warning;

Characters maybe slightly out of character and that's about it. Nothing really horrid.

summary;

Ratchet wants to go to relax but Wheeljack won't allow that. Not that he means to, of course.

author's note;

Another drabble that was lingering on a flash drive. Not sure what I was really thinking when I wrote this but decided that it needed to be posted out of pure boredom.

The lights were dimmed above as the medic took a moment to sit back on one of the many examination tables. He was exhausted from the days work and just wanted a moment to himself. In times of war, there was hardly time for anyone to just sit down and clear their head, especially when many of them were about to explode from the stresses that they often hid from the humans around them with smiles and jokes. Ratchet was certainly one of them, particularly after having to repair so many broken frames after a Decepticon raid on some scientific research center. The Autobots won but still there were wounded that Ratchet had to care for.

Just as the medic offlined his optics and readied himself for some peace and quiet it happened. The base's walls gave a mighty shake as an explosion sounded off of them. He stilled and counted down from ten before a communications link came in from Prowl, alerting the Autobot that his best friend had managed to fail at yet another experiment. Groaning, Ratchet pushed himself to a sitting position and his azure optics brightened to their highest settings when his frustration hit a high.

He wasted no time in making his way to the science department and over to the explosive inventor's lab. He palmed open the door with ease and looked inside, not in the slightest surprised when he found his friend leaning against the far wall. He approached with what he was sure had been a scowl like none he offered to any other.

When the inventor had taken notice to the medic, his fins light up cheerfully and he nabbed the arm that he'd blown off. Without missing a beat, he lifted it and waved it back and forth. "Hey, Ratch'," he said with a small chuckle, "Imagine meeting you here."

"Imagine that," he huffed in response. Leaning down next to Wheeljack, he pulled out a small kit and began digging through it for the tools that needed. "Just what did you do this time?"

"Well," he answered with what could only be described as a sheepish look, "it seems we have a small mouse problem. I hope the little guy got out of the blast okay."

There was nothing Ratchet could do to stop the small twitch of his mouth. Leave it to Wheeljack to be concerned by a stupid organic pest when his arm was blown off and armor charred. Even though his peace had been disturbed, the inventor had a way of making it okay because of moments like this. It was difficult to be upset with him and it always had been since the moment they met.

"You're a glitch," he replied as he began to work, after nabbing the arm from his friend's hand.

"Takes one to know one," he said cheekily then flinched, "ow! Careful. That's sensitive wiring you're tugging around there."