The Diego Diaries Part 3

by arctapus

This is the story of Ratchet and Ironhide's prank war which goes global and intergalactic. It is essentially a humorous/dramatic love story. This is the third part because the second part is giving me fits for uploading just like part one. (It is currently in Part Eight) I love my readers. :D

450. Chapter 450

The Diego Diaries: Cuppa (dd3 450)

-0-At home: Ratchet

Ratchet closed his door. :Prowler:

:What?:

:You still alive?:

(grin) :In spite of you, yes:

"That was beautiful, Prowler. I'm glad you shared it:

[Pause]

:I'm surprised I did:

:I'm not. You're brave: Ratchet said quietly. :Prowler?:

:What, Ratchet?:

(grin) :Tell me what you're wearing: Ratchet laughed out loud as he asked.

[Pause]

:You're hopeless. I love that about you: (grin)

:Prowler?:

:What, Ratchet:

:You're going to get laid tonight. Optimus was listening in:

[Pause]

:Oh:

:I'm going to cook. I told Ironhide not to come home without stuff. That deserves a dinner:

(grin) :Good for you. Anything good?:

:I'm cooking, remember?:

(grin) :Keep takeout on speed dial:

Ratchet laughed, then looked around. :Ali:

:What?:

:What's good for dinner? I think I'll cook:

:You have takeout, Ratchet. Why punish yourself?: Ali needled just because he could. Both he and Prowl were gourmet cooks, Prowl because his ada was and he himself because he liked chemistry. Ratchet? Not so much.

:OH, HA-HA, ALI!: Ratchet grinned. He walked to the monitor. Keying in the main screen, he opened the 'Hobby-Activity' listing in the Learning Annex link. He considered the amazing array of stuff to do and after perusing the etching courses that were available to anyone who was up to learning the Cybertronian version of tattooing, he found what he wanted.

'The Cooking Corner' had classes, instruction, takeout lists and best of all thousands and thousands of recipes for just about every regional and planetary taste. Included was the vast and ever growing genius repertoire of Rampage and his operation. All of it was organized and waiting for the enterprising 'housewipe' to come forward and dabble.

He considered the possibilities, then chose 'American Celebratory Cuisine'. Opening it, he considered the vast array of links choosing Thanksgiving because at the moment he was sentimental enough to feel thankful. After all, Prowl had shared himself and that was reason for celebrating.

All of the names were intriguing. Pumpkin pie. Casseroles, entrees of all manner and there it was. The one he wanted. Grinning like a Cheshire cat, he opened it and saw the requirements, the preparation and the ingredients. It was spectacular(ly)(complex) and right up his alley.

He would show them all. Even Ali.

Maybe.

Snorting, he walked to the office and got his household data pad, the one designed for newbie home owners to rule their own roosts. Walking out, parking himself in front of the monitor, he entered all the many and sundry things he would need to make this, the most spectacular offering of Thanksgiving on this and probably just about any other world he'd ever known.

When the endless list of awesomeness was over he ran a sync with the Food Guild master computer. There was a Cybertronian version of every ingredient on the list. "Huzzah. We'll see who's the flounder here." He grinned, then took the insert end of the disk and slotted it into the side of the monitor. The request would go to the master computer, then The Grocery Store in Mall of Metroplex, the closest grocery to his home.

Clerks would fill the order, then call The Delivery Place to send mechs over to take it to Ratchet's apartment. The need due to shut ins and miscreant douche bags who got house arrest among others made The Delivery Place possible and busily necessary. Their city was an ever expanding pool.

He looked at the kitchen. Then he snorted remembering when Alor marched him to the Mall and back again with five, count them five huge boxes of 'the slagging essentials, Ratchet'.

-0-Some time earlier

"Come in."

Ali peeked inside. "Ratchet. I need something for my cookies."

"Come on in. Look to your spark's content," Ratchet had said as he held Orion in his arms. That little mech was getting a hug whether he needed it or not.

He saw his grandada and squealed. "OTHER ADA! COME ME!"

Alor come(d). He also frowned. "Ratchet, you don't have anything in your cupboards and nothing in the fridge. You don't have the essentials in cookware and ingredients. What the frag am I going to do with you?" he said glancing at Ratchet with Orion hugging his face.

"I don't know, Ali," Ratchet said with a grin. "Ironhide says that to me all the time. I see he gets it from you."

At that point, Orion joined the others on the floor and Ratchet hustled to keep up with Alor all the way to the Mall. First stop, The Home Store. Every manner of copper and silver cooking thing was put into a box along with utensils. They were packed off to the apartment.

Then he was bum rushed to The Spice Rack. Entering that formidable place with all manner of things in bags, jars, cans and huge barrels was scary for a mech who found heating water challenging. Another box was packed and carted off.

"Come with me, Ratchet. We're going to the book store for a idiot-proof cookbook with biiiiig pictures, then the grocery." Alor and marched off as if on the hunt for Decepticons. Ratchet followed along behind with a big grin. Alor in full court press was this side of awesome. Even Blackjack and Ironhide ran for cover at times like this.

Up and down every single aisle they went in the vast food emporium with Alor explaining what was essential, possible and just for fun. It was with a new appreciation for Alor if nothing else that Ratchet stood in the checkout line watching three big boxes being packed with groceries for the apartment. Alor got his one thing and they headed off once more.

His cooking after that had picked up but Ratchet was probably going to have to be glad he was neat and clean because he never felt he'd ever be a 'real' cook. That his ada, his ada-in-law and his BFF along with HIS ada were gourmet cooks didn't help the confidence a bit.

As he spent a moment mooning over the possibilities (to fall flat on his face), a knock on the door sounded. He opened it to receive three big boxes. Smirking with anticipation, he took them and the younglings hurried off to do more good deeds for their employer.

Staring at them sitting on the table, Ratchet's confidence began to sink below the waves a bit, ebbing by the sheer size of his choice.

:Ratchet:

:What?:

:What are you doing?:

:Uh, cooking dinner, Prowler:

[Pause]

(grin) :Oh:

:You don't think I can do it?: (frowny bits begin to show)

:I didn't say that:

:I'm going to cook dinner, Prowler, and you can sit there and snicker. I can do this pretty damned good: He mused on that a moment, then grinned. "I hope," he said to no one in particular.

Walking to the monitor, he tapped the recipe video and it began with the IntraComm logo, the University/Learning Annex logo and the name of the program. "Hi," said a young host named Hemp. "Thank you for choosing The Learning Annex Cooking Program to help you with new recipes, spice up old ones and add a delightful hobby to your life. Cooking at home is a new experience for some of us but with the amazing array of foods and food products in the City, it can be very rewarding. You can make so many things yourself … baby food, deserts, off world cuisine as well as familiar foods from your region of Cybertron. Right now, lets start."

Ratchet nodded, then moved to the counter to do what the instructor told him. "Okay. Let's start."

"Let's organize because half of good cooking is organization. Do you have a marker pen?"

Ratchet looked around, then opened a drawer. He found one. "Aha!"

"I'm assuming that you have the ingredients already. If not, I'll wait. Say 'ready' when you're and this video will resume."

Ratchet looked at the boxes, then the list. He began to pull things out sitting them on the table. Kicking each empty box away as he did, he returned to the video. Double checking, he nodded to himself. "Ready."

"Good. You have your ingredients. Now we're going to number them in numerical order of use so that you won't be confused or harried as we go along. I'll tell you the order. Say 'ready' when you are. The first ingredient is the turkey. Number it 'one'."

Ratchet looked at the wrapped packages that were labeled. He found turkey and put the number one glyph on it. "Ready. HA! I got this thing down pat, *PROWLER*." He grinned. He knew he didn't but he was ever hopeful.

"Good. Now find the duck. Number it 'two'."

Ratchet did. "Ready."

"Good. Now find the chicken and number it 'three'."

Ratchet did and continued until he reached the magic forty-two that was the last item needed. He looked at the enormity of the stuff in front of him and hoped the baking time wasn't too long. If it was and he fragged up there'd be no way to throw it out if Ironhide came home too soon. He grinned. Frag Ironhide, he thought. He's going to eat it anyway. "Ready, you slagger," he said.

"Good. Now, we're going to go over the dishes and pans."

Ratchet looked at him on the monitor, then the stuff before him. "Maybe I shouldn't have started with a TurDucKen," he said. Then he started hopping to the cupboards for the cookware.

-0-Alor

He sat on the couch sipping a beer as he read his novel. Simmering on the counter in something SLAGGING INGENIOUS called a crock pot, Blackjack and Flint's favorite stew was cooking. All he had to do was organize the food and let it go.

Ingenious indeed.

:Alor:

:What?:

:How are things going?: Blackjack asked.

:Awesome. Prowl is a poet underneath that exterior of titanium:

:He is. It was beautiful. And open. What's for dinner?:

:Your stew, the Praxian kind your ada used to make. I finally found all the ingredients here:

:That's great. I only ask because Ironhide asked if he could come to dinner:

Alor laughed out loud. :Tell him to mech up and go home, slagger. For better or worse the humans say:

:I will. See ya:

Alor grinned, then went back to his novel. Sherlock Holmes was one smart slagger, he thought.

-0-Prowl

He cleaned things up, threw towels into the dryer and grinned. Ratchet got pwned. Ratchet got … pawned? He'd seen that spelling in a lot of human blog posts. He was aware that they wrote it when they slagged someone to the Pit.

*LIKE HE HAD RATCHET*!

But how did you pronounce it, he wondered. Aw well, who cared? He had *SLAGGED RATCHET TO THE PIT*! His bestie, his confidante, his prison buddy. Prowl considered that, then laughed. "*MY PRISON BUDDY*!" He laughed aloud, then walked out to the living room.

:Prowl:

:Optimus:

:How are you doing?:

:Fine. You?:

:I have to confess. I listened in to your story:

[Pause]

:You did: Prowl got a momentary willie but it disappeared under an avalanche of love and emotion from Prime. He knew since Ratchet told him but it was still uncharacteristic of him to disclose like he did. :Do you like it?: He winced from the wistful neediness of the sound of his words.

:It was beautiful:

Prowl relaxed that part of him that was stern, prim, the old Prowl. The new Prowl could embrace things easier even if he still felt unsettled about doing it around others. Prime on the other servo knew where every scar and dimple he had was. :I wrote it for you. Optimus … Only One …:

:Thank you: Optimus replied as the soft energy of desire surged gently back and forth between them.

:Its going to be a long four orns: Prowl began as he relaxed into the energy of his bond.

:Too many orns. I miss you with me already. There was no other way: He sat drowsing in the lovely energy filtering through his circuits, the energy of his bond. He pitied humans that they'd never know such intimacy and pleasure themselves.

:I want you to help me …:

:Anything...: Optimus whispered back over their link.

:Help me find a writing topic to stuff up Ratchet's debris chute again:

Optimus was sure his laughter probably reached Fort Apache.

-0-At the cook off

"Frag," he said to no one in particular. The stuffing was finally made, all zillion and a half ingredients blended.

Hopefully.

The 'tur' part of the dish, the turkey facsimile in all appearances like a real one was laying splayed out on the cutting board on the counter. Hemp was telling him what to do now. In the sink and all around dirty dishes waited. He glanced at them and frowned. "Fragger. He has a dishwasher. I'm going to have to slag Ironhide for not keeping up with the Primes."

He laughed aloud, then took fistfuls of the stuffing as instructed.

"Now spread them all over the turkey until you have it covered with a nice thin layer. I'll wait."

"You better, slagger," Ratchet said as he began to smear stuffing all over the spayed de-boned turkey energon facsimile. It was 'de-boned' (never having had any), flavored to Cybertronian tastes that would amaze people if they could eat it without dying. A chemical rendering of what a real turkey actually tasted like, juiced, as fresh as any on Earth, it was big enough to seem normal sized to Ratchet. Humans would run if they saw the gigantic pink pile of flesh with dressing smeared all over it.

He looked at his efforts. The turkey was covered with stuffing. "What now, slagger?" he asked to the monitor. "Oh. Ready."

"Awesome. You're doing a fantastic job."

Ratchet guffawed and nodded. "I am aren't I."

"Now take the duck and lay it on top of the turkey like this," he said demonstrating it on the video. Ratchet reached around for the chicken which he'd already 'salted, peppered and spiced' to the 'taste of you (him) the diner'. He lay it down on the turkey and studied it. "Frag. That is one terrible looking thing. You better taste good or I'll never hear the end of it."

Then there was a knock on the door. He turned with a start, then looked at his servos. Rushing to wash them, he hurried to the door to open it.

Two sweet looking younglings wearing the logo of The Home Store stood in the corridor. "Hi. Are you Ratchet?"

"I am," Ratchet said trying to move to block their view of his messed up kitchen.

"We're from The Home Store. We have your washer and dryer." They smiled at Ratchet. Two other younglings looked over their shoulders. "Hi. We have the dishwasher."

"Oh frag," Ratchet said with the futility of inevitability.

-0-TBC September 25, 2013 8-2-19

TurDucKen: A chicken stuffed inside a duck stuffed inside a turkey, sewed up with layers of breaded spiced stuffing between them and cooked for several hours until done. YUM! It's one of the toughest kind of turkey dishes in the repertoire of Thanksgiving you can do. HA-HA, RATCHET! -Prowl