Not a good day

When the call came in, the first question that had crossed his mind had been 'What happened this time?'

The second was 'Who's that laughing in the background?'

Both were answered the moment First Aid crossed the threshold of the Repair Bay and beheld the rather…unusual sight.

A black and white form…or more accurately what was supposed to be black and white, was laid out on the central repair berth, one fuchsia mottled hand flung over the usually pale-hued face in a gesture of extreme embarrassment. Wheeljack was killing himself laughing in the far corner and Ratchet was fighting hard to keep his own composure as he worked.

First Aid ventured a little closer. "Uh, boss?"
"Get over here kid, I need an extra pair of hands with this one." The CMO beckoned. The younger mech complied, stopping short when he saw exactly what he was supposed to be dealing with.
"…good grief."

Prowl turned his head slightly in the apprentice's direction and looked at him through a gap between two fingers. "Thank you for your astute observation." He half growled, not at all impressed and quite understandably so. Aside from the fairly liberal smearing in not-quite-pink-not-quite-purple paint, the 2IC had somehow managed to twist his hips 180 degrees around and lock them there. But that wasn't all. One leg had also made the front-to-back switch, but not the other, leaving the usually quietly dignified Second in Command in a very embarrassing, not at all dignified position that would require quite a bit of pulling and tugging to correct, only a small percentage of which would be in a non-embarrassing way.

That wasn't even counting what they'd have to do to get rid of the paint.

The young mech was suddenly very glad of his full-face concealing mask that kept the 2IC from seeing his open-mouthed gape of astonishment. "What happened?" He finally asked, moving to assist his mentor.
"I fell." Was the uncharacteristically short answer.

Ratchet snorted. "Slipped is more like it." He corrected, clearing out some drying paint from a side vent. "Slipped on a patch of oil on a gantry crane, got his foot caught in the crossbeams on the way down, which is when all that happened," he tapped the back-to-front leg with a pick, "struggled for a good minute while a few 'bots pointed and laughed, and just before the rescue party was able to grab him, slipped free and did a belly flop in a vat full of this." Ratchet finished, waving a scrap of fuchsia paint.

First Aid winced sympathetically. "Not a good day."
"Not by any stretch of the imagination." Was the patient's somewhat sour reply.