=0=

The Diego Diaries: "In praise of yellow aft slaggers"

=0=Medbay, mid afternoon, the next day

"Ratchet."

"I'm busy."

"Ratchet?"

"What?"

"I want to talk to you. I want to see your pretty optics when I speak."

Pause.

"Ratchet?"

Silence.

/...slag.../ "RATCHET! I HAVE A … A TERRIBLE PAIN!"

The sound of peds running and a yellow streak bursting from around the corner broke the silence of Medbay and when Ratchet stopped before Ironhide, optics surging with fright Ironhide had the good grace to feel bad.

Then he had a pain.

"You punched me!"

"You deserved it, you slagger! What the FRAG are you doing saying something like that to me when I pasted your carcass back together twice in less than a month? I should give you something worse to whine about but then I'D HAVE TO PUT YOU BACK TOGETHER AGAIN!"

A huffing yellow aft medico, mumbling to himself left the room and Ironhide, rubbing his servo from where he was rapped lay his helm back and stared at the ceiling. "Ratchet."

The sound of peds marching down the corridor and walking into Medbay only put a small crimp in his audacity. Ironhide had the time and opportunity to be a spectacular aft and he was determined to use them. Anything was fair in love and war and he wanted out of the Medbay. Ratchet marched to the medberth, parked his servos on his hip assemblies and glared. He glared that glare that Dared Not Speak Its Name. "WHAT!"

Ironhide, quashing a comedic retort, smiled. "How about finishing up those negotiations? I've got the time."

"You think I do?" Ratchet said, relaxing a tiny bit and crossing his arms over his chassis.

"Why not? You run this place. Delegate."

Ratchet felt a smirk forming on his faceplates. He quashed it ruthlessly, moving to lean against the medberth. He reached out and traced the glyphs along Ironhide's arm, the ones that spoke about his family and his home in Praxus, a home that no longer existed. "So, you want to negotiate?"

Ironhide looked at Ratchet, wariness in every molecule of his being. "You want an end to the war. I want one. You need a good 'face. I sure need one."

"You saying I'm what? Cranky?" Hard blue optics peered down into his.

"I'm saying ..." /... what the slag am I saying?.../ "I just think its about time you and I made peace."

"And then what, Ironhide?" Ratchet said, leaning down to nuzzle Ironhide's chin. He kissed a line along Ironhide's jaw and then rose, tracing a digit along Ironhide's finials.

The flow of sensations that hit Ironhide in the place where Nothing Has Been Happening For A While made him swallow. "I thought that you and me could … get intimate."

Something in Ratchet purred, something that was weak willed and benevolent took those words and hugged them like the fuzzy kittens they were. Something in him wanted to throw Ironhide down and have its way. But then the something that was polished into a hardness that even diamonds couldn't trump, that part of him that had sparred with Ironhide for a zillion years asserted itself. "What are you going to give me?"

A smirk formed on Ironhide's lips and his optics glowed with humor. "A damned fine shag."

pause. access. shag, verb. download. access terminated.

Ratchet grinned at Ironhide. "You've been hanging out with Graham too much."

"And you look tense. I think I have the cure for that," Ironhide said, kissing Ratchet's servo. He kissed up Ratchet's arm and then back down again, his twinkling optics and waggling optic ridges almost, ALMOST making the medic laugh aloud. He merely redirected the outburst to a file in his cybertronic brain stem. Somewhere in Ratchet's helm, a good laugh was going on but it never reached his lip plates.

"You broke a lot of superstructure. You aren't in any shape for a shag or a frag or any other combination thereof."

"I'm a danger mech, Ratchet. We take a lickin' and keep on tickin'."
pause. Access. lickin', tickin'. download. access terminated.

Ratchet smirked. "Is that so."

"Damned straight."

Nothing.

"Hoo-ah?"

Nothing.

"Oh please, Ratchet. Have some mercy here. I'm going off my processor."

Ratchet leaned down and kissed Ironhide, stilling his whining. He stood back up, glancing at the screens above Ironhide. "You are such a little sparkling."

Silence.

"I never said I didn't want a sparkling. We even decided on it being a mech. And the color. Don't forget he's black."

"You said red."

"I had a dream once, Ratchet, that I was a red van and talked like a …"

access. Regional accents, US. acquire. access terminated.

"Like a dumb aft."

"A red van?" Ratchet said, looking disgusted. "I don't think I would have dated you if you were a van, Ironhide. I have my image to think of."

"You were in the dream and you were a really sexy medic. White with red servos and a gray chevron on your helm. You had red crosses on your chassis and I thought you were one sexy alt vehicle."

"You saw this in a dream? Were you over energized?"

"Sober as Prime," Ironhide said.

"Did we 'face? In your dream? In that alt mode? I mean, Ironhide, a van? Was it
a mini van?" Ratchet said, folding his arms and leaning against the medberth.

"Do you really think this chassis can form a mini-van?" Ironhide said with a frown.

"I don't know. I'm not aroused by a mom car."

"You had to see it. I was a mech's mech," Ironhide said, smiling. "You thought I was sexy."

"I did?" Ratchet said, smiling. "What the frag was wrong with me?" He chuckled. "You know I like my mechs on the big side."

Ironhide smirked. "And they don't come bigger than me, Ratch."

"Prime," Ratchet began. "Then there's Springer, Ultra Magnus and you can't forget Omega Supreme."

Ironhide frowned, faking extreme upset. "Here I am pouring out my dreams to you and you're slagging me."

"Ah," Ratchet said, faking sympathy, patting Ironhide's servos. "There, there. I'm not bonded with them, although they are pretty sexy."

"Prime and Magnus are only three feet taller than me and I'm the same height as Springer."

"He is rather sexy, Springer," Ratchet said, smirking. "He is after all called … Springer."

Ironhide couldn't hide his consternation. "So, you're looking at other mechs are ya?"

"I'm bonded, Ironhide. Not dead," Ratchet said, leaning down and kissing Ironhide's pouty lips. "You don't look at other mechs or femmes? Even in your dream?"

"I think I was having an affair with Chromia. And Arcee too maybe. I can't remember," Ironhide said, frowning slightly.

"You're a femme chaser then," Ratchet said, moving to sit on the edge of the berth.

"In my dreams," Ironhide said, "but I spent a lot of time with you. I think you were really good lookin', Ratchet. White looks good on you."

"I'll remember that next time I'm in your dreams," Ratchet said, smirking.

They looked at each other, content to just sit together.

"You're not going to let me out of here."

"No."

"I'll raise the wrath of Unicron if you don't."

"I have a new wrench."

"You are one violent old fragger."

"I learned from the master."

"You did. Ratchet?"

"Yes, Ironhide?"

He glanced here and there, then he looked at Ratchet. "I love you."

Ratchet looked at him, feeling the surge of his love and appreciation rising through their bond. His spark squeezed and he surged back to Ironhide. "I love you back, Ironhide."

It was silent a moment.

"Ratchet?"

"What, Ironhide?"

"When I get out of here?"

"Yes?"

"Do I get to sleep on the berth with ya?"

Long pause. Smirk and a shake of the helm. "We'll see."

Ratchet got up and walked to the lab, leaving Ironhide alone. He lay on the berth, a smirk growing on his faceplates. /... putty in my hands … you yellow aft slagger.../

=0=
TBC 2010 (11)

The Diego Diaries: The Investigation

=0=Epps and Lennox

They gave their testimony, explaining that they were walking between the hangars and had a clear view of the SUV as it careened around the corner, turning hard and throwing a spray of dirt into the air. They paused, watching as the three men inside hooted and hollered. Then they saw it accelerate and drive off at top speed, careening around the corner again and back across the tarmac in front of the Autobot HQ. They ran, hurrying to the corner, dread in their heart for the challenge it obviously was to the Autobots themselves. As they ran, they had almost reached the corner when the collision rang out, the sound echoing all over the area.

They were able to ascertain the following facts:

a. They did not see the actual collision but they did see Ironhide fall on his back, arms flung out and Springer sliding in to catch his helm.

b. They did not see the car spin in the air but saw it land in a bouncing heap, the mercs inside flying around due to the event.

c. They said they saw Ironhide raise up, roaring with rage and then fall back again, Springer holding him down with a servo. They said that everyone froze for a moment and then everyone ran outside, including more than 20 Autobots, arms drawn, circling Ironhide.

They saw the scene both during and after the wreckage and injured were pulled away. There were no skid marks, no indication in physical evidence that the driver tried to stop or swerve. Ironhide had the right away at the moment and the driver ignored a pedestrian crossing an open space with pedestrian regulations for drivers well posted and observed base wide.

e. It was their belief that the driver and passengers appeared to be impaired and that they were acting in an irresponsible manner behind the wheel of a vehicle that was unique in design and use, therefore making it even more imperative that care be taken in operating it.

They had separate depositions and left, walking outside to stand in the mid afternoon sun together. Graham, who had not been in Diego at the time turned staring at the flight line nearby. Parked in their usual spaces recharging, he thought about the Aerialbots. "Do you suppose the Aerialbots saw what happened?"

Lennox looked down the common area to the field beyond where jets were parked close to each other. "Silverbolt wasn't here but the other three … they had a straight on shot of the whole thing."

They stood a moment, then started toward them. The sun was glinting off their alt forms and they were lethal and beautiful. They stood a moment, uncertain and then Epps walked up to one of the two F-15 Strike Eagles and tapped on the gear strut. Nothing happened. Then he did it again. As they waited, a transformation sound occurred and they turned, seeing a large Autobot kneeling down staring at them. It was huge, black, red and white and staring at them curiously. "May I be of help?" it asked.

They looked at him, then the jet they were trying to awaken and then back again. Lennox swallowed. "This jet is … uh, just a jet isn't it."

The Aerialbot smiled. "Yes."

They stared at each other feeling slightly foolish and then they turned and looked up at the bot before him. "I am Will Lennox and this is Bobby Epps and Niall Graham."

The bot nodded. "You are N.E.S.T soldiers."

They nodded.

"You are the ones that aren't idiots. Like those humans that drove into Ironhide," he said.

"You saw that?" Epps asked.

"We saw it. I saw it the best," the bot said. "I am Sky Dive."

They nodded. "I was wondering if you could tell what you saw to the investigators," Graham asked. "We think the more individuals that can say what happened the less likely the company they work for will be able to make trouble here."

"If Prime wants me to, I will," Sky Dive said. He considered them. "Why did he do that?"

Epps shrugged. "Because he was a fool and had no respect."

Sky Dive nodded. "I will tell Prime that you asked."

They nodded and the big bot rose, turning and walking toward the Autobot complex.

"It never gets old," Epps said, staring at the retreating figure. The others only nodded.

=0=Medbay

He stood holding up one leg. Ratchet squatted on his peds, his optics staring intently at Ironhide's rear locking clamp.

"Say when, Ratchet."

"I will."

"Now?" he asked hopefully.

"No."

=0=Jazz and Mirage

"Look at this," Jazz said, pulling up a number of e-mails. "It appears that our mole is a soldier and they work in the Administrative building."

Mirage nodded. "Should I go eavesdrop?"

"I think it would be a good idea," Jazz said, scrolling through a long list of e-mails. Mirage was almost to the door when Jazz called out for him to come back.
He did and sat again, waiting. "Look at this, Mirage."

He read the e-mail and smiled. "High-Flyer," he said, shaking his head. "Our mole is corresponding with High-Flyer directly now."

=0=Medbay

"Can I go now?"

"No."

=0=Mirage and Jazz

A screen showing the routing of electronic correspondence glowed with a red line tracing the path of the mole's emails through any number of servers, ending up at the First-Strike-Warriors bulletin board at the HQ of Intel-Martin. It also showed an anonymous e-mailer who was using a web-based temp account with a disposable email. A search of that server showed that High-Flyer was using it as their primary account, sending emails to the bulletin board and now Jazz found, directly to the mole by a convoluted but essentially untraceable ghost account at Intel-Martin.

"Screamer has changed his tactic. He isn't waiting for the mole to post on the bulletin board. He's using direct contact to get what he wants."

"Who would write to an anonymous e-mailer if you were a deep down mole in an organization with rules against such activity like the U.S. Military?" Mirage mused.

"An anonymous e-mailer who was using someone else's account and posing as them," Jazz replied, grinning. "Check out who Starscream is posing as."

Mirage followed the line from Intel-Martin where it began and when it dead ended into the anonymous account, the name brought a smile. "William Kent, President and CEO of Intel-Martin."

"Screamer is accessing his account to ghost messages out through the Intel-Martin servers but he has an intercept on any incoming from the mole so that it reaches his anonymous account and never shows up in the Intel-Martin logins and databases," Jazz said. "With this system, as high tech as they think it is, it didn't take much for Starscream to re-route his own messages and the replies. Kent wouldn't know it was happening and there would be no traceable evidence left behind. At least as far as their level of technology will detect."

"Let's open his account and check it out," Mirage said. "Of course, you can hack it so Starscream won't know," he asked, glancing at Jazz pointedly.
"Piece of cake," Jazz said with a chuckle.

=0=Medbay

"Sit down."

"I have. For orns."

"A breem or two more won't hurt."

"It will."

"Big sparkling."

"Let me outa here, you slagger. I have to be free."

"Big femme."

"You can't keep me cooped up. I was born to be wild."

"You were born to be wild? Since when?"

Pause. "Well, I was before I bonded with you, you yellow aft slagger."

"Bonding with me was the best thing you ever did, you big heap of slag."

"Don't confuse the issue. You know you got the best of the deal when I agreed to bond with you, Ratchet."

"Oh really. How did that come to your addled processor? Who else would put up with you, you big aft?"

Pause.

"Well?"

"I'm thinking."

=0=Wheeljack and Perceptor

"There are no skid marks. There is no attempt to try and stop. They aimed at him and they hit him."

"I've been doing research, 'Jack, on collisions and impairment by artificial means is a big factor in the greatest percentage of crashes and fatalities."

"They were drunk," Wheeljack said, smiling at his more precise and more scholarly friend. "Prime told me about a game called 'chicken'."

"I will look that up."

"Thank you, Perceptor. Now, take a look at the construction of this vehicle. It has a steel shell that fits over the entire body of the vehicle. It has a 382 horsepower engine and can exceed 200 miles per hour. It was designed to protect the passengers and so getaway speed is essential. Mercedes Benz builds fast acceleration and speed into their cars as a stock item. This car was boosted in all areas.

"It has firewalls and the capacity to defeat anti-personnel grenades and high powered rifle fire, earning it a 'full metal jacket' rating, apparently the highest for armored cars. It is hardened both above and below, armored in the wheel wells, roof and floor. There are side bars which aid in protection but also add weight and brace the frame when it hits something. Everything is protected from fuel tanks, batteries and glass. All in all, it is a weapon used in the right manner. And it weighs nearly eight tons with its adapted features."

"It was going at least 100 miles per hour and perhaps more," Perceptor said. "It is difficult to be precise because there were no road marks to use in calculations but I would say 100-110 miles per hour at collision. Megatron weighs nearly six tons. This truck weighed more than Megatron at nearly eight. It was a fortuitous set of circumstances that toppled Ironhide. Interesting."

"Indeed," Wheeljack said in agreement.

=0=Medbay

"Well?"

"I'm still thinking."

Ratchet grinned, looking at Ironhide as he so cutely grasped at straws. "You are the biggest sparkling I ever saw."

"You letting me out of here?" he asked, grinning in spite of himself.

"I should leave you here for the entertainment value but I will let you out. However … you are off duty for a decaorn and I won't be swayed."

"Not even by the sexy?" Ironhide said, rising and grinning as he pulled Ratchet into his arms.

Ratchet smirked, slipping his arms around Ironhide's shoulders. "You think you're a real lothario."

pause. access. lothario, noun. acquire. access terminated.

"Good enough term, if a little stupid sounding to me," he said, leaning in and nibbling on Ratchet's neck.

Ratchet let him, the attention long overdue and then he pushed back, grinning at Ironhide. "Negotiations are not complete. There are also the penalties to be exacted for getting paint all over me and breaking the rules of no 'facing during wartime. And I suppose I can think of a few other things if I try."

"Go ahead. You know I win in the end."

"Says you?"

"Says me," he said, leaning in and kissing Ratchet hard on the mouth. "I'm going out there and cut a wide swath. See ya later." With that, he turned and swaggered toward the door.

Ratchet watched him and then called out. "Hey, lothario."

"What?" he asked, pausing in the doorway and looking back, a grin of great triumph on his faceplates.

"No one is allowed out of the building. Prime's orders."

"Slag."

=0=
TBC 2010 (11)