TF: Infernol Problems

[wildernesstales]

Rating: PG-13
Series: G1
Pairings: Red Alert/Inferno and Ratchet/Wheeljack
Summary: Red Alert has a problem….
Warnings: Do not eat or drink whilst reading this fic?
Disclaimer: As per usual, the good things in life are not mine to have, but belong to someone else... in this case Hasbro, Takara and IDW and anyone else I’ve forgotten…
Authors Notes: I fully blamecasusfere for this!  It was her who suggested several lines and thrust the plot bunny at me, despite my refusal and threats to sic the cats on it.  Needless to say, it didn’t work and this fic is the result of that bunny.
Can effectively be seen as following after Lamborghini Sandwich?
Feedback makes friends. Flames dealt with by the masters of paranoia and fire, Red Alert and Inferno.  
 

Ratchet looked up as someone flung open the doors to his med bay.  How precisely whoever it was managed to fling the sliding doors open crossed his processor briefly.  At the sight of the mech, he was up and out of his chair far quicker than he thought possible.
“Red Alert?”
“Something’s wrong with Inferno Ratchet, you have to help.”
“With Inferno?” Incredulous, Ratchet could do little but stare at the security director.
“Yes, with Inferno!”
“What?”
“It’s…” Red Alert paused, clearly torn between telling Ratchet what the problem was and storming out of the med bay. His decision made, he turned abruptly on his heel and stormed out of the med bay.
As the doors slid shut behind him, Ratchet just shook his head and went back to his paperwork.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When Ratchet walked into the rec room to get himself some energon (after having been ‘persuaded’ to leave med bay by First Aid), he was more than a little surprised and alarmed to see Red Alert slumped gracelessly in a chair, an untouched cube of energon in front of him.
“Red Alert?” At the sound of his name, the security director jumped, sitting straight up in his chair, unfocussed optics sweeping the room before settling on Ratchet.
“Ratchet.” Unusually flustered, Red Alert waited while Ratchet grabbed himself a cube of energon and sat down.  The rec room was quiet, most ‘bots being either on duty or out of the Ark indulging in whatever it was they liked to fill their free time with.
“You look exhausted Red.” Ratchet spoke after he’d drained half his cube, pointedly staring at Red Alert’s own untouched energon.  Scowling, the security director grabbed the cube up and downed it, grimacing as his tanks protested the intake of energon so quickly when they were so empty.
“I’m fine.”
“You really don’t look it Red.  And I say that not just as your medic, but as your friend.” Red Alert snorted, toying with the empty energon cube and deliberately not meeting Ratchet’s optics.
“I’m just not getting as much recharge as I should, I’ll be fine.” He was quick to reassure Ratchet.  Now it was Ratchet’s turn to snort.
“Just make sure you take in energon regularly.  And if you’re still having problems recharging, you can come and see me.  I can check your coding and systems to make sure everything is running as it should be.”
“I… it’s not… I have to get back to work.” Before Ratchet could say anything, Red Alert had stood up, collected his datapads and left the rec room.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It wasn’t long after that Ratchet decided to keep a closer optic on Red Alert.  If the mech wasn’t recharging well, it meant his systems weren’t running at peak efficiency and Ratchet couldn’t have that.  Using the Arks’ systems, he was able to use Red Alert’s sensor net against him and patch his vital statistics to a workstation in his office.
Examining the data, he quickly came to a conclusion as to why Red Alert was so undercharged.  Now all he had to do was wait for the security director to admit it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The alarm sounding in the middle of the evening shift was unusual.  Even more unusual was that it was the alarm that Ratchet had set to notify him if Red Alert’s energy levels dropped to dangerous levels.  Grabbing an emergency kit, Ratchet left the med bay in First Aid’s hands and made his way to the security office.
Keying in his medical override code and opening the doors was a simple matter – even Red Alert’s security measures couldn’t keep out the Chief Medical Officer.  He couldn’t exactly say he was surprised to see Inferno standing there, alternating between looking extremely worried and rather smug.
“He just dropped Ratchet… Right offline.”
“Right…” Deliberately, Ratchet drew the word out, motioning for Inferno to help him move Red Alert down to the med bay.  Inferno easily hoisted Red Alert carefully holding him before following Ratchet.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Slowly, Red Alert onlined, proximity sensors immediately informing him of his location.  Why was he in the med bay?  The last thing he remembered was being on duty and Inferno comming him.  And then turning up in the security center and then…
“Oh.” He sat straight up, ignoring Ratchet’s growl of disapproval.
“Where on Cybertron do you think you’re going?” He asked stalking over to Red Alert’s berth and pushing the security director back down.  Red Alert didn’t put up much of a struggle, reserves still depleted despite the energon drip Ratchet had set up.
“I need to get back to work?” Red Alert ventured, knowing that whatever he said wouldn’t make the slightest bit of difference to Ratchet.
“No, you need to stay here until I am satisfied that your energy levels are at a reasonable level.”
“I’m fine.” He protested sulkily.
“You’re fine when I say you’re fine Red Alert.”
“But…” Red Alert ended the sentence on a sigh.  What exactly could he say to Ratchet?  Oh yes, my partner just interfaced me into stasis?  Hardly.
“Ratchet?”
“Yes?” The medic was checking the energon feed when Red Alert spoke.
“I think there’s something wrong with Inferno.” The security director’s tone was hesitant.
“With Inferno?  What now?”
“I… his sex drive doesn’t have an off setting.” Red Alert whispered the words so quietly that Ratchet almost couldn’t hear them, despite being stood so close.  As soon as his audios registered the words though, he couldn’t help but snort.
“And that’s a bad thing how?” Was his immediate response.  His and Wheeljack’s ‘sex-life’ as the humans so neatly phrased it was well known around the Ark and many a ‘bot had learnt to knock before entering Wheeljack’s lab.
“I was working!”
“So just tell him he can only molest you in private.”
“Unfortunately, every closed door seems to count as private for Inferno.” Red Alert replied, exasperated.  Ratchet couldn’t help but laugh.
“Stop laughing!” Unfortunately, the order had the exact opposite effect and Ratchet laughed harder.  Red Alert was simply grateful they were the only ones in the med bay.
“It’s not funny!”
“Oh but it is Red.  The number of mechs I’ve seen complaining about not getting enough.  And here you are complaining about getting too much.”
“But…” He trailed off, able to see exactly what Ratchet found amusing, even if he himself wasn’t amused by it.
“Although I do have to say, if he’s trying to interface you into an early deactivation, he’s going the right way about it.”
“Ratchet!”
“Your energy levels are consistently far too low Red.  If he wants to carry on the way he is, he has to make sure you refuel before and after.”  Red Alert paused as though he was about to challenge Ratchet again when he slumped back on the berth.
“Fine.”
“That’s better.” Checking the energon feed one more time, he told Red Alert that he would only be allowed to leave once the transfusion had finished and then he was to go straight back to his quarters and rest.  With no interfacing and if Inferno wanted to argue, he should come and see him!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Really, could you expect it from a more uptight mech?” Ratchet wandered around their room, telling Wheeljack about his day and the amusing events with Red Alert.
“Well I can expect it from Inferno.”
“That’s because the pair of you are insatiable!”
“Hey, can I help it if I’ve got the best looking mech on the Ark in my berth every night?” Ratchet snorted, inwardly pleased at the compliment.
“You’re trying to flatter me into an interface.”
“Would I do that?”
“Yes.”
“Heh, guess I would then.  Don’t try and deny me.” Wheeljack held out his hand, and Ratchet couldn’t, reaching out and curling his fingers around Wheeljack’s, the engineer pulling him close.

Their interfacing wasn’t always hard and fast; sometimes it was long and drawn out, each reaffirming their bonded vows, the love they shared for one another.  A gentle, yet passionate encounter.
Like this one.  Except unlike other times, the sound of Wheeljack laughing as his armor pinged and cooling systems worked overtime was unusual.
“Humans have a saying Ratch’… ‘pot calling the kettle black’.” He was far too amused as he lay next to Ratchet, smoothing his fingers over Ratchet’s chevron, just knowing that he’d have to get up and grab some energon for the medic.  And remind him of this afterwards.

Once he’d come out of stasis of course.