironhide's size, his imposing persona that intimidated everyone but him and his general wonderfulness never failed to tug at his spark. A lot of racy memories flooded upward and he considered that they hadn't 'faced in a while. The thought of it sort of took over his processor for a moment, then the beep of his internal comm line kicked that football into the Pit.
Beep!
:What the *hell* do you want?:
:You are full of sunshine this morning:
:Oh, good morning, Prime. What can I do for you?:
:I wanted to know how Prowl is now:
Ratchet shook his helm as he listened to the sound in Prime's voice of guilt, a wavering will and an unrequited lust that could peel paint off walls. :He was fine when he left. Don't let it bother you. I'm sure he's up and at 'em just like usual:
:I am sure you are right, Ratchet. I will see you at the staff meeting shortly:
:Oh, count on it: Ratchet said, his voice filled with mirth shaped malice. :Ratchet out:
-0-In a darkened room near Wheeljack's lab
He crawled on his hands and knees to his couch and pulled himself up, every movement of his body jarring the jet plane that was tuning its engines in his processor. He felt his tanks churning and hoped against hope that he wouldn't upchuck. Of all the nasty things a mech could do, puking on your peds after a night that you couldn't even remember was the lowest.
-0-In a darkened room that was Wheeljack's lab
He looked at the pool of regurgitated energon and high grade, the colors mixing into a pleasing aesthetic even as the smell drove Wheeljack to try to roll over. He did and found himself pinned against the wall, the couch and his worktable leaving him very few options for movement. He looked around then lay his helm back down blinking his bleary optics for a moment. "Look at the dust bunnies," he mused before passing out once more.
-0-In a not so darkened room that wasn't Wheeljack's lab or Prowl's quarters
Ratchet did his best to make as much noise as he could, clanging things together and taking the time to cock and sight down a rifle that heretofore had just been leaning against the wall in the far corner.
Hearing the tumult at last, rising up like a killer whale trying to elude a harpoon, Ironhide bellowed in surprise. Then he wished he hadn't as he fell back down, the struts of the berth groaning under the 4.8 metric tons of his awesomeness. Or at least, that's how Ratchet thought of it.
His awesomeness.
That's what Ironhide meant to Ratchet but he didn't tell him unless he was completely blotto or in the throws of intense facing. Then the words wouldn't stop flowing and he was given to any manner of nonsense. But that was another time and place Ratchet thought as he got his mind off Ironhide's figure and back on the goals at hand.
Right now, messing with the big mech in his condition, a part of him was ashamed. But it was only a small part, the 'doctor do no harm part' and he smiled knowing the power ultimately he had over the big doofus. "Feeling your energon are ya?" Ratchet asked blandly as he folded his arms over his chassis.
An optic ventured to open then shut as Ironhide dealt with the avalanche currently thundering through his processor. He opened his mouth, considered how long he could speak before he ripped his own throat out and began. "You win. Antidote."
Ratchet grinned as he moved closer to peer down into the mass of black metal, armor and fabulousness that was his bond. "What makes you think I'll give you the antidote."
"Because," Ironhide squeezed out, "If I go to the Matrix, you go, too. Deal, old mech. Now."
Ratchet smirked then reached into subspace to pull out a pad. He made a show of reading it, pushing Ironhide as far as he dared, then transformed a digit to push without sparing the pain, a needle into an energon line near his neck. Ironhide grimaced in spite of himself, then the blessed relief came down from Primus. It flooded him with a sense of cooling, with the idea that 'yes, Ratchet, there will be a tomorrow' and as it did he felt his libidinous programming perking up. He opened an optic and gave Ratchet a wary glance. "What's with the sexy stuff?" he asked.
Ratchet turned from where he was messing with the table's ubiquitous pile of Ironhide's slag to look at his bond with a quizzical eye. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about all of a sudden I want to interface. Badly. Truly badly."
"Well, Ironhide, I'd love to accommodate you but we have a staff meeting in just a few joors and I don't have time to be your fence post." With that, Ratchet left the room closing the door behind him.
Fence post.
Initiate internet search. Access. Search function: Fence post, noun. Scan of most used definitions. Acquired appropriate information... download initiated. Access concluded.
Fence post. Ha!
Ironhide sat up, his head clearing even though his nether regions began to fog over. He moved to rise as a shimmering feeling of lust powered through his core. He sat down afraid to move lest he overload himself before he reached the door. He frowned deeply, his internal chronometer telling him that he had only a half a joor to be on time to the morning senior Autobots staff meeting.
Round two to Ratchet, Ironhide said to himself as he looked down at his crotch area. This was going to be a tough one, he thought. A tough one, indeed.
-0-In a darkened room that was also Wheeljack's lab
He lay on his side sort of wedged into the couch and considered that it could be worse. He could be laying the other way in the middle of his own vomit. The night before was a clouded thing and he didn't try too hard to make it all go away. He just decided that if he went back into a stuperous recharge one of three things would happen. First, someone might miss him and come looking. That was the most likely scenario. Two, he might be able to get up himself and save an Ark load of embarrassment. Not as likely considering his feet felt like they were in another room. Or third, he could be here through the next millennium.
He sniffled.
*I'm alone* he thought as maudlin emotions arose, the echo of that feeling floating to him over the fumes of his own vomit as he unconsciously repeated himself from the night before. He closed his optics and fell into recharge. Or as he later called it, possibility four.
-0-In a cabin that wasn't Wheeljack's lab or Ironhide's den of "What am I going to do, slag it, Ratchet!"
Prowl pulled himself up and tottered over to the door. He leaned against it cursing his weakness and neediness. It was all Prime's fault. He'd led him on. Or so he thought. He'd thought he did given the sweetness he'd shown Prowl over the past few orns in particular. Then again he could be deluding himself.
If Prime was bonded, and it appeared he was, then there was no leading going on. It was his own processor running away with him leaving him perched on the lip of the volcano of "Never, No Way, No How." Bumblebee had played that tune earlier and he sort of had it stuck in his processor.
Bumblebee.
Prime's *son*.
Arcee, Hound. *HOUND* and Kup.
*Kup*!?
Springer.
Springer was a good looking mech, taller than he was and sort of ultra masculine. He, himself, Prowl thought was more the subtle type. He was a thinker and the Wreckers were maddening doers. The two clashed over tactics. Prowl had them and Springer didn't, usually. All in all, they were total opposites but he'd never not respected in most ways and enjoyed the company of the handsome mech.
Well, maybe not handsome. Maybe he was just strong featured and rugged. Maybe that was why Prime was *BONDED TO HIM*!
He sniffled, cursing himself as he did for being such a crybaby.
Another song of Bumblebee's, Crybaby.
Bumblebee.
Bumblebee Prime.
Prowl shook his head and instantly froze as the contents of his helm sloshed from one side to the other. Then he gave in. Leaning pitifully against the door unable to move in any direction at all, he commed Med Bay.
:Prowl to Med Bay:
:Well, the last of the musketeers checks in. I have Wheeljack here in a basket. I suppose you want me to perform some magic on you as well:
:Ratchet-get-over-here-That's-an-order.-Prowl-out:
Ratchet snickered glancing over at Preceptor who had found Wheeljack lying half-wedged under his couch. He'd half-carried, half-dragged the mech in and helped him to lie down on a berth. "Perceptor, watch him. I have a house call to make."
"What about Ironhide? 'Jack says he's somewhere."
"Don't worry about Ironhide. I took care of him already," Ratchet said walking out the door with a grim smile.
"Well, I guess that's that then. Don't worry, 'Jack. Ratchet took care of Ironhide already."
Wheeljack could only manage a wan smile.
Ironhide on the other hand was frozen in place in the middle of his quarters cursing the wind.