Go Fish

Summary: A normal day on the Ark… well, as normal as they ever are… G1

Disclaimer: Transformers © Hasbro; the only property that I claim is my own imagination and story… oh, and Slamdancer. She’s mine, so no stealing.

Warning: Story may include dialogue and actions that may be perceived as “OOC”.

Go Fish

It was a normal day on the Ark. Well, as normal as a day on the Ark ever was, that is. There was a temporary lull in the constant battle against the Decepticons and the Autobots were taking the time to kick back and get some paper work done.

At least, that was the official story.

“SIDESWIPE!”

Tires screeched around a corner, accompanied by a delighted cackle and the whine of sirens. Slamdancer turned away from the console she’d been toying with, watching in open shock as a red Lamborghini tore by with a black-and-white Datsun, siren wailing and lights flashing, close on his tail.

“GO GO OILSLICK!”

She heard a screech and a crash, followed by the sound of a transformation and an explosive curse.

“LITTLE SLAGGING SON OF A GLITCH! I KNOW WHERE YOU SLEEP!”

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“Is Prowl gonna be okay?”

Jazz grinned. “Yeah, he’s gonna be just fine. At least, he will be once he gets his hands on a certain pair of troublemakers.”

Slamdancer raised an optic ridge. “…said the King Prankster.”

“Hey, that’s not fair! I don’t pull any pranks, I just encourage them,” he replied with a chuckle.

“Mmmm-hm. Speaking of pranksters…” Slamdancer nodded towards a side corridor, where a frantic whispering could be heard.

“Is it him?”

“Not sure...”

“If it’s him we are so dead.”

“What’s this ‘we’? It was your stupid idea!”

“Then why are you hiding?”

Silence.

“Go get scrapped.”

“Only if you go first!”

“Um, guys? It’s just us,” Slamdancer said, trying not to snigger at the twins’ bickering.

“Who’s ‘us’?” a suspicious voice called.

“Hey, man, take a chill pill,” Jazz replied.

“Oh, that ‘us’.”

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe sidled out of their hiding place, looking up and down the corridor as if Prowl was going to materialize out of the hull plating.

Jazz grinned brightly. “Okay, boys, what did you two do to our poor second-in-command?”

Sunstreaker looked up and down the hall again nervously. “Not here! We’ll explain everything, just not out in the open where he can catch us!”

“Fine, fine. We’ll go to my quarters and you two can spill the beans.”

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“…so we installed this neat little virus we found onto his datapad…”

“But we didn’t expect him to send a message to Prime’s! It wasn’t supposed to work like that!”

“And then Prime sent a message to Wheeljack…”

“…who sent a message to First Aid…”

“…who sent a message to Ratchet…”

“…and then the virus finally decided to do what it was supposed to do and wiped all of the data off of every ‘pad it had infected,” Sideswipe finished, somehow managing to grin like a loon and look embarrassed at the same time.

Jazz whistled. “Damn, boys. You’re lucky that thing didn’t get uploaded in to Teletran.”

“And you were hiding from Prowl? You do know he’s in the med-bay, right?” Slamdancer asked.

Sunstreaker looked like he’d just been told his paint job was flaking off. “Prowl? Primus, no!”

“We were hiding from Optimus,” Sideswipe clarified.

Slamdancer and Jazz exchanged a look. Optimus Prime was most likely on the warpath now; he’d had a lot of important information stored in that datapad. They both made a mental note to avoid him for the next day or so.

“Hide us?”

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“Boredboredboredboredboredboredboredbored --”

“Sides.”

“—boredboredyboredyboredboredboredbored --“

“Sideswipe.”

“Huh?”

Slamdancer glared at him from where she sat with her back against the door. “We’re all bored, so shut it.”

A pack of cards came flying out of nowhere, clanging off the side of Sideswipes head. The red ‘bot looked around for the culprit, optics settling on a grinning Jazz on the opposite side of the cramped quarters.

“There. Ask and ye shall receive,” the saboteur quipped.

“What are we supposed to do with these?” Sunstreaker asked, picking up the cards and examining them critically. They were human sized, and looked like a grain of rice in his palm.

“Well, you play with them, duh,” Sideswipe replied.

“Play what?”

Slamdancer looked up, optics sparkling. “Go Fish?”

__________________________________________________________________


“You know what would be fun?”

“Hm?”

“Strip Go Fish.”

Sunstreaker grinned. “Oh yeah, that would be fun.”

Jazz snorted into his hand, “Right. Because we all know you wanna see my circuit board.”

The twins wore identical looks of horror. “No we don’t!”

Slamdancer smirked into her cards. “Well, I sure as hell ain’t removing my chassis for any Tom, Slick, and Harry.”

“Who are they?”

“Well, obviously I’m Slick, Sides. You’re Tom.”

“Nuh-uh! I’m Slick!”

“Whatever you say, Tom.”

“I’m Slick!”

“Tom!”

“Slick!”

“Tom!”

“Both of you are going to be scrap when I’m through,” a deep voice growled. The door hissed open and Slamdancer fell back with a clang, finding herself looking up into two blue optics that were nearly white with anger.

“Er… hi, boss.”

The twins jumped up from the floor, scattering cards everywhere. “RUN!” They made a valiant attempt to escape, but unfortunately for them Optimus Prime’s reflexes were in top shape; his hands snapped out and caught both of them by the shoulder before they’d so much as taken a step past him. They struggled for a moment before wilting into defeated complacency under their commander’s fierce gaze.

“Jazz, Slamdancer,” Optimus said evenly, nodding to each of them in turn before leading his captives away.

Jazz and Slamdancer cringed slightly as they heard the Autobot leader settling into a good, long grilling. “All I want to know is what in Primus’ name you were thinking uploading a virus into the slagging system! No, Sideswipe, I don’t slagging care that it was only directed at Prowl! It was still a stupid slagging idea and I just can't understand --”

“Brig?” Slamdancer asked.

“Brig.”

“Three weeks?”

“I’d say more like four.”

“Board game?”

“Doubt it.”

“Ouch.”

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A/N: Well, no real nicknames in this one. Darn.