Hurricane Of Color

"GET BACK HERE, YOU SLAGGERS!"

Ratchet stopped dead in the middle of one of the Ark's main hallways, giving the Cybertronian equivalent of a sigh. He had just gotten off a triple shift in the medbay and really wanted nothing more than to grab a cube of energon from the rec room, then head back to his quarters for a long-overdue recharge. However, at the sound of the feminine yell, he had a feeling that he was going to get neither of those things. Bracing himself for the worst, he resumed his walking, only to flatten himself against the wall two seconds later as two blurs – one red, one yellow – raced past him as if Primus himself was on their heels.

'Oh Primus,' Ratchet thought to himself, sighing again. 'The Twins're at it again. Ten credits says I'm banging dents outta their afts by the end of the joor.'

Shaking his head, Ratchet started walking again and rounded a corner, only to be knocked to the ground and pinned beneath an angry femme.

"WHY YOU FRAGGIN' GLITCH, YOU'VE GOT SOME - !"

The femme, who mere kliks before had seemed ready to violently deactivate whichever bot had been unfortunate enough to cross her path, had fallen silent, optics wide behind her visor with embarrassment.

'Out of all the 'bots I could have run into and landed on, I had to pick the one that I've got feelings for,' the femme thought as her doorwings twitched nervously. 'It's orns like this that I swear Primus hates me.'

Ratchet took in the femme lying atop his chestplates; the first thought to cross his processor was that she looked vaguely familiar. Despite lying down, it was obvious that she was roughly half a head shorter than he; her original paintjob, however, was completely indiscernible underneath the magenta and lavender paint that covered her frame. It wasn't until he noticed the blue visor (distorted on one side by a huge blob of purple paint) and the chevron atop her helm (it seemed to be, for some reason, the only spot on her frame that had retained its original coloring – red) that Ratchet realized who was currently sprawled on top of him.

"Rave?" he asked, disbelief coloring his tone.

The only answer he received was the clang that resonated (both in sound and in vibration up his frame) as the femme let her head drop so that her visor and faceplates were pressed against his windscreen. Ratchet cycled air slowly through his intakes, trying (and failing) to ignore the pleasant heat singing through his wiring at having the object of his affections lying atop his frame.

"Just offline me now," came the muffled reply against the medic's windscreen.

Chuckling slightly, Ratchet felt his anger at being violently run over dissipate; it seemed, for some illogical reason, that he was incapable of remaining angry at Rave for any period of time. It had been that way ever since she was onlined; whether she knew it or not, she had Ratchet wrapped around her little finger, as the Earth saying went.

"Now why in the Matrix would I do that?" he asked, poking her gently in the side.

"Oooh!" Rave squealed as she jolted slightly, not having expected the sudden sensation of being touched on her already over-sensitized circuits.

Bringing her head up to glare at Ratchet, she spoke.

"Now why would ya do that? Huh?"

"Because I wanted to, and because you literally ran me over, so I think it's only fair that I get some form of comeuppance," the CMO replied, optics twinkling in his amusement. "Now, would you mind telling me why you're covered in pink and purple paint?"

The smile that had formed at the CMO's answer fell from her faceplates and became a scowl as Rave wriggled herself farther up his body and dropped her helm down to rest comfortably on the top of his windscreen. Ratchet's optics widened slightly at her movement, but from what he could tell, Rave was totally unaware of her actions. Sighing as the tension began leaving her frame, she spoke.

"Y'know, the worst part is that it wasn't even meant for me."

Ratchet tried and failed to stifle his chuckle, prompting Rave to shoot him a glare. However, she made no other motions against him and settled her helm comfortably back down atop his chestplates once more.

"I had passed Sunny and Sides lounging in the hallway outside Prowl's office, but stupidly thought nothing of it until afterwards. It was obvious that the paint bombs had been meant for Father and not for me, but that certainly did nothing to stifle my anger when it happened."

"Makes sense," Ratchet supplied quietly, smiling to himself.

It was at moments like these where the medic was reminded exactly how much Rave was Prowl's and Jazz's offspring. The very straightforward and logical statements were all the tactician (as well as the well-thought-out plots for revenge), while the passion, humor, and enjoyment of all life's experiences were strictly Jazz. Put together, the second- and third-in-command's offspring made quite a formidable opponent and a lovable friend.

"I freaked out," Rave said, shrugging slightly. "The last thing I expected to find in Father's office was a half-dozen paint bombs. So, I left the office (dripping wet paint all over, mind you), and the Twin Terrors were still lounging against the wall one hallway over, grinning maniacally."

Rave paused, looked up at Ratchet, and grinned, a mischievous twinkle in her optics.

"They weren't grinning for long, though."

Ratchet laughed, optics twinkling, as he clapped Rave on the back in approval, at the same time being mindful of her doorwings.

"I guessed as much," he replied, still grinning. "They almost ran me down before you came hurtling around the corner. It was as if they had the entire Decepticon armada on their rear bumpers. Quite a sight, let me tell you."

"I am sorry for that, y'know," Rave said quietly, her expression sobering some as she looked up at the Autobot medic. "I didn't mean to – "

"It's okay," Ratchet interrupted the younger femme, bringing his right hand to rest on her shoulder; the other seemed to fall to her left hip of its own accord. "Neither of us is injured, and it's about time somebody put those hellions in their places. It's just a shame you didn't actually catch them."

The twinkle in Ratchet's optics had returned, but his words caused Rave to blush, a sheepish expression on her faceplates.

"Well, that's not entirely true…"

Ratchet's optics widened as the implications of the femme's sentence reached his processor. Maybe that internal ten-credit bet from earlier wasn't so far off after all. Opening his mouth to speak, he was cut off as four other 'bots rounded the corner, one of whom decided to, as the Earthlings put it, add his own two cents to the situation.

"It's about time you made your move, Ratch," supplied Wheeljack, earfins flashing a positively gleeful light blue.

Wheeljack, however, seemed to be the only one unfazed by the situation. Jazz seemed slightly taken aback, but was obviously warming up to the idea of his offspring and the medic being more than friends, if the steadily-growing grin on his faceplates was any indication; Prowl seemed to be hovering on the edge of having his battle computer lock up, and Optimus Prime wore an expression that made it perfectly clear that he was at a complete loss as to how to deal with the current situation. Faceplates warming with embarrassment, Ratchet and Rave scrambled up off the floor and away from one another.

Rave settled for a respectful parade rest, head bowed so that she wouldn't have to face looking the other officers in the optics. She knew exactly how this must look to the others, especially given the paint covering both her and Ratchet, and compounded with the fact that she had been discovered lying on top of the CMO in the middle of a public hallway, she might as well march back to her quarters right now and never leave.

Ratchet, on the other hand, stood straight, expression neutral, glancing back and forth between his fellow officers. Prime wouldn't dare throw him in the brig, because he found out the hard way exactly how difficult routine maintenance could be the last time he tried that…As for Wheeljack, he'd yell at the fragger later. The two had been friends for longer than some of the bots on the Ark had been online, and he was used to 'Jack's teasing. Jazz seemed to be okay with the idea of him and Rave together, so the medic took that as a green light for when he eventually got up the courage to talk to the femme about how he felt. (Granted, that might now be sooner than he had originally figured, given what Wheeljack had said…) Prowl, on the other hand – Ratchet had always figured that of the two, he'd be the more protective parent. At the current moment, he wasn't sure whether Prowl was overwhelmed at the pure absurdity of the situation, or at the fact that Rave was his offspring, or both…either way, they would sort things out.

"I want an explanation for this," Prowl said quietly, glancing back and forth between the medic and the spy.

"Well, it's obvious – "

"'Jack, if you'd like to remain an engineer and not an Easy-Bake Oven, I suggest you shut it," Ratchet threatened.

Wheeljack's earfins flashed happily, but he ceased his comments. Another couple kliks passed in silence before Optimus spoke up.

"Well? Rave?"

Rave looked up at her Prime, completely and utterly embarrassed. Optimus was one of the 'bots she looked up to and respected no matter what (the other four being her creators, Ratchet, and Wheeljack), and here he had found her with the medic on the floor in a semi-compromising position….

"It's not what it looks like," Rave supplied guiltily, prompting a chuckle from Wheeljack and Jazz (the latter got a glare from the tactician in response). "Really."

Optimus nodded, internally noting the beginning of a processor-ache; it was shaping up to be one of those nights, it seemed.

"Really?" he prompted in a doubtful tone, getting a vigorous nod in return from the femme. "Well then, would you mind enlightening us on what really did happen?"

Rave sighed, her expression falling. Steeling herself for the worst, she began to speak.

"Okay. So. I was heading to Father's office to drop off one of the datapads I borrowed two orns ago, and I hadn't gotten a chance to drop it off yesterday – I apologize for that, by the way – and -"

Rave jumped slightly and stopped talking; Ratchet had put a hand on her shoulder.

"You sound like Bluestreak. Slow down or you'll glitch."

Rave nodded, beginning to cycle air more slowly through her intakes. Both she and Ratchet missed the look the four officers shared at the unexpected show of kindness from the medic. Granted, the four were the only other members of the Ark (other than Rave and Ratchet themselves) that were aware of the femme having inherited Prowl's glitch, but that didn't necessarily explain the CMO's attitude. If it had been any other bot in place of Rave, Ratchet would have been close to shouting or throwing the nearest object by this point. Shuttering and unshuttering her optics once, the femme took one last slow, shuddering breath before continuing.

"Sorry about that," Rave said softly, meeting optics with Prime.

"Quite okay," he replied. "Continue, please."

"So I went to Father's office to return the datapad. I had passed Sunstreaker and Sideswipe in the hallway adjacent to the one where Father's office is, and they were cracking up over something, but I didn't think anything of it. After all, their laughter out of context just means they're still crazy," Rave said, grinning slightly, which gained a grin from Jazz in return. "I got to Father's office, punched in the code for the door, and as soon as the door opened and I stepped inside, five or six paint bombs exploded in my face."

Rave scowled at her fellow officers, but not feeling her anger as much as she had earlier.

"So, I did what pretty much anybot would have done in my place."

"Which was?" Optimus prompted.

"I yelled at 'em and started chasin' the fraggers," Rave replied, grinning proudly.

Wheeljack's earfins flashed merrily as Jazz laughed. Ratchet smiled broadly, but said nothing, lest his actions possibly incriminate him or Rave further. (Internally, however, he was extremely proud of the black and white femme.) Optimus gave no reaction, which Ratchet knew meant that he was trying very hard not to laugh, and Prowl simply scowled.

"You do realize that running through the Ark's hallways is prohibited?" Prowl asked.

"Yep," Rave replied, still grinning.

"And that threatening other officers – which I assume you did, based on your past history with the Twins – is also illegal?"

"Mhmm."

"And that public displays of affection in such a manner as you two were engaging are – "

"Hey! There were no public displays of anything, you fragger, and don't go assuming – "

"Ratchet," Optimus cut in, a small smile starting to shine through the emotionless mask, "play nice."

Ratchet revved his engine softly, but said nothing more. Prowl, who had watched the exchange between the CMO and his Prime, now turned his gaze back on his offspring.

"To return to our previous discussion, you admit knowing that your actions were prohibited, and yet you carried them out anyway. May I ask why?"

"The slaggers painted me pink and purple!" Rave raged, gesturing to her frame, upon which the aforementioned paint was finally beginning to dry. "I suppose I could have been the good little Autobot and just come to you (leaving a drippy paint trail behind in the halls as I tried to locate you, I might add – which, by the way, there already is outside your office), but you can't honestly tell me – and really honestly – that if Dad had walked through that door before I did, and he took the same actions I did, that you wouldn't let him off with a warning 'cause he's your bondmate."

The glare Rave fixed her creator with rivaled Prowl's own.

"I would not have done so. Just because Jazz is my bondmate does not make him exempt from the rules."

"Uh, Prowler?" Jazz asked tentatively.

Prowl turned to face the saboteur, an inquisitive look on his faceplates.

"Yes, Jazz?"

"Not to undermine ya or anythin', but, uh, ya have done that before."

Prowl's optics brightened and his faceplates heated up in a blush as he realized that the words Jazz spoke were truth.

"Hush, Jazz."

At this, Optimus and Ratchet outright laughed, and Rave grinned, knowing she had won. Very few 'bots, during the course of an argument, had effectively backed the tactician into a corner, and it only seemed fitting that one of the 'bots that had this power would be his own offspring.

"See?" Rave said defiantly, sounding very childish in that moment and finding herself not caring.

"Well then, Rave, if we're misinterpreting the situation, by all means, correct us."

"She ran me over," Ratchet put in, grinning.

"What?" Wheeljack piped up.

"She. Ran. Me. Over," Ratchet repeated, emphasizing each word as if talking to a sparkling.

"What, like a drive by?" Jazz asked, clearly confused.

If the Cybertronian frame had allowed optics to roll in their sockets, Rave would have done so. Sighing but with a grin still on her face, she spoke.

"I was running after Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumbaft, rounded the corner, and rammed straight into Ratchet, who was trying to turn the same corner. He never saw me comin'," Rave finished, grinning cheekily at the CMO, who quirked a smile, optics twinkling, in return.

"So you two laying in the middle of the corridor…" Optimus began.

"Was just because we got distracted after the collision, but not like that, get your CPU outta the gutter, 'Jack!" Rave said, tacking on the last bit at the expression that had lit up the engineer's faceplates. "I swear, you seriously need to have your processors 'faced out. Maybe then you'll get off my back about my lack of a love life."

Shooting the group of officers a mischievous smirk (one which Jazz readily returned), Rave turned and yanked gently on Ratchet's chevron.

"Let's go, mister. I'm in need of a new paint job, and I just know this mess won't come off by itself."

Still grinning, Rave flounced away, a spring in her step, presumably heading for the medbay, leaving four stunned officers and a smirking medic in her wake. The five stood in silence for a couple kliks before Jazz turned to address Wheeljack, grinning.

"How long has she been flirtin' with him? And why didn't I pick up on it?"

Wheeljack's earfins lit up that cheery blue again as Optimus shook his head in that way that plainly said 'I'm not even going to try and deal with this'. Shrugging, he sent Prowl an acknowledging glance before turning around and heading back in the direction of his office. Prowl nodded in return, then turned to glare at Ratchet, whose attention was focused solely on Wheeljack. The medic had often confided in the engineer, but had no idea that Rave had been doing the same thing. After all, who would have thought that Wheeljack, chief gossip on the Ark, would have been so good at keeping secrets? And why, having known that Ratchet liked Rave, hadn't he said anything?

"Oh, she's been at it for at least a vorn now," 'Jack replied, shooting Ratchet a pointed glance. "But Ratch here's been at it for longer."

Jazz turned to look at Ratchet, almost as if sizing him up, before nodding approvingly.

"No wonder she splits her free time between the medbay and 'Jack's lab," he said, grinning. "So, the question remains…what's the Hatchet gonna do about it?"

Prowl glared pointedly at the other two officers for trying to encourage Ratchet, then turned to glare at the medic himself, for even entertaining the idea of thinking about his daughter like that. (His battle computer recognized that this anger was completely irrational, but for once, it didn't cause the wayward emotion to disappate. Instead, it began prompting its own shutdown sequence.) Jazz noticed the look the tactician was shooting at Ratchet, whose faceplates had remained blank through this exchange (he was trying to hide the rising feeling of hope that was currently singing its way through his circuits), and quickly put his arm around the SIC in an effort to keep his systems from locking up.

"Well?" Wheeljack piped up, physically nudging Ratchet.

The nudge seemed to jar Ratchet from his thoughts, and he shook his head slightly before answering.

"I'm gonna go fix her paint," he replied as he turned and began heading down the hallway toward the medbay.

"You might wanna have her fix yours, if you know what I mean," Wheeljack added, chuckling. "And I do mean that in all seriousness."

Ratchet chose not to acknowledge the added comment, and turned the corner without replying. There was silence for a moment while the remaining officers stared down the now-empty hallway before Prowl spoke up.

"If he tries to do anything more than fix her paint in the literal sense, I may have to deactivate him, Autobot laws be damned."

Jazz looked at his bondmate, grinning.

"Hey, don't worry about it. Ratchet's a good mech; he'd never do anythin' to hurt Rave. And think about it this way – the worst that could happen is that the two of them need new coats o'paint, right?"

"But for reasons totally unrelated to paint bombs. And personally? I can't think of a better way to gain a new paint job," 'Jack pointed out with a smirk, his sentence dissolving into laughter.

Prowl looked back and forth between Wheeljack and Jazz, opened his mouth as if to speak, then fell backwards, offline, as his battle computer finally shut down. The two remaining mechs burst into hysterical laughter as they bent down to help pick up their fallen comrade. Once they had Prowl standing, Jazz picked him up in a fireman's carry and turned to head back to their quarters, only to stop briefly to address Wheeljack one last time.

"Personally, I'm surprised he lasted this long. I was sure he was gonna hit the floor when we first rounded the corner."

Wheeljack's earfins lit up gleefully again as he waved to the saboteur, and the two parted ways.

Rave sat on one of the medbay berths, swinging her legs back and forth like a youngling in her nervousness. All of the confidence she had displayed mere kliks ago had vanished like an energon cube winking out of existence once the liquid inside was gone. What had she been thinking, flirting with Ratchet like that in front of her creators and her Prime? Wheeljack knew of her long-standing crush on the medic, of course, but that didn't excuse her blatant actions. How was she ever going to live this down? But that, of course, wasn't the whole problem…

'Wheeljack said…said it's about time that he made his move,' Rave thought slowly, trying very hard not to get ahead of herself, lest she glitch again. 'Then that means…could it really be true? That means he – '

Rave was pulled abruptly out of her thoughts at the sound of the medbay doors sliding open as Ratchet walked in. She tried not to smile at the sight of the fierce Autobot medic covered in magenta and lavender paint; it certainly did nothing for his 'don't frag with me' image. However, it seemed not to bother him as he shot the young spy a smile, optics twinkling.

Could it really be - ?

"Is it true?" Rave asked suddenly, then dropped her head in her hands at her total lack of control.

Ratchet smiled at Rave's reaction to her own voiced thought. True, the spy was a fierce enemy to be pinned against, but she was still young. Her age was often disregarded among the officers, given her tough demeanor in battle and strong loyalty to the Autobot cause. It was the subtle signs (like occasionally speaking before thinking) that pointed out – to those who knew what to look for – exactly how young she was.

"Is what true?" Ratchet replied calmly, not wanting to scare the young femme away.

Rave looked up at the medic's soft tone. There was something about that tone that had intrigued her for a while now; he only seemed to use it around her (and occasionally Wheeljack). It was the tone that had first fueled her hope of possibly being liked in return…

"Is it true that…that you…" Rave trailed off, looking down at her hands.

Internally, she was beating herself up. Normally, like Jazz, she had no problem saying how she felt. She was one who could be put in the middle of a crowd of mechs she'd never met, and within five minutes, would be right at home, laughing and joking with the best of them. However, Ratchet was not any regular mech. He was special; he always had been. So, the question remained, why, the one time she needed to be able to express how she felt, couldn't she open her mouth?

"That I what?" came the even-toned reply.

"You know perfectly well what," Rave shot back as she stood up, scowling heavily. She didn't like the game he was playing.

"No, I don't. Can you be a little more specific?" Ratchet asked, optics twinkling, as he crossed the medbay to stand in front of the spy.

"That you – you - oh, frag it to Pit!" Rave broke off, too frustrated to speak, as she reached up, grabbed the medic's helm, and kissed him.

Ratchet responded immediately, wrapping his arms around Rave and pulling her to him 'til their chassis touched. The embrace continued between the two parties, both oblivious to the outside world, for another few kliks before they broke apart, intakes working hard to cool their overheated frames. Rave glanced up at the medic for an astrosecond or two before turning around and walking over to the nearest table of tools with a mumbled "I'm sorry." Ratchet himself didn't move, preferring to watch the younger femme for a moment. He understood that she was overwhelmed; as far as his knowledge went, she had never been involved with anyone before, and to just jump him like that…well, he'd be overwhelmed too.

A klik or two passed in silence before Ratchet crossed the medbay to where Rave stood. She had picked up his favorite wrench and was turning it over and over in her hands, yet it was obvious that the wrench itself wasn't the focus of her attentions. His footsteps echoed off the walls as he crossed the medbay, and so far, she hadn't made any motion to leave; he took this as a good sign. Standing directly behind her, Ratchet put his hands on her shoulders; the wrench fell from her hands as she jumped, clearly startled. After a moment, however, he felt her relax slightly as the tension began leaving her frame.

"I'm really sorry about back there."

"Don't be," he replied quietly. "There's nothing wrong with what you did."

"So leading you on isn't wrong?" she asked, whirling around to face him.

"Is it really leading me on if it's something we both want?"

The question hung in the air as Rave fixed Ratchet with a piercing glance, almost as if she was trying to see through to his spark to determine if the words he spoke were truth. After a klik and a half, one word, softly spoken, barely heard:

"Really?"

A nod in return.

"And you're really not jokin'? 'Cause if you are, you do realize I'll kick your aft from here to the next galaxy?"

Another nod, this time accompanied by a soft smile.

"No joke. I've dreamed about this for vorns."

Rave's faceplates lit up in a smile so bright, it could have powered Cybertron through to the next golden age. Crossing the distance between them, she hugged the medic, leaning her helm to rest on his windscreen. Ratchet smiled in return, a true smile that reflected the happiness in his spark, as he wrapped his arms around the smaller femme. The tender moment continued for another three kliks before being broken as the medbay doors slid open to reveal Wheeljack, whose earfins flashed happily as he hummed to himself. The humming broke off suddenly as the spy quickly stepped away from the CMO, once again busying herself looking at his tools. Ratchet crossed his arms over his chest as 'Jack's earfins lit up once more and remained lit, but so far said nothing.

"Whaddya want, 'Jack?"

"I came by to pick up that jet pack you took away from me yesterday…but it can wait," he replied, his sly tone clearly indicating a smirk under the battle mask.

Ratchet sighed again, shaking his head as he walked over to one of the berths near the back of the bay, picked up the jet pack, and returned to where the engineer stood.

"Here," he said, thrusting the pack into 'Jack's arms. "I know I'm gonna regret this, but…take it, and get out my medbay."

Wheeljack shifted slightly on his feet to account for the added weight and bulk of the jet pack, but grinned under his battle mask, earfins flashing brightly once more.

"You just want me outta here so you and Rave can – "

CLANG!

An almighty crash shook the floor as Wheeljack fell backwards, offline. Ratchet's glance travelled from his favorite wrench, lying unassumingly next to the engineer's helm, to the younger femme standing off to the side, right arm still outstretched and a gleeful smile on her face. Upon noticing the medic's glance, however, she toned the smile down slightly, but only maintained the innocent look for a couple of astroseconds before it morphed into a full-blown smirk.

"I'm sorry, Ratch, but he was askin' for it, and I've had the urge to do that since the first time I saw you throw one at Sunny's head."

Ratchet laughed, the full, happy sound echoing in the near-empty medbay. Walking over to the smaller femme, he wrapped her in a hug and kissed the top of her helm. Still chuckling, he looked down at Rave – his Rave, his CPU screamed happily – and spoke, optics twinkling merrily.

"Was it as fun as you thought it'd be?"

Rave's answering grin was answer enough. Yep, he'd definitely picked the right femme.

A/N: This story is a continuation of the 'verse I established with "Catch A Falling Star." Rave was telling me it was about time she grew up, so here was the result. Hope you liked!! And trust me - I'm nowhere near done with this 'verse. It's waaaay too much fun to play with. Expect more of Rave to come. =]