ante_luce | Secrets of the Groundbound Kind [Part 10]

Title: Secrets of the Groundbound Kind [Part 10]
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.

“Frag, I’m in trouble.”

Twin nods from his team mates indicated their agreement with the Porsche’s sentiment as Ratchet stalked out of his office and towards their ward, temper clearly building up to rant worthy status. Trailing the medic was a doorwinged mech, expression mildly exasperated.

As they neared the door to the room the Ops trio occupied, the main entrance to the med bay opened to admit another two Datsuns. From inside the ward, the three could hear Ratchet snap at the grey and red member of Prowl’s trine.

“Oh, no you don’t, Bluestreak, I’m going to yell at Jazz, and all the bumblepuppy optics you can give me will not change that.” The CMO said sternly, keeping his optics focused straight ahead. “In fact, I’m going to avoid looking at you until I’ve chewed the idiot Porsche out good and proper.”

Bluestreak chirred disappointedly, and Smokescreen patted him consolingly on the back as they caught up with Prowl, and all three followed Ratchet into the isolation ward, turning down their audios as the medic launched into a blistering tirade.

= = =

~How long has he been at it?~ Smokescreen glanced at Bluestreak, and shrugged, doorwings dipping in amusement.

~About 15 minutes. Give or take.~

~Shouldn’t we get him to stop?~

~The usual methods aren’t going to work, I think. You heard Ratchet, he’s not going to make optic contact with you until he’s vented properly.~

~… So, drastic measures?~

~Drastic measures.~

~I can hear you two plotting, you know.~

They grinned at Prowl, who deigned to grace them with a thoroughly unamused look. The gunner fluttered his doors pleadingly, and the diversionary mech hummed the subsonic equivalent of ‘pretty please with energon goodies on top?’ (Jazz valiantly hid his snicker at that, not wanting to frag Ratchet off any further, even though he didn’t understand why Smokescreen was making puppy optics at the SIC).

~Look at it this way, Prowl. We can’t stay here forever, Ratchet needs to scan them, and we’re the only ones with the protocols he’ll need if ‘Bee turns out to be Praxus sparked, and Jazz’ll need our help with his programming regardless.~

The black and white Datsun sighed, venting air irritably. ~It’s undignified.~

~But effective. In any case, Ratchet’s started to repeat himself, so we’re really doing him a favour too.~

There was a quiet, resigned hum from the tactician as Mirage and Bumblebee discretely took note of the way the fully fledged trine interacted, another reason Smokescreen had chosen to have this little negotiation session in front of them (and in line of sight of Ratchet).

The grouping instinct (or perhaps he should say ‘flocking’ instinct) was strong in seeker types, even the grounded variation liked having other trines about them. Therefore, anything that encouraged the Ops mechs to form a trine was to be grabbed hold of and thrust into their faceplates, and their ability to communicate silently without drawing notice would definitely be of interest to an Ops bot.

Glancing over the way the Ops mechs were clustered together, Smokescreen considered that perhaps this demonstration hadn’t been needed. But he was a tactician. Even if he did like to play the odds, he much preferred to subtly stack those odds in his favour. The diversionary mech grinned as he heard Prowl’s reluctant interruption of Ratchet’s tantrum.

“Ratchet.”

“What?!”

The medic turned around, annoyed at the disruption. The SIC sighed, clinging to a vague hope that the CMO would have gotten over his aggravation enough to be reasonable.

“I think we need to move on to other matters.”

“I’m not done yet.”

Apparently not. Smokescreen’s grin spread into a full blown smirk as he heard Prowl chirr what translated to ‘You owe me, big time’ in seeker cant to a completely bewildered and trying very hard to hide it Jazz, before the black and white Datsun reached out to tug on the ambulance’s arm.

“Please, Ratchet?”

The grey chevroned mech stared. This wasn’t Bluestreak’s bumblepuppy look.

This was the look of a kicked bumblepuppy who’d just watched all its bumblepuppy friends being kicked, one after the other, right before its optics.

Ratchet’s mouth worked noiselessly for a few moments, and Prowl’s doors drooped pitifully, pushing the CMO over the edge. Faceplates buried in a red palm, he muttered lowly. “Frag. I don’t know if I should hug you, clock you upside the helm or sign over my life savings to you. When in Primus’s name did you learn to pull Bluestreak’s damnable puppy optics?!”

The gunner broke out into giggles (really, Jazz, Bumblebee and Mirage’s faces) as Prowl growled and folded his arms across his torso, pleading expression disappearing the moment he judged the medic’s temper well and truly derailed.

“Learn? Ratchet, Prowl’s the one who taught me.”

= = =

As Ratchet grumbled and stalked about his med bay, setting up the equipment for the scans, Prowl informed the Ops mechs on the need for the procedure on all three of them. The trio were subdued, even as they agreed to undergo the examination, staring at the Datsun like he’d grown a second head. Throwing up his hands in irritation, the tactician huffed at his still smirking trinemates.

“Oh, for Primus’s sake. This is why I didn’t want to use it on Ratchet.”

“Prowl, can I ask, respectfully, that you never use that face on us?” Jazz queried, hiding his smile behind a dark hand. The Datsun muttered back, tone dry.

“I don’t think you need to worry about that.”

Smokescreen laughed, leaning back against a convenient berth. “Hey, it does have its uses, Prowl. Keeps Prime from overworking himself too often.”

“Now that’s a story I have to hear.” Bumblebee interjected eagerly, and the diversionary mech indulged the scout.

“Optimus was dealing poorly with the aftermath of a battle, heavy losses, critically injured, exhausted supplies, everything. But one shot of the Look and Prime’s toddling off to his berth like a good mech, and when he onlined the next day and actually managed to process that Prowl had bumblepuppy opticked him into obedience, he crashed, allowing Ratchet to finally get him properly checked over. Now Prowl only has to glance over at Optimus to get him to take a break.”

“Huh. So that’s how you did it.”

The medic had come over to announce that he was done setting up. “I guess I can’t argue with any method that gets that stubborn glitch to rest. But you.” He pointed at the SIC.

“No more puppy optics at me. It’s not fair. And Mirage, I’ll be scanning you first, so get your aft over there.”

Prowl flicked his doors in a non-committal manner (eliciting more hidden snickers from the Ops mechs and his trinemates), and Mirage dutifully wandered over to the setup Ratchet had indicated.