Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers. Probably never will...okay, I never will.

A/N: Another plot bunny from cheysulinight over on LJ.

The bunny: Traffic lights in the Ark

Jammed

"Frag it, you glitches!" Ratchet yelled, throwing the tool currently in his grasp to the floor. "This is it! I've had enough of repairing you aft-heads after you do stupid things!"

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker shared an uneasy glance. The CMO was truly ticked off, quite angrier than they had seen him in a while. Still, they were confident they could win over the Hatchet.

"But Ratchet, it was an accident," Sunstreaker began.

"Yeah, an accident. We didn't mean to get all dinged and banged up," Sideswipe continued.

Ratchet felt his ire rising. "An accident. An accident? Of course, why didn't you say so? You didn't mean to? Of course you didn't—how silly of me…" he grit out.

Since his processors were in capable of detecting blatant sarcasm, Sideswipe gleefully hopped onto a berth. "Awesome. 'Kay, first I suggest you start here, on my shoulder, some of the wires are shorted. Then you can…"

As the red twin continued to babble, Sunstreaker watched in unmasked terror as Ratchet's frame began to shake. The medic was seething—close to his boiling point.

"Uh, Sides…"

"And there's this chip on my helm, right here…"

"Bro…"

"Oh, and make sure you get the dent on my aft…"

That fragged it.

"Get. Out." Ratchet stood with his arms stiffly crossed, optics flickering in rage.

"Huh? Why?" Sideswipe inquired, tilting his head to the side.

Tugging on his brother's arm, Sunstreaker said, "Don't ask, Sides, let's just get out of here."

"But…" Sideswipe protested. "Ratchet hasn't fixed us yet. He's slackin' on the job!"

"Sides, no!"

Striding forward, Ratchet grasped both mechs by their necks with his strong hands. Without a word, he dragged them (whining and struggling like sparklings) to the med bay doors.

Meanwhile, in the hallway, Jazz walked by the med bay, intending to drop in and say hi to the CMO on his way to his next shift. Right before he reached the doors, two Lamborghinis landed harshly and unceremoniously on their afts in the hallway.

An accompanying shout left the vocal processor of a pissed CMO. "And stay out! Go repair yourselves, slaggin' pieces of scrap."

Dazedly, the Twins stood, checking one another over for any additional injuries. Considerably stunned, yet amused, Jazz chuckled and approached the two. "So, what'd ya do to get Ratch's wires in a twist this time?"

"Nothing! He's finally gone nuts and bolts," Sideswipe said.

"And it has nothin' ta do with ya both constantly gettin' slagged and goin' in for repairs?"

Sunstreaker glared at the med bay doors. "So? He's always repaired us before."

"He seemed really annoyed this time, Sunny. Hatchet's never kicked us out before…at least not like that."

"Well, why don't you two go see if Wheeljack'll fix ya up this time? I'll talk to Ratch."

Without waiting for a reply, the saboteur went sauntering into the med bay—only to dodge a flying wrench aimed at his head with lethal force.

"I said, stay out! Don't your audios work, or are they slagged, too?" Ratchet growled without turning around from the work he was focused on.

Jazz sensed the medic was a tad on edge… "Sorry, Ratch, I can come back later."

Whipping around, blue optics focused on Jazz. A brief scan tickled the Porsche's systems.

"I apologize, Jazz. And nothing appears to be wrong with you, so why are you here?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I was jus' stoppin' in ta say hey."

"Hmm..." Ratchet murmured returning to his work.

Deciding that was an invitation to stay, Jazz took a seat on a berth nearby. Kicking his legs back and forth, he paused a moment before mentioning the Twins. "I saw ya kicked out Sunny and Sides."

"Yes. They're beyond irritating and hopeless. I refuse to repair them."

"Why? What'd they do this time?"

"They tried to get down one of the narrower corridors before one of the mini-bots could."

"And?"

"They slagged themselves in the process. As they ran for the end of the corridor, they slammed into one another. Stupid aft-heads."

The saboteur then proceeded to fall off the berth laughing uncontrollably.

"Yes, keep laughing, Jazz. I hope you didn't get a ding from that fall—I won't fix it."

Sitting up on the floor, Jazz marveled at the Twins' uncanny ability to alternately frag themselves and anger the CMO.

"Not much we can do ta prevent their shenanigans."

"Oh, you think that, do you?"

Standing up, Jazz moved closer to Ratchet. "Why? What've you got planned?"

"I'm working on it right now, in fact. And once I've talked with Prime, there will be no more hallway incidents for me to deal with."

"I dunno, Ratch. What is it you're tinkerin' with there?"

Wordlessly, the medic smirked and held up his project. Jazz's optics flickered as he gaped in surprise. "You gotta be kiddin' me…"

Stepping into the middle of the busiest cross-section of hallways at this early hour in the Ark, Prowl raised his right hand and emitted a high-pitched whistle from his systems. Keeping his right hand up, with his left he motioned a group of mechs forward. Waiting patiently for them to cross the hallway to the rec room, an obnoxious horn blasted at him.

Why, oh why, did Primus see fit to curse the poor tactician with crossing guard duties? Arguing with Prime had not gone as well as Prowl had initially hope when he was first assigned the task. Now, every morning as shifts were changing, the second in command had the wonderful duty of, well, basically directing traffic. The traffic lights in various corridors that Ratchet and Wheeljack had installed dealt with normal traffic, but at shift changes, mechs in alt modes needed to come in and out for patrols, as well as pedestrians making their way around the halls. Thus, Prowl stood miserably in the middle of the hall, listening to the continued honking of a golden Lamborghini.

Whipping his head around, Prowl glared at the offending car. "Wait your turn."

Sunstreaker's voice carried out from his speedy alt-mode. "Some of us are trying to get to our patrol shifts on time. Primus, the light's green!"

"It doesn't matter. There are still mechs trying to cross the hallway safely. Again, wait your turn."

"Yeah, stupid, slow mini-bots," Sideswipe grumbled. He revved his engine and rolled forward a tad—almost running over Cliffjumper's foot as he passed by.

"Hey, watch it! I'm walkin' here!"

"Hey, Sides, they're done crossing, and Prowl's looking the other way. Let's go!"

'"The light is red now."

"Frag that! I'm tired of waiting," Sunstreaker said. And with that, he zoomed forward into the cross-section of the hallway.

CRASH!!

"Aw, slag! My paintjob!"

"Your paintjob?! That's all you got to say?" Ironhide cried out. "I'm gonna rip you apart piece by piece, Sunstreaker!"

"AHHHH!"

Transforming, Sideswipe winced as he watched his brother get beat on by the red van. Prowl stood next to him watching as well. "Aren't you going to stop them?" Sideswipe asked.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Ratchet's coming down the hallway…I'd much rather watch that scenario play out."

"Oh..."

"Sunstreaker!! You glitch! You've damaged yourself for the last time!" Ratchet growled.

Prowl and Sideswipe's optics would have widened in awe and shock if they could have as they watched Ratchet join in the fray, putting Sunny into an interesting headlock...

In the background, they heard First Aid mutter, "I'll go prepare the med bay."

The tactician looked to the red twin. "Once they untangle themselves, bring him down to the med bay."

"Yes, sir," Sideswipe said.

"And Sideswipe?"

"Yes, Prowl?"

"Prime's coming down the hallway. I'll leave you to explain the situation."

"But—I—Prowl?" Sideswipe struggled. However, the tactician had already made himself scarce.

"What the frag is going on?!" Optimus shouted.

"Uh oh…"