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.:Fallout Zone:.

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.:Fallout Zone:.</u>

It had been a long day, the sort of long day that made you want to throw something at the clock and swear profusely. The sort of long day where no matter what you do time just seems to have stopped dead – and it was only midday.

Ratchet trudged to his quarters from medical, glaring coldly at anyone who even so much dared step on his shadow. Reaching his destination the CMO slammed a fist down on the control panel, the door slid open and he stepped inside automatically turning to key in the security lock code, not in the least bit willing to entertain company.

He all but threw himself into a nearby chair exclaiming, “What sort of god did I offend in a past life? What the frag did I do to anyone to warrant this?!” brandishing a clenched red fist at the ceiling at the same time, of course he knew this action was futile but he continued regardless, “Yeah, well the hell with you too! Believe me your divine highness, the feeling is fraggin’ mutual!”

Having got that out in the open and feeling slightly better about it he turned his attentions to the source of his current foul mood.

It wasn’t that he objected to Wheeljack’s scientific interests, he really couldn’t give a damn to be quite frank. In fact, he’d given up giving a damn several thousand years ago, apparently. He just objected to the result of his interests. No, actually, he didn’t ‘just’ object he really objected to them come to think of it.

Twenty-eight days out of a thirty-day month he’d see the engineer stumble in through the medbay doors trailing smoke, flames and damaged bodywork. It had got to the point where the medic wondered if the engineer was actually suicidally stupid or just plain unlucky. Things like scud missiles, hand grenades and landmines were not the playthings of the sane and neither was nitro-glycerine.

Today Wheeljack had arrived early; Ratchet had just about started his shift it was barely 6.30am. The first warning he got of the impending crisis was a dull boom that reverberated through the hull of the Ark, five minutes later the smoking wreck otherwise known as Wheeljack dragged itself through the doors minus a rocket launcher, a wing and half of his windshield.

“So, what was it this time, ‘Jack? Sidewinders or a nuclear warhead?” the medic had quipped, folding his arms over his chest and arching an optic ridge.

The wreckage replied sullenly in a sarcastic tone, “No, the slaggin’ microwave. Some fool left a fork in it.”

Ratchet snorted, easing Wheeljack’s good arm around his shoulders and helping him over to a repair bench, “Microwave? ‘Jack, we don’t use microwaves. Now, you gonna come clean or what?”

The engineer grumbled, “Modified frag grenade.”

“Well, it certainly fragged you up,” Ratchet had grinned easing the engineer on to a bench and kitting up to start his repairs.

Wheeljack had laughed at that but at the present moment in time Ratchet didn’t find it funny. In fact, it was so far removed from funny that it made him cringe at just how cheap a laugh it was.

He got up from the chair and headed over to his bunk falling on to it with all the decorum of a beached whale. He didn’t know what to do with himself, there was no point ranting at ‘Jack because it wouldn’t make the slightest bit of difference and there was no point reasoning with him or physically ordering him to leave that kind of stuff alone either. The indecision passed, the medic stayed put in the mother of all bad moods and hunkered down on his bunk in a sullen, edgy silence.

An hour or so later the medic slunk out of his quarters and headed for the great outdoors, hoping that a little fresh air could take his thought processes of his predicament. Thirty miles out he was starting to feel marginally better. That was until the  faint buzz of his internal comm registered and sweet Creator of all things who’s chirpy vocal followed after it without so much as an ‘excuse me’? None other than Wheeljack’s:

"Er, Ratch..."  the engineer opened, not waiting for an acknowledgement.

"WHAT?!"  the medic spat back venomously.

The engineer continued: "Guess I’m in disgrace again goin’ on that, right?"

"Yes…you could say that,"  the medic hissed, "You could also get to the point and get off my slaggin’ comm frequency!"

"Where are you?"  the engineer asked, matter of factly.

"Fifth circle of hell, seventh cell on the left," the CMO spat back.

Having had enough of the snark, Wheeljack instructed: "Stay put, I’m comin’ outside – I gotta talk to you."

"Peachy,"  Ratchet hissed and cut the link abruptly. He was going to have to find a way of maintaining radio silence for the sake of his sanity. Last time he’d tried it he’d managed to escape HQ for half a day and Prime’d sent the Aerial’s out after him and given him a three hour audio ache about it too.

Accellerating viciously and churning up a lovely dust cloud in his wake, the red and white headed into a dense patch of trees, transformed and decided to keep low profile, hoping he wouldn't be noticed. Unfortunately, Wheeljack tracked him down by the tyre tracks he’d left behind, which pleased the medic no end. He could see Wheeljack quite plainly enough but slag him. The medic wasn't in the mood to discuss things. Especially not things pertaining to explosives.

There was a rustling as Wheeljack scouted around, visually scanning the area. This was followed by a wry chuckle, “Nice try but no cigar, pal.” He turned away as if to leave and then dived headlong to his left.

Ratchet didn’t have time to react, he suddenly found himself pinned by a good few tons of highly explosive white Lancia. Scrambling to get out from the rather awkward position the engineer had forced him into, the medic threatened: “Get the frag offa me before I deck you, idiot!”

“Calm down an’ I’ll let go,” came the retort from the engineer who had the medic pinned facedown in a gorse bush in an arm lock by now, “Your call.”

Muttering obscenities in a low growl Ratchet bit back, struggling, “Get slagged. Let go of me now!”

“Or what, Ratchet? Go on,” the engineer interrupted, knowing full well he was more than a match for the medic.

“Or I’m gonna slaggin’ well kick your aft to the dark side of Saturn!” Ratchet fumed in a deadly quiet hiss.

Wheeljack relented, releasing the medic and backing away. When Ratchet used that tone of voice he meant business and that spelled a whole host of trouble for whoever had the misfortune of annoying him.

Ratchet got up, optics narrowed and neon with anger and levelled an index viciously at Wheeljack hissing in the same evil tone, “You ever do that to me again and Primus help me you’ll regret it, Wheeljack.”

Wheeljack raised his hands fending Ratchet off, sniping back defensively, “Cool down, I only came out here to talk. So far I've been threatened, cussed out an', fraggit, I'm really beginning to lose it with your attitude!”

Silence followed as the two stared each other out.

As usual, inspiration struck the engineer before the medic. He knew exactly how to disarm Ratchet, reining in his emotions and with evident amusement in his tone he asked innocently, “Say, Ratch, anyone ever tell you your optics are a lovely shade of turquoise when you’re fragged off?”

Ratchet’s annoyance fell by the wayside, replaced with disbelief and followed swiftly by bemused silence, but then Wheeljack always had known how to get the best of him when he was in one of these moods. “Slaggit, ‘Jack. That was one hell of a cheap line.”

The engineer nodded and approached the medic cautiously, “Yeah, but it worked, didn’t it? Here,” he took a can of high grade from his subspace compartment and offered it to Ratchet, “Peace offering?”

Ratchet nodded and willingly accepted the beverage, “Accepted. I take it you’re joining me?”

“Will later, back at HQ,” Wheeljack nodded, “Now, you gonna quit skulking about in these trees or what? You don’t look good in green. C’mon,” he motioned for the medic to follow him and headed out of the woods. Ratchet followed automatically, despite his misgivings and exiting the tree cover asked, “So, you gonna talk or what?”

Wheeljack threw a ‘heh’ over his shoulder then turned to face Ratchet, “Only if you give your word that you won’t rip my cranial off or re-build me as a toaster or anything along those lines.”

Ratchet’s expression was quizzical to say the least; he returned in a vaguely innocent tone, “Would I do that? Go on then, shoot. What’s on your mind?”

“‘Fire, brimstone an’ incendiary devices’ as you’d say,” Wheeljack replied noncommittally as he paused and turned to the medic. Ratchet frowned slightly, a question hovering on the edge of his awareness but ‘Jack turned away before he could ask it, motioning him onward with a brief wave of his hand. Realisation dawned and Ratchet quickstepped to catch up with the engineer, “Hey, wait up will you?”

The silence itself was answer enough for the CMO; he withdrew, falling into a contemplative silence himself and following the engineer with concern. If Wheeljack picked up on this he didn’t show it, focussing instead on his destination, which, from what Ratchet could tell, was an isolated rock formation about five hundred meters in front of them.

Reaching the rocks the engineer proceeded to sit down in the shade and motioned for the medic to do the same. Ratchet followed suit, evidently puzzled, viewing his associate with an enquiring gaze, “Well, we’re here, ‘Jack. Now, spill it.”

The engineer remained quiet, cranial slightly lowered and optics narrowed by the most minuscule fraction then slowly and cautiously reached over to take the medic’s hand before turning to him and murmuring two words:

“I’m sorry.”

The CMO’s answer was quiet as he tentatively linked fingers with the engineer, “Not as sorry as you’ll be next time you pull a stunt like that. I don’t wanna end up lookin’ for a trade in, pal. You take my meaning?”

Yes, they were close but few knew how close in reality and they were content to keep it that way.

The engineer locked optics with the medic, nodding slowly, “So, am I off the blacklist then?” his tone was a strange mixture of amusement and concern.

“Just this once. Just promise me you’ll be more careful, ok?” the medic asked.

‘Jack just glowed a smile and nodded.

=END=
Here's a very early, very short and very mild bit of slash fluff...

Enjoy and take it with a pinch of salt. It was an idle hour's work. ;)

** Typo's sorted. ><
© 2007 - 2024 DarkXenith
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fox-tamer113's avatar
Kyaa~!!!!! Love it too much!!! :worship: