Shiloh sat on the main console in the med-bay and grinned up at her guardian. In turn, Knock Out scowled down at her. "What did you do this time that requires I protect you from Starscream?"

"Nothing yet," Shiloh replied. She crossed her arms, relaxing against the cool metal at her back. "I was just thinking - you don't know how to shut up, do you?"

"And you do?" Knock Out picked up a datapad and scrolled through it.

"Certainly better than you do." The human slipped two fingers under the fabric necklace - embroidered with the Decepticon insignia - around her neck in order to loosen it. "Slag, this thing is tight," she muttered, swallowing with some difficulty.

"Why don't you two have a contest?" Breakdown suggested from his station. "See who can not talk for the longest?"

"Sounds good to me," Shiloh said. She smirked. "If KO talks first, I get to paint him whatever color I want and it has to stay that color for a month."

Knock Out considered it. Because he was sure he would win, he said, "Deal. But if you talk first - and we both know you will - I get to give you a total makeover. From top to bottom, and you have to keep that style for a month."

"Deal."

Breakdown began to sense something would go horribly wrong in this bet. And that he would be on the receiving end of the frustration of both human and medic. "I'm not going to take sides in this," he announced loud enough for his voice to carry outside the medical bay.

Knock Out leaned down so his faceplate was the Cybertronian equivalent of inches from Shiloh's face. "Bet starts now." Shiloh nodded in agreement. Both of them closed their mouths.

Breakdown shook his helm as his partner returned to working on his patients, obviously fighting not to comment on the various wounds and scratches. Shiloh, too, looked like she was having a hard time not talking. But they were both determined not to lose this bet.

An hour later, both Cybertronian and human struggled to remain silent and directed glares in the other's general direction.

Then Megatron entered the room.

The injured Vehicons saluted as best they could while allowing for their injuries, acknowledging his presence.

"Lord Megatron," Knock Out and Shiloh said at the same time, startled.

They looked at each other with wide eyes - optics, in Knock Out's case - realizing what had just occurred.

"Frag," they hissed in unison.

Shiloh glared at out the window of Knock Out's alt-mode, arms crossed tightly over her middle. She knew he was looking at her smugly. She could practically feel his gaze on her back. Primus, she wanted so badly to smack him. Knock Out had his holoform activated, and he was rubbing his hands together in delight. He was going to enjoy this more than he should. A lot more.

"Don't forget I get to paint you any color I want after this," Shiloh growled.

"Oh, I remember," Knock Out said, "but I'm still giving you a complete makeover. And since this was part of the bet, you can't stop me. Now give me the switchblade."

Shiloh turned her head halfway to look at him. "What?"

"You heard me - hand it over."

"I can't."

The features of the Decepticon's holoform indicated confusion. "Why not?"

"I kind of lost it on my last patrol." Shiloh sheepishly ducked her head. "Hardshell made me drop it, and by the time I realized it we were already back." At this, Knock Out sighed.

"Come on." Knock Out opened both doors, as he needed to let his holoform exit his alt-mode to keep his disguise. Both of them got out.

Shiloh jammed her hands deep into her jean pockets and started toward the mall. "Let's get this over with." Resting a hand on her shoulder, Knock Out followed. Several nearby humans stared curiously at her, prompting the Decepticon to growl threateningly and step closer to her like the posessive guardian he was.

"Why am I letting you do this?" Knock Out moaned, sitting against the wall. "Please, someone tell me why I'm letting her do this."

"Because it's part of the bet," Shiloh said matter-of-factly. "Besides, I let you give me a makeover - which I hated, by the way. Think of this as payback."

On the far side of the room, Frenzy snickered as he sipped his energon cube. Beside him, Rumble was far too interested in Shiloh's new look to pay attention to the funny scene. The former broadcasted a teasing thought to his twin. The latter punched him in the shoulder as hard as he could, transmitting what might have been interpreted as denial had he said the thought aloud.

Towering over both of the deployers, Breakdown also watched. He knew someone was going to get hurt. Someone always did. But who it would be remained to be seen.

Shiloh looked at her bare arms. How was she going to keep the paint off her skin if she wasn't wearing a jacket or coveralls? She looked up at Knock Out. "I can't work in these clothes," she complained. She showed him her painted nails. "And these are gonna get ruined."

"You chip that nail polish and I'll redo it."

Breakdown groaned. They were going at it again. "Just paint him already!"

They both glowered at him.

Knock Out took a long look at his paint job as if he believed this was the last time he'd ever see it in its right color. Shiloh went to the paint cans she'd brought with her and grabbed one. When Knock Out saw what color it was he asked, "You're trying to torture me, aren't you?"

Shiloh patted his leg comfortingly. "Not trying to torture you, Doc. Just gettin' in the spirit."

Smokescreen had quite a bit on his processor as of late. First he just so happened to crash on the very same planet the legendary Optimus Prime was on. Then a week later he got caught by the Decepticons, met a human who was actually living with them and was still, well, living, and got thrown off the bow of the Decepticon warship. And when he asked about the human with the 'cons, all Optimus said was that a great mistake had been made. Then just over a month ago he walked into the main room after a much needed recharge to find Ratchet had glitched, Optimus standing there with a dumbfounded look on his faceplate, and two of the other three Autobots besides himself demanding to know why they were contacted/given a card by a human who should not know about them.

Was life always this crazy on Earth?

The newest Autobot leaned on the console, wondering why Ratchet would put him on monitor duty if nothing ever happened.

Suddenly, a message popped up on the console. It read, Contact other Autobots, then play the attatched file once they're all present. Smokescreen hesitated before comming Team Prime.

::Got a message at base. Says we all need to be here.::

One by one, the Autobots acknowledged.

Smokescreen ignored the numerous questions flung at him and instead told them to read the message. "I don't know who it's from, but I figured we should at least see what it's about."

Ratchet shook his head and opened the video file.

The video started out with Rumble and Frenzy waving at the camera, each leaning on the other's shoulder. They were obviously drunk. And Rumble appeared about ready to pass out. Next, the camera panned to Breakdown and Airachnid having a conversation and drinking energon. It appeared that Breakdown was flirting with her. The spider femme was glaring with intent to kill. Then it showed Knock Out and Shiloh sitting next to each other, both looking extremely angry.

The Autobots laughed.

Knock Out was green. Three different shades of green, to be exact. Not a trace of his original red paint job remained.

Shiloh was another story altogether. She was wearing a low-cut sleeveless blue shirt that showed her stomach, a pleated black miniskirt with leggings underneath, and heeled sandals. Her hair, which usually was all over the place, was neatly combed and put up.

"Primus, she's pissed," Arcee chuckled.

On screen, Rumble went up to Shiloh and started talking. Out of the blue, the words, "Kiss me, I'm Irish!" blared from the speakers built into his shoulders

Shiloh looked over at him. "If you're Irish, I'm from Australia, mate."

"Aw, come one, you kissed Knock Out!"

The Autobots' laughter stopped. Bulkhead turned to Arcee in shock; the motorcycle femme stared at the screen. Bumblebee whirred disbelievingly. Ratchet and Optimus exchanged glances. Smokescreen paused before bursting out in hysterics.

"I wasn't thinking!" the human shouted, rising to glare at the deployer.

Rumble showed the palms of his servos. From behind him, he produced a bottle. "Sorry, should've known it was a sensitive subject." He held out the bottle for her. "Forgive me?"

Smokescreen looked at Bumblebee. "I think someone's in love," he said. The scout beeped in agreement.

Then the video skipped ahead five minutes, showing the bottle empty in Shiloh's hand and a drained cube of high-grade next to Rumble's pede. They were arguing. Not two seconds later, Shiloh started swaying unsteadily and collapsed onto Rumble. The bluish-purple deployer grinned, then collapsed in his own turn.

The video cut out immediately.

"Fascinating," Ratchet murmured. "So some humans also have trouble holding their equivalent of high-grade."

Arcee looked over at Bulkhead. "Why was Knock Out green?"

The Wrecker shrugged, recalling what Miko had told him earlier. "Saint Patrick's Day."