Daaaaayyyuuuummmmm Daniel, back at it again with the late chapter updates!

Please note that whenever I make mention to Elita or Bumblebee, remember they are in each other's bodies! It's a bit tricky trying to keep everything straight, but if I mention them by name ( or use their correct pronouns ) while they are speaking, interacting, etc. know that it's me referring to them while they're swapped. Otherwise it'll just be more confusing.

Obviously when OTHER characters make reference to either Elita or Bumblebee, they are referring to the proper frames/bodies. They have no idea they've been swapped. Anyways, so excited to get to the meat and potatoes of this crack pile. So many shenanigans coming up... especially with Optimus :)

Also remember to follow, fave, and comment below! I love reading what you all have to say, but let's keep it positive, we're all friends here! :3

- AP

"I mean, I'm just saying, the cartoons are better than the live action ones," Smokescreen finished, finally taking a vent after his longwinded speech.

Ultra Magnus tuned the blue and yellow mech out the instant he brought up the topic, continuing to complete his list of tasks from Elita. Wheeljack listened, but never responded along with Arcee, both catching the other's dulled expression every now and then. Bulkhead remained the only one half-listening; giving small hums and helm nods to assure Smokescreen at least someone was listening to his cinematographic evaluation.

DING!

:: Optimus Prime to base, requesting a ground bridge at my current location. ::

Oh thank Primus, Ultra Magnus inwardly sighed in relief, clicking the transmitter on the console.

:: Understood, Sir. Bridge in-bound. ::

A large digit tapped the transmitter again, cutting the comms before locking onto the coordinates, and pulled the lever. In an instant the swirling hues of the ground bridge burst forth in the encompassing frame, the low hum rumbling and reverberating off the hangar's walls.

"Slaggit! Bee isn't back with those rags yet, and Optimus is going to lecture ME about the mess! Me! It wasn't even my fault!" the Elite Guard yelped, pacing frantically at the lip of the green pool.

"If you're so worried why don't you go to the supply vault yourself? Your legs are functional are they not?" Arcee said flatly, peering over a blue winglet at the younger mech.

"Yeah, and while you're over there tell Doc Bot and Pinkie to get their afts back he-"

"Her name is Elita-1," the rumbling baritone cut in, as the last of the Primes stepped through the edge of the bridge and into the hangar, "Or Commander. Those will be your only options, and final reminder," he added, peering down to the Wrecker with certain sternness only Ultra Magnus could rival.

Wheeljack glanced over to Bulkhead, who kept his optics locked on a data pad; his friend was on his own with this one. Very few times had he ever seen Optimus become angry, and he had no intention of reliving that particular experience.

"Yes, Sir…" the Wrecker conceded with a deflating ventilation, getting back to cleaning out Energon carts.

With the Energon transport in tow the Prime turned to face the stacked cubes, pausing at the green liquid lake squishing underfoot. Optical ridges furrowed and vents rumbled. It was obvious by the streak marks on the floor that they had tried cleaning the mess, but the task was anything but completed.

Smokescreen took immediate notice the leader's reaction, backing away towards the open door to make an escape.

"I'm on it, Optimus. Bumblebee knocked over some cubes and-"

"You're the one who backed into them," Arcee chimed in, still focused on her data pad. Smokescreen's face drooped, sheepishly glancing back up to Optimus who appeared strangely at peace with the situation… or indifferent. He looked as if his mind were somewhere else, somewhere blissful, even.

The once hint of a smile had vanished, and the Prime vented quietly as he gave a calmed response, "As a team we must all take responsibility for mistakes when they occur, and in doing so work together to rectify them. That being said, we cannot allow the human children to stay tonight if the spill remains, it could prove potentially hazardous to their health."

He himself would even lend a servo if it meant that they each could enjoy their free evening… Optimus really was looking forward to his excursion with Elita.

"Got it. I'll go find some more rags…. And Bumblebee… to help clean this…"

"If you can, see if you can locate Commander Elita as well, Smokescreen. I have my reports ready for her approval," Ultra Magnus said, only just now looking up from his data pad, catching the Prime look in his direction at Elita's name. Some things never change…

"But I can't just BE YOU, I don't know how to comman-"

*You have no other choices available. Optimus along with the others will know SOMETHING is wrong if you hide back here. You are an SIC now, a Commander, whether you like it or not.*

"Bee – I mean, Elita, is right," Ratchet corrected himself, that was a slip up he would have to rid himself with, lest blow the entire operation. "And if Optimus or any of them were to find out all our afts will be on the line." The elder mech took a brief pause, joining the other two bots near the entrance of the vault. "I'm sure I'll be able to fix it, but I just need TIME to do so. Go back to the main centre, and do your best to not raise suspicion… I'll assure you if there's any updates."

*What should we tell the others if they inquire of your whereabouts?* Elita beeped, servos on her hips and helm cocked to the side, a mannerism so completely Elita Ratchet could practically see her personality glowing from the black and yellow frame.

"Say I'm working on the power grid, hence the brief outage – and the reason why there are any more… if there are more, that is," Another pause, tone shifting from cool to slightly stern as a worn digit wagged at her, "You better stop with that, too. Remember, you're acting as each other would, mannerisms and vocal patterns included."

*What vocal patterns? All I can do is beep…* she inwardly groaned with a quiet, deflating tone. But the Scout's newly attuned audials flicked – something he was unused to and strangely offset by – leaning down in the cumbersome, fuchsia frame to his own body with a small scowl.

"What was that, Scout?"

Elita rolled her stupidly large optics, helm dipping back with a small indignant sigh. It would appear their performances had now started; best begin the act now and get a feel for it before–

"Bee? Elita? Ratchet? Are you guys in here?!" the sudden youthful voice blurted from the hangar's entrance, echoing down the hall to the vault. All three mecha froze, hoping he wouldn't wander back down here – a conclusion Elita had already sought to nip in the bud as she willed the Scout's frame forward to the exit, waving Bumblebee to follow.

Showtime, as they say.

With the Scout turned Commander in tow they both ambled out the vault as quietly as possible, not wanting Smokescreen or anyone else that had joined him to draw closer to the half-destroyed Cortical Psychic Chamber. Elita huffed, struggling to keep pace with the longer strides of the fuchsia form; she knew the height difference remained a large one, but Primus she felt so small, having to jog to stay alongside Bumblebee was something she were unused to, and he wasn't even walking THAT fast.

A note to be made for future reference…

"We're right here, Smokie!" Bumblebee called out, waving an alabaster servo to the Elite Guard who jolted in the dimly lit space, clanking against a shelving unit. Elita rolled her optics, watching as her normally cool and composed frame now resembled that of a youngling, energetic and overly emotive; something she was DEFINITELY not – and if the confused look on Smokescreen's fascia were any indication, he too had not been expecting.

"Yeah… uh, hey, Ma'am…" he awkwardly waved back, watching as they both stopped in front of him. Something seemed off but he couldn't quite put his digit on it. And why were they in the back of the vault? Ridges narrowed and he shifted to the side, trying to peer around them as though to determine the origin of their location. Elita side-stepped in front of his gaze, clearing the horrendously mangled vocoder with an influxed tone.

*Ratchet had enlisted our help with the power grid. He will be modifying it for the duration of the day.*

Bumblebee quirked an optical ridge, throwing a perplexed glance down to his black and yellow frame; that was definitely not how he sounded. Elita could feel the gaze lingering on her, and large optics drifted upward to meet cerulean already staring back. Right. She would need to alter her words to sound more like the Scout… less proper.

*So, uh… whatcha doing back here…?* she offered, moving her servos to rest on her hips, then suddenly unsure if that was how the Scout stood, so opted to instead cross her arms in front of the bulging chassis. Still didn't feel right. Slaggit. Bumblebee could feel himself cringe internally, watching the Commander's improvisation unfold like a horrible train wreck, yet he couldn't force himself to look away.

Smokescreen simply blinked, watching the mech move so strangely and uncomfortably, he was obviously hiding something… but he wouldn't ask with Elita standing right there. He had heard stories of her infamous temper and had no ambition of ever being on the receiving end of such an outburst – if one were ever to occur. He'd save his questions for later, when he and Bumblebee were in private.

"Came here to get some more rags…" the Elite Guard started, still unsure if the looming Commander were aware of the mess in the main centre.

"Oh, slag. Right! I forgot about-" the femme squawked, causing both the smaller mechs to whip their helms back up in her direction. Bumblebee could feel the smooth fascia heating at their reaction, clearing the alto vocoder with a small vent, "The mess in the main centre…" That answer wouldn't suffice, and Elita shot a deathly glare up to the Scout. Bumblebee racked his processors for an adequate answer. "I… Bumblebee, had said he was getting more rags for the spill… before Ratchet asked for our help."

The reasoning seemed sound and Smokescreen shrugged. Elita was acting strange but then again he hardly knew her. Maybe this was how she normally was, rather than the slightly colder and stern demeanour she normally projected. Primus knew Magnus were stern enough to last them all an eternity.

"You know about that?" Smokescreen whined, shoulder pauldrons drooping if ever slightly, and Bumblebee saw his chance. He was a Commander now, after all.

"Yes, I do," he hummed, flashing a smirk – Primus he could move his mouth, it still felt so strange after all these years – "I heard you knocked over some cubes?"

Smokescreen stiffened, shooting a glare over to the Scout who glanced back up to the fuchsia femme. Elita had heard the cubes fall but had no idea what the cause was… but if she were to be honest, it wasn't surprising Smokescreen were at fault.

"I can't believe you told her," the Guard whispered harshly, glowering into large optics.

"He did, and now I know whose fault it was," Bumblebee chided with a slag eating grin, he was enjoying the newfound power a bit too much. Elita rolled her optics with a pointed gaze. Children the both of them.

*It doesn't matter. You – I mean – we need to finish cleaning the mess…*

Smokescreen shrugged again, going back to survey the shelves. "I guess. Did you find them yet?"

*No, but according to the inventory list they should be a few racks away.*

PING!

Elita froze, feeling the data pad vibrate with a new notification, and if she were to wager a guess it would be Optimus. A black servo immediately rummaged about the small subspace to retrieve the data pad, and sure enough, it was the Prime. Smokescreen turned back to the Scout, noticing the gold-framed data pad now in his teammate's servo.

"Hey, when did you get that cool case? I don't remember you having one!" he exclaimed, reaching over as if to snatch it from the Scout. Elita turned away with a scowl, large optics narrowed in a defensive glare.

*I found it back here. Last one. Don't touch it,* she lied, bright blue hues scanned over the message, feeling a small worried pulse flash through her spark chamber.

OPTIMUS – [ Have you located Ratchet? ]

ELITA – [ Yes, we are in the supply hangar. ]

Digits hovered over the screen as they awaited a response, watching ellipses on the bottom of the screen already dancing as the Prime began typing his answer. Primus, they had barely fooled Smokescreen, and Bumblebee's performance hadn't instilled any confidence he would be able to trick Optimus into thinking he was really her.

"Bee! Let's go! Stop playing around on your data pad we need to clean that mess-"

*Give me a moment, Smokescreen–* she beeped in obvious irritation, pede tapping at the ground as another PING filled her audials, and quickly typed another reply.

OPTIMUS – [ Are you nearly finished? ]

ELITA – [ I believe so. ]

OPTIMUS – [ Good. Ultra Magnus has a report in need of your keen optic. ]

Elita vented quietly, glancing over her shoulder at the looming bots encircling her. Bumblebee wouldn't know how to read the report… Smokescreen shot her a look and then peered back up to the fuchsia femme who seemed to be grinning far too smugly for his liking.

ELITA – [ Have him send the report to my data pad. I will review it now. ]

OPTIMUS – [ As you wish. ]

Digits locked the screen and stored the data pad back in the small subspace, taking notice to the two bots still standing there. It took every ounce of strength not to bark an order to them, remembering she no longer were considered a Commander in this form.

*Wash rags. Second shelving unit, fifth row. Can you get them? I have to ask Elita something… there was a note on the report I'm confused by…* she beeped again. Smokescreen sneered then turned to fetch the rags from the appropriate location, muttering a quiet 'whatever' under his breath. *Come here.*

The tones lowered despite being out of audial range of the Guard, and as commanded the Scout leaned closer, still marvelling the flexibility of her frame – he could probably touch his pedes if he wanted too, a feat he wouldn't have been able to accomplish in his true frame. Focus, Bumblebee!

"What? What is it?" he replied, quieting his own voice. Elita vented again, digging about in her subspace to hand the Scout his own data pad, assuring to keep her own should Optimus text back, or Magnus send the report.

*We do not have a lot of time. Whatever Optimus says to you, you MUST go along with. Do not ask any questions, or say otherwise, you have to play along or he will KNOW there is something wrong. Do I make myself clear?*

Bumblebee nodded, not quite sure exactly what she was talking about but assumed it would be 'Commander' related. Give a few orders, maybe nod his helm a few times when making decisions. Piece of cake. Elita shifted uncomfortably, wanting to give the Scout more warning yet not wanting to reveal the intimate details of her private life. She hardly knew the mech, but still…

PING!

Optics rolled, that must have been Magnus's report, and as she peered around the fuchsia armour to find the Elite Guard she noted he was already heading back. Dammit. Their time was fleeting.

*I will handle all the logistics. Just try to impersonate me as best you can. Silence will be the key. Do not say or do anything you would normally do.*

"So uh… we done here or what?" Smokescreen called over, already making his way to the exit with a stack of fresh rags in each servo. Bumblebee nodded the fuchsia helm, grinning again back down to his superior.

"You both best get cleaning."

Dab away the awkwardness... who's ready for some shenanigans? Who will see through the act first? What will the kids think? Stay tuned for the next chapter!