Deux Ex Wheeljack
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All Ratchet wants to do is //finally// give Springer a proper medical examine. Unfortunately, it seems fate is on the Wrecker's side... [Comedy, Wheeljack/Ratchet, Transformers G1-verse]
“You can't be serious!” barked the younger mech as he tried to get back off the examination table. “I don't have time for this crap! There are battles to fight, worlds to save—OMPH!”
Ratchet calmly flicked on the magnetic restraints before going back to reviewing his patient's file. “And you've never completed a medical evaluation. Now let's see here—Springer isn't it? Says here you're the current CO for the Wreckers, correct?”
“Yes. Which means I have some commanding to go do, so if you'd just turn off these magnetics—”
“That's nice…” Idly nodding, Ratchet picked up a diagnostic probe and started toward the table. “Okay, I just need you to open up you're main panel so I can hook up to your laser core and check your spark pulse.”
“Aren't you listening?” Springer growled, glaring up at the medic. “I. Do. Not. Have. Time. For. This.”
“And I. Do. Not. Care.” the medic snarled back. “I have been trying to get you in for a proper examine since you enlisted, but every time I scheduled you, you're either conveniently off-planet or there's an emergency. All I have on your health Springer is a memo saying that you're a triple-changer, you self-identify as male, and are 27 giga-cycles old. This lack of information creates a situation that is frankly dangerous to both you and any medic treating you.” He put the probe aside and held up a rather medieval looking scissor jack. “Now, either you quit whining and open up or I will use this.”
“HA! Is that the best you got? That thing couldn't even open a tin can! Now, could you just give it a rest already and let me up? I'm a busy mech! Got things to do, places to go, Decepticons to kill…”
Ratchet's optics narrowed. “Listen here, you hopped up little blender. You are not leaving this examination room until I'm finished with your evaluation. And nothing short of an act of Primus is going to stop me.”
As if on cue, the examine room door hissed open and a Wheeljack shaped blur pounced the CMO.
“You're alive!!!!!!!! My Ratchet has come back!!!! I miiiiiiiiiiiiissed yooooooooooou so much!!!!!!” came the happy stream of babble as the engineer clung and lavished frenzied nuzzles on his recently resurrected mate.
“Not now, Jack! I'm with a…” Ratchet looked back to the table only to find that Springer (and, oddly enough, his scissor jack…) had disappeared while he was being snuggled upon. “…patient.”
“…eh, sorry about that.” Headfins flashing sheepishly, Wheeljack affectionately nuzzled the side of his neck. “So, when did you get out of quarantine?”
Ratchet stared forlornly at the open door. “Three cycles.”
“What?!” He wibbled at the medic. “You've been out for that long and you didn't comm me?!”
“Jack, I was…well, dead for almost two decades. Do you realize how much work I've had to catch up on?”
“Oh… I see…” Letting go, a very dejected engineer started trudging miserably to the door. “Well, Ratchet *sniffle*, I'm sure you've got plenty to do. I'll just *sniffle* leave you to your work…”
With an ominous `snap', the door slammed shut.
“And just where do you think going?” purred Ratchet, now sliding up behind the engineer and wrapping his arms around Wheeljack's waist. “I've got this examine room for the next two joors…”
“But what about all that work you've got to catch up on?”
“It can wait.” Slowly, he steered Wheeljack back to the examine table. “Besides, something more important just came up...”
Wheeljack arched an optic ridge. “Oh really? And what might that be?”
“I seem to be in need of a little reminder about what makes me love you so damn much instead of rebuilding you as a very large strobe light…”
“Aww, Ratchet…” came the happy little murmur as they fell back on the table. “You don't know how much I missed those wonderful threats of yours…”
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