Warming up for NaNo
Perceptor wasn’t even aware that anyone else was in the lab with him until a pair of arms wrapped around his shoulders, sliding under the lens barrel mounted on his shoulder. He started, tightening his fingers on the explotivegidget in his hand. He refocused his optics, zooming out to look at the blue hand resting on his chestplate. Purple optics peered at him from around his arm.
“Rhythm, that was quite hazardous. This could have detonated, and we would both be confronting Ratchet and enlightening him as to why we have sustained injuries. Not to mention the statement we would have to provide Prime and Prowl.”
Rhythm slid around the scientist’s considerable bulk and eased the experiment out of Perceptor’s black hands. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re not Wheeljack, then. I would never have even stepped in here if he was still online.”
Perceptor blinked down at his empty hands. He frowned at the blue Esprit. “I had yet to finish analyzing that.”
Rhythm’s doorwings drew back slightly, and she tilted her chin down. “Ratchet thinks otherwise.”
The black hands dropped to the scientist’s sides as he considered the dancer. “Then why did he not accompany you here?”
Her optics flashed and a smile graced her face. “He’s been in recharge for the past megacycle. I’ve been cleaning up around the ‘bay. He asked me to keep a sensor on the lab. Said that if either you or ‘Jack actually left for recharge, then I was to ‘see to it the other got some slagging recharge’ as well.” Her doorwings flicked lightly, echoing the amusement that sparked in her optics. “Wheeljack left about five kliks ago.” She tugged on his arm. “Your turn. Doctor’s orders.”
“You are welcome to return to your undertaking, I desire to finish my experiment.”
She shook her head. “No, First Aid is there, and I’m off duty as soon as you leave the lab.” Her optics narrowed up at the scientist. “I do want to go off duty, too. So you,” she pointed to the door, “out.”
Surprised at her sudden domineering attitude, Perceptor found himself pushed out of his ‘home-away-from-home.’ The doors slid closed behind him, leaving the microscope feeling a little bereft. Rhythm stood before the doors, her doorwings flared behind her, and her fists rested on her hips. She frowned at him, her optics flicking over his frame.
“That’s much better. Now, though I’m off duty, I still feel it my responsibility to see you to recharge.”
Perceptor narrowed his optics at her. Her actions and her words replaying in his processor. “How long have you been calculating this scenario.”
She trailed her fingers over his arm, leaving blue sparks along their path. “A while. “ She tilted her head, optics narrowed and her lips drawn in a thin smile. “Took me some time to convince Ratchet that I could get you out without taking a welder to your cranium.” Her fingers tightened on his arm. “Come on.”
“I presume that Ratchet intended I actually recharge, Rhythm.”
She waggled her doorwings at him, her smile taking an impish tilt. “Don’t worry, you’ll recharge.”
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Yeah, my Perceptorspeak needs some work. Thesaurus(thesauri? ^^;) are not my friends.
Also been plugging away at this for a while.... even though it's kinda short.... but I hate confrontations....
Turning a Blind Eye
Hot Spot looked up at the sound of someone storming into his quarters. He was surprised to see that it was Ratchet. Normally it would be Prowl, coming to talk to him about something one of his team members had done. It made him quite nervous to see the CMO coming in here with such an irate expression. Had he disobeyed any of Ratchet’s medical directives? He ran a quick systems check, hoping that was it, rather than the much less desirable reason that crossed his processor first.
Everything checked out fine.
Damn.
That meant it was that other, much less desirable reason that brought Ratchet to him. One of several possibilities.
Ratchet clenched a datapad in his fist, looking as though he longed for nothing better than to lob it at Hot Spot’s head. Since the CMO had a damn good throwing arm, Hot Spot prepared to duck.
Several of his team members, well slag, the rest of his team members currently lay offline in the medbay, waiting on Ratchet to get to them. The last battle had not gone well for the Protectobots and he was fortunate to have gotten off as lightly as he did. Though he preferred to be offline rather than worrying about the status of his Protectobots.
Ratchet glared at him, not having said a word since he’d come in.
Hot Spot frowned, glancing back at the datapad in the CMO’s hand. What if one of them had…
“Is there something wrong, Ratchet?”
“When were you slagging going to tell me?” the white and red mech snapped as soon as Hot Spot’s vocalizer cut off.
“Sorry?” He lifted his hands as Ratchet stalked closer.
“Sorry? Oh, you’re going to be sorry all right. Do you realize what could have happened?” The datapad waved under Hot Spot’s nose, moving too fast for the team leader to see what was on it.
“What?” He took a step back, trying to keep the CMO from pressing too close. “I don’t understand.”
“FRAGGING CHILDREN!” Ratchet suddenly howled, throwing the datapad to the ground. “You could have gotten one of my patients killed, do you not understand that? If I had been told, I would never have accepted First Aid on my medical staff. As a matter of fact-“
“WAIT!” Hot Spot didn’t want First Aid to lose the coveted position. If he did, Prime wouldn’t allow him to work on any of their crew members. It would gutter his brother’s spark. “Wait, Ratchet. What’s the problem? I’ve never heard you complain about him, and I mean really complain, before.”
Dental plates squealed, as Ratchet bent over to scoop up his discarded datapad. He shoved the pad into Hot Spot’s hands.
“I never complained before,” Ratchet snarled, enunciating each word slowly and carefully, “because I didn’t know your brother was slotting BLIND!”
Hot Spot lifted his head from the angry scribbles that covered the screen before him. “Blind?” The words ‘non-existent optical relays’ jumped out of the screen at him. His optics widened with realization. “Oh.” It bore repeating. “Oh!” Oh slag! He, and the rest of the team, had gotten used to their brother’s disability. Had helped him through it initially. It had slipped their cortexes to even mention it to their new Commander. He grimaced, eyeing the justifiably wrathful mech before him.
“Oh? How the slag did that glitch pass his full systems check… You didn’t.”
Hot Spot winced, dragging a hand down his face. “We had to. He would have been devastated if he was denied his certification.” Hot Spot looked up, pulling himself straighter. He was a team commander, and it was his duty to look after his teammates. “He worked hard for it. He deserved it.”
Ratchet glowered. “He deserves a kick in the aft. And so do you. Bend over and I’ll happily oblige what you’ve worked so hard for. Pits, you don’t even have to bend over, just hold still.”
Hot Spot matched Ratchet’s scowl with one of his own. “He knows his limitations, he would never have endangered one of his patients.”
“Do you think this is about him?” The CMO roared. “This is about the patients, some of whom are supposed to be your friends, that I have placed in his care. That I have placed in danger because you tampered with exam results.”
“Just because one of his systems is faulty, doesn’t mean he can’t do his job. He should have proven that by now.” Hot Spot snapped back. “He adapted his scanners to make up for the loss of his optics. I would never have trusted him with the rest of the Protectobots’ lives if I didn’t think he could do it.” The blue mech thrust a finger at Ratchet’s windshield. “He knows what he’s doing.”
Ratchet slapped Hot Spot’s hand away. “And you think it’s okay that you lied to your commanding officers?”
Hot Spot’s vocalizer buzzed with brief static as he cut off the first retort that popped into his vocalizer. “No,” he snarled. “But for First Aid, I would do it again.” He glowered at the medic. “You wouldn’t know what it’s like. You have no brothers.”
“You’re right, and it’s an admirable quality. But, that doesn’t make it anymore right.” Ratchet scowled and turned to leave.
Hot Spot lunged and grabbed Ratchet’s arm. “Wait, where are you going?” Ratchet scowled at the Protectobot. “You’re not going to tell Prime?”
Ratchet snorted. “Why the slag not? I’m taking that boy off the medic roster, and Optimus is going to want to know why.”
“Can’t you at least talk to him? Give him a chance? Jazz doesn’t have-“ Hot Spot winced at his mistake.
“How the fragging Pits do you know about Jazz?” Ratchet narrowed his optics. “That smelted little slagger. Doesn’t he know about patient confidentiality?”
“Ratchet, you were thought to be dead. They released your work on Jazz’s visor when they hadn’t heard from you for over a hundred vorn. They fueled trainees on your research.” Well it wasn’t technically a lie. They had released a lot of Ratchet’s research. They didn’t however release the names associated with that research.
But Ratchet didn’t need to know that.
The CMO glared at the Protectobot leader, his lips turning down in a frown. “Alright, fine. I’ll talk to him, but that’s all I’m promising.”
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This would be my official objection to the fanon that Jazz needs a visor because he's blind.... of course it's a plot device I intend to use ^^;; heh. Speaking of plot devices, this particular one's likely to turn up in another fic... *whistles innocently*
The sad thing about seeing Transformers on the big screen 6 times?
I miss my giant robots being....
well...
giant...
;.;
I'm thinking about posting daily(hopefully) chapters/snippets during nano. All cut, promise. But I don't want to get on anyone's nerves... so... objections?