FicWad

Ratchet was at the repair-bay, but not because of any medical emergency. This time he was doing a maintenance check on his medical tools, taking advantage of the peace and quiet the day provided. After all, Ratchet knew from experience that those kind of interludes were always followed by gruesome battles, which left several Autobots injured and /him/having to tend said injured Autobots.



Just when he thought he had finished, the door of the repair-bay hissed open. Ratchet looked up... and at the next moment he huffed in dismay.



"What did you do this time?" he asked the newcomer, all but glaring.



Sideswipe didn't answer though. And to Ratchet's puzzlement, he was barely looking the medic in the optic.



That meant things were quite serious.



"What happened?" Ratchet asked again, less irritated than before. "And, more importantly, where's your brother?" If there was one thing Ratchet knew well about the twins was that one hardly went anywhere without the other following.



"He's with Bluestreak," Sideswipe said softly. "He's trying to talk him into coming here."



Ratchet stiffened at once. "Why?" he demanded.



"Look, Ratchet," Sideswipe said, "I won't blame you if you get upset, but what happened wasn't Bluestreak's fault."



"What wasn't Bluestreak's fault?" Ratchet asked, keeping his temper in check.



Ratchet got his answer when Bluestreak came in, followed closely behind by Sunstreaker. To say that the young gunner resembled a robo-dog afraid to get beaten would have been an understatement.



"I'm sorry, Ratchet." Bluestreak's voice was barely audible in his shame, and he kept his head bowed.



"What are you talking about?" Ratchet asked impatiently. Honestly, this was getting tiresome and he wanted the time of riddles to be over and done with.



But then he caught sight of Bluestreak's door panels. And he was shocked to see that the right one was /completely/twisted out of shape.



"What in Primus's name did you do?!" Ratchet cried out incredulously, standing up at once to look closer at the damage. "I put these on you just yesterday!"



"Ratchet, I already told you--"Sideswipe started.



However, Bluestreak proved faster.



"I fell."



Now Ratchet was downright sceptical about that statement.



"You fell," he echoed, not believing this for a second.



Bluestreak nodded his head slowly, still averting Ratchet's scrutinising stare.



Ratchet sighed, because he understood the kid didn't intend to make things easy for him. Even so, Ratchet wasn't planning on giving up either.



"Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, thank you for bringing him here," he said. "You can go now."



"Can you fix the door?" Sideswipe asked hopefully.



"It's not very serious, is it?" Sunstreaker seconded, eyes locked on the medic.



"Yes and no, it's not," Ratchet said, prodding Bluestreak to lie face-down on one of the berths before turning back to the twins. "And I said out. I don't need an audience."



The twins, surprisingly enough, didn't scamper off as they usually did whenever they risked facing the wrath of aparticularly peeved medic. They cast one last glance at Bluestreak's direction, cringing when they realised the young gunner wasn't looking at them /either/; then walked out in silence, their shoulders slumped forward.



Now that was intriguing, but Ratchet didn't have the luxury to think about it much just yet. He had to take care of Bluestreak first. He walked up to the berth and placed both hands on the twisted door-panel carefully in order to check the damage.



Bluestreak twitched involuntarily, startled at the touch.



"Hey, none of that," Ratchet said, giving Bluestreak a small slap on his shoulder. "You want this fixed or not?"



Bluestreak settled down at once, trying to relax. "I'm sorry."



Ratchet shook his head and gripped the door-panel with both hands again. "You keep saying that," he said. He tugged the door upwards and then left, separating it from Bluestreak's body with alight clicking sound. "But it looks to me like someone else should be apologising instead of you."



"They didn't mean it."



Ratchet looked at Bluestreak hard, for he knew perfectly well who Bluestreak meant by 'they'. "So they did have something to do with this."



"It's not what it sounds like,"Bluestreak said at once. "They wanted to show me a game." And so the gunner explained what happened; whereas the medic listened, his expression clouding when his patient finally concluded his story.



"Right." Ratchet hanged the door from acouple of fireproof cables and picked up a flamethrower. "Well, since Prowl is out on a mission, I might as well have a word with them afterwards." And with that, he turned on the flamethrower, aiming it directly at the door panel to heat it up.



"But, Ratchet!" Bluestreak exclaimed, propping himself on his elbows. "It wasn't their fault!"



Ratchet snorted. "They say it wasn't your fault; you say it wasn't theirs. Then whose fault was it then, hmm?"



"I just made a mistake," Bluestreak said, wringing his hands nervously, "I didn't mean for it to happen, but it happened anyway. I know I can't do anything about it now, but I'll try not to let it happen again, because I know how upset you get and..."



But Ratchet had stopped listening to Bluestreak's incessant stream of words a while back. In fact, the medic had his lips pursed and was thinking hard, for he realised he was getting Bluestreak frustrated - the last thing Ratchet wanted. After all, it was clear the young gunner was already feeling bad enough about what happened; Ratchet didn't need to push things further. So, he turned off the flamethrower and picked up alarge pincer to grip the - now reddened - door from one side.



"Help me here, will you? I'm only one mech."



Bluestreak stopped talking at once, then got up and picked up a pincer too. As soon as the gunner got a good hold on the door as well, Ratchet loosened the cables and both mechs carried the door on the table, where the medic started banging the metal back into its right shape. Neither mech spoke for some time, letting the sound of the hammer fill the room.



Finally, Ratchet put the hammer down to spray some cooling agent on the door and, moments later, the door panel was as good as new, its silver hue shining brilliantly.



"All done," Ratchet declared. "Lie down."



Bluestreak complied, waiting patiently for Ratchet to reinstall the door on his back. Still, Ratchet could tell that that there was something else bothering the gunner.



"What is it?" he asked, pressing the door back in the hole.



Bluestreak turned his head so he could look at Ratchet.



"Are you going to tell Prowl?" The young one's voice was uncertain, even a bit apprehensive. "I mean, I know you have to report to him, but I don't want him to know, because then he'll punish the twins and that will be unfair, because it was really an accident..."



Primus... Ratchet thought wearily.



However, Bluestreak had a point. And so, even though the medic knew he was going to regret this, he came to an important decision.



"No, I'm not going to tell him," he said. "I think all three of you got your lesson for today, and that should be enough."



"Okay," Bluestreak said, his relief quite audible. "Thanks, Ratchet."



"Yeah, sure," Ratchet said, smiling abit. He gave Bluestreak a light shove on the arm. "Now get out of my repair-bay; I have work to do."



"Okay." Bluestreak immediately stood up.



"And you'd better not get those doors ruined again!"



"Okay."



"And stop saying 'okay'!"



"Okay... Um... I mean... right..." Blushing profusely, Bluestreak just bowed his head slightly in thanks and walked out.



Ratchet could only shake his head, amused. Damn it, Prowl was right.



It was impossible to stay angry at the kid.





To Be Concluded...