A/N: So apparently the fanon for Prowl is that he hates getting repaired. I sort of combined it with the canon that Knock Out in Prime often sneaks out to compete in illegal street races, and turned it on its head: what if Prowl kept sneaking out to break up illegal street races, and when he gets damaged in the obviously super intense car chases he has to sneak back in and fix himself without Ratchet or Red Alert or First Aid knowing, and well, I just went from there. Which was a blast.
Yes, Ratchet is that awesome. The guy didn't become Optimus Prime's left hand medic for no reason, y'know.
And I kind of like writing a Prime who's less experienced in dealing with his men (and women), so I wrote him like that. Plus, it's funny.
Also, yes, I know it's not canon that Red Alert and the Lambo Twins are related, but it was just so tempting I couldn't not have overprotective Sideswipe.
"Prowl's Patented Repairs Avoidance Technique." In which Prowl has issues with medical personnel, Prime draws upon the wisdom of his predecessors, and Ratchet proves why he's the boss medic.
The doors to the Ark's rec room slid open with a quiet hiss, revealing the Autobots' SIC and tactician Prowl, who limped through idly rubbing at a large dent on his doorwing where a streak of glossy scarlet paint sliced across the POLICE decal (and indeed was scraped all over his left side), grumbling under his breath things such as "can you believe these humans", "no respect for authority", and "completely deserved it" among others; the smell of burned rubber following him around.
"What was that, Prowl?" the Autobots' resident paranoid security director and sometimes medic Red Alert asked, in a falsely sweet voice.
Prowl froze and swivelled around to face the femme, who had a servo on her hip and an incredibly intimidating scowl on her faceplates.
"Absolutely nothing, Red Alert." Prowl answered, his doorwings flicking backwards and up out of visual range. Unfortunately for him, this did literally nothing to allay Red Alert's fury.
"You've been street racing with the humans again."
"Stopping street races," Prowl corrected automatically, before suddenly realising he was talking aloud and backpedalling rapidly, "is what I would do if I was in fact even interacting with the humans, which of course I do not do anymore. You know this."
Red Alert raised an optic ridge at Prowl's absolutely pathetic lying ability. "Of course. Oh well, since you're here, Ratchet told me he wanted your doorwings checked."
Prowl stepped backwards, shaking his servos. "That really is not necessary, Red Alert. Look, they work fine." He flapped his doorwings twice to prove it.
By this time a small crowd had gathered, including: both Prowl's brothers, Smokescreen and Bluestreak; Red Alert's brother, Sideswipe (her other brother, Sunstreaker, was currently tied to a police tow truck with his paint scraped to oblivion and his frame dented quite badly out of shape, along with four other wrecked high-speed cars); Optimus Prime, who really didn't want to have to replace his SIC; and Jazz, who currently stood to gain about four million credits in betting money as long as Prowl & Red Alert being an item was confirmed within the next four solar cycles.
Red Alert pointed to the red paint scrapes and the dents on Prowl's frame. "And those are from where exactly?"
Prowl considered his response carefully. By an astounding coincidence, the red paint of the car which had rammed him was at a glance almost identical in shade to Red Alert's own scarlet paint. Additionally, Prowl suddenly remembered the fact that Red Alert looked quite attractive when she was flustered, and that Jazz had promised never to purposely try to glitch his battle computer ever again as long as he won the bet.
A truly despicable idea entered Prowl's processor. A despicable, deplorable idea. An idea which would not only get him out of being literally broken down for scrap, but would also mean freedom from Jazz's numerous attempts to glitch him out. So, in other words, a brilliant idea.
Prowl, with an unbelievable amount of effort on his part, flicked his facial expression from I've Just Been Caught Sneaking Back Into The Base Damaged to I'm A Super Dreamy Enforcer And Well Aware Of That Fact, Doll, bent his red chevron back into shape, and asked "Shouldn't you know that, Red Alert? This is your paint, after all, and even off you it looks beautiful."
Red Alert's furious expression vanished and she spluttered on whatever she was about to say, a bright teal flush sweeping up her faceplates. "What?! That's...I...um, thank you?"
Prowl, at this point, was trying as hard as he possibly could to remember every little scrap of the Enforcer Seduction Interrogation Technique – the only module he had ever failed at the Enforcer Academy – he could, while simultaneously rotating around Red Alert and positioning his back to the door so he could run away at the first possible opportunity.
"Yes, and in fact, I enjoyed our time together so much, I'd like to ask you to join me for, uh, a drive...under the stars. Tonight." Prowl continued, frantically trawling through his subspace for anything remotely romantic whatsoever, and trawling through his memories of being Jazz's wingmech for things to say.
Jazz wolf-whistled; Optimus tiredly consulted his datapad, What To Do When Your Emotionless SIC Seduces Medics To Avoid Repairs, by Vector Prime; Smokescreen had an arm around Bluestreak's shoulders as he made an expansive gesture in Prowl's direction, no doubt saying something along the lines of "And now observe, young one, as our moron brother Prowl clumsily uses his looks and romantic appeal to escape this angry medic, as is his wont"; and Sideswipe glared at Prowl and took the safety off whatever number of giant guns he currently had in his subspace, which was probably a lot.
"Um...well, uh...I..." Red Alert stuttered, currently crossing her arms self-consciously and coyly tracing shapes on the floor with a stabiliser.
"Lovely. I'll see you later, then. But before I go, would you prefer your quarters or mine?" Prowl asked.
"Yours, probably." Red Alert replied automatically, then completely froze up as Prowl produced a rather bent and misshapen Praxian vanadium blossom from his subspace, pressed it into her servos, gave her a kiss that was far too amazing to be real, then literally vanished out the door.
Jazz whooped and went to collect his sizeable winnings, Optimus consulted his datapad, How To Deal With Relationships Between The Paranoid And The Workaholic, by Sentinel Prime; Bluestreak asked Smokescreen if they should hold Sideswipe back or something (Smokescreen replied in the negative); and Sideswipe carted a neutron fusion turret through the room, snarling.
Prowl kept running until a white arm with a red servo on it appeared from a doorway and clotheslined him, taking the Enforcer right out and sending him sliding along the floor.
Ratchet stepped out of the ops room. "I really enjoyed that." he said, shaking his helm sadly. "Damn me." He took hold of Prowl's right stabiliser and dragged him back through the rec room to the medbay.
Ratchet rolled his optics as he passed Red Alert, still standing there clutching the vanadium blossom with a dreamy look on her faceplates.
"Pah. Honestly." he harrumphed. "We need to have a talk about seducing my assistants, Prowl."
Prowl did not respond, although that was probably to be expected, considering his face was very badly dented and he might have had a dislocated neck joint.