Chapter 31

=0=Outside the Autobot HQ, a couple of days later

"E-4."

"Miss."

[Grin]

"D-7"

"Hit. Frag."

Epps glanced up at Ironhide who was frowning at his game. The big mech who was sitting on the big metal bench out in front of Autobot HQ, his body absorbing solar energy through the sensors hidden in his dermal layers was losing to him. He'd been released to limited activity and so he sat. They were playing Battleship.

Epps had his laptop and Ironhide had an entertainment-designated datapad.

Ironhide was losing this round.

Ironhide didn't like to lose.

At anything.

"You're losing, my brutha," Epps remarked with a snicker. "I guess you must be used to it. I hear that you're behind in the prank war you have going with Ratchet."

Blue optics glanced up measuring Epps. "Humph."

Epps snickered as he sat back in his lawn chair, the one he'd stolen from the officer's patio before sauntering over. "I hear that Ratchet's kicking your ass so bad you'll be sitting on your shoulders pretty soon."

Ironhide grinned slightly, the visual appealing to his inner sparkling, then he glanced at Epps. "He just thinks he's winning. What he knows and I know is all I have to do is wait him out. When he gives, I win. I always do. Most of the time. Usually." He thought a moment. "Well, it works once in a while. Depends on the goal Ratchet's working for."

Epps stared at him considering the possibilities of asking more questions. You never did get anywhere without going as his mom was wont to say. "What's the goal this time?" he asked with a big grin on his face.

Ironhide glanced up, pausing his strategic planning and considered Epps. He was a soldier and a straight up mech so he told him. "Ratchet wants a sparkling."

Epps considered that, knowing that 'sparkling' meant some kind of child. "A baby."

Ironhide considered that, knowing 'baby' meant some kind of sparkling. "Yep."

"How does that work? I mean, I don't want to pry but I was wondering … how does that work?"

Ironhide considered the question before speaking the coordinates upon what he assumed would be a direct hit on Epps' aircraft carrier and wondered what he could say. Could he tell about spark merging, about carrying and the separation process? Could he be eloquent enough to explain the life process of a Cybertronian and all the options that they had including the Well of Allsparks and the Creation Matrix? Did he have it in him to do it justice?

Nah.

"We merge our sparks and the energy surge makes a sparkling. The carrier carries it in their chest near their own spark until separation when its removed and placed in the first of what will grow to be new protoforms four times over their lifespan until adult. B-6."

Epps looked at him wondering what he just said, then looked down at his computer screen.

Direct hit.

"Shit."

Ironhide grinned.

=0=Ratchet

He stood in the doorway of Med Bay considering his next move. It had been a long time since they had 'quality time' between them or as Ironhide said just to goad him, "How about a frag, you good looking yellow-aft slagger?" Ratchet suppressed a grin. What a romantic he was, his Ironhide.

They had gone high and dry about sixty orns (days) give or take a VORN! and he was considering how long he would make Ironhide dance. Kinks had arisen. Two battles and a lack of follow up 'facing had been a violation of one of their most important rules, thus, a problem.

That had bothered him more than anything, breaking that hard and fast rule. It almost seemed to invite trouble and he would try to make sure it never happened again. Unless, of course, there was a really really good reason, the slagger.

He knew this war was one he wouldn't win on all his points and goals. If he had a chance to win a straight victory he would've by now. He knew it might end this way but one of the two goals he'd set himself was met. Ironhide told him without reservation that he would welcome a sparkling. That was a huge load off Ratchet's peds. He also told him the Pit would freeze over before he would be the carrier. That wasn't so good but totally expected from the beginning.

Ratchet sighed. "I guess its up to you, you yellow aft slagger, to do all the dirty work." With that, he went into Med Bay and began to plan his wind down strategy for the war.

=0=Ratchet and Ironhide, that evening

Ironhide sat on the berth legs crossed and his head thrown back as he leaned away, his servos behind him bracing his body. Sitting on his lap, his legs wrapped around Ironhide's great body, his gaze intent on Ironhide's neck, Ratchet also leaned forward. It was intense as Ironhide lowered his helm to gaze at Ratchet with a smoky expression.

Ratchet who was getting peeved at his underhanded antics tipped Ironhide's head back. "Sit still, old mech. You'll ruin my paint job."

Ironhide cycled air through his vents, The Sexy rising in his chassis at such close quarters. The war was on a limited truce at the moment as Ratchet attended to some basic 'household duties'.

"You aren't going around without the dermals painted, Ironhide. I don't want anyone to think that I let you out of here looking like a dumb ass. A reverse Dalmatian even."

. Access internet. Downloaded info.

Clue.

"You calling me a dog, Ratchet? In some cultures that's an insult."

"In my culture as I make it up everyday, going out looking like a clown is forbidden. Sit down here and let me paint the primer coat at least."

Ironhide passed up the table, the bench and went straight to the berth patting it with his big servo.

Ratchet smirking as he stood by the table stirring a paint pot with a specialized brush for painting dermal armor. "You can't 'face for a few more orns. I know. I know your doctor."

"Come on over here and play The Sexy Yellow Doctor and the Big Black Chaos Bringer with me, Ratchet. You know you want to."

Ratchet snickered then ambled over to kneel in front of him. He began to stroke on the black primer coat to a tiny dull gray bit of regenerated dermal plating on his thigh.

Ironhide moving his thighs apart grinned as he did, He leaned back on his servos to kibitz. "You know, the old critical energy port could use some dusting off. A little bit of servos on would be a nice healing touch, Doctor Ratchet."

Ratchet schooled his face to a concerned professional expression. "You're such a femme. By the way, what kind of sparkling do you want? Femme or mech?"

"Femmes are fine. Mechs are good. What about you? And have you given up your fantasy of me being a carrier?"

"There's only a truce, Ironhide. The war isn't over yet. The negotiations haven't even begun."

There was a comfortable pause.

"You really are a persistent mech, I'll hand it to you."

"Thank you," Ratchet said rising to stare down at him. "You'd go out like this without me. Honestly, you have an image in the army to uphold. You can't go out looking polka dotted."

. Access. Downloaded.

Clue.

"It could be worse."

"How?"

A moment of Deep Thought was had by a mad Satanic-looking polka-dot Kewpie doll.

"I don't know yet, Ratchet, but I know it could be."

"I have to get the ones on your neck."

He sat up and crossed his legs, patting his lap as his optic ridges waggled comically. "Sit here, ba-bee. Come sit on Papa's lap."

Ratchet snickered. "Hanging out with Epps is going to get you arrested some day," he said considering Ironhide's lap which looked inviting. He put the paint and brush down on the table, then moved on the berth to sit facing Ironhide, wrapping his legs around the big mech as he did. Settling in, he rested his servos on Ironhide's shoulders.

"Hello," Ironhide said with a sense of triumph in his voice. He tightened his grip around Ratchet's waist. "Gotcha, Ratchet."

Ratchet smiled as he enjoyed the moment with an intensity that was remarkable. He leaned in and kissed Ironhide, lingering on his lips a moment in flagrant breach of The Rules of Prank Warfare. "Don't forget to duck next time, Ironhide. You disappointed me this time."

Ironhide grinned, then his expression became serious almost as quickly. "You were amazing, I'm told."

"I'm sort of used to you inside and out."

"Yeah," Ironhide said kissing Ratchet softly. "I want to 'face ya, you yellow-aft miracle."

"Sweet talking won't paint your speckles any faster," Ratchet said rubbing his nose against Ironhide's.

"No," Ironhide agreed as he kissed Ratchet again.

Ratchet leaned back to grab the paint bottle to stir it for a moment. His optics were focused on the bottle as he spoke once more. "I love you, Ironhide, but if you do this again I will frag your aft myself."

"Deal," Ironhide said squeezing Ratchet. Ratchet didn't look at him for a moment and when he did Ironhide could see the pain and panic that had been Ratchet's life for the past few cycles. He squeezed Ratchet, then pulled him close to his chassis.

Ratchet lay his helm down on Ironhide's broad shoulder, his great warmth and strength comforting. They sat together a moment then Ratchet back sat up regarding Ironhide with a solemn gaze. "I would be unable to continue if you leave."

He nodded. "I know," Ironhide said softly. "I'd follow if you left me."

Ratchet slid his arms around Ironhide and held him, rubbing his cheek against his finial glyphs, the ones that proclaimed Ironhide as his own. Then he sat up and looked at Ironhide. "I have to get you back in shape but I can't make you too pretty. You're mine."

"Damned straight," Ironhide said with a smile.

=0=On the way to Med Bay

Three hours later, Ratchet was headed to Med Bay He was a storm cloud of ire and everyone who saw him glanced with fear and loathing at the smears of black primer coat paint all over his body front and back. From the mood Ratchet was in, they looked only as long as they dared before heading elsewhere quickly. Rounding the corner into Med Bay, glowering at First Aid as he did, he pressed onward toward the lab and its many solutions to a myriad of problems.

Sauntering along behind with a big grin on his face, Ironhide wandered into Med Bay, too.

First Aid caught in the Ironhide/Ratchet Vortex again wondered if he should stay or run. Instead, he glanced at Ironhide. "Your paint. You're painted again."

"Yep," Ironhide said as he walked to Ratchet's office to sit in his chair with a self-satisfied grin on his face.

"Ah," First Aid said dropping his datapad as he walked to the door. "If Ratchet needs me, I'm … uh, I'll be out."

Ironhide smirked as the younger mech fled. Then he wiped it off as Ratchet came out of the lab with rags in one hand and a bottle of paint remover in the other. He thrust them into Ironhide's servos and said, "You fragger. You get it off."

"It's only paint, Ratchet, a small price to pay for The Sexy and the Magnificence that is me," Ironhide said, grinning as Ratchet turned around to present his aft to him.

"You broke the rules of engagement, Ironhide. There are penalties for this," Ratchet said hiding his smirk from the big doofus behind him.

"Hurt me, Ratchet," he said with a chuckle. "Hurt me."

"Count on it," Ratchet said smiling to himself.

/... at least we 'faced after the battle … too bad about the paint though, you fragger .../