A/N: Please excuse the gratuitous use of voodoo science.

Part Five: Let Sleeping Lambos Lie

Prowl did not expect any immediate retaliation from the young red terror. Currently, Sideswipe was sleeping the sleep of the dead in his quarters according to his brother. It seemed that pulling extra duty as well as his own, along with being entirely paranoid for the majority of that time, had drained him to the point of exhaustion.

Call the tactician sparkless, but he really wasn’t that sorry to hear it.

The day passed smoothly enough up until a large amount of the night shift was due to switch with the day. Blaster reported some Decepticon activity cropping up near the dam again. One of their routine energy-fetching missions no doubt. Couldn’t they ever cause some trouble at a convenient time for a change? The time between shifts was the most hectic for everyone, Prowl especially, as mechs wandered to and fro to wherever they needed to be. The Decepticons couldn’t have picked a better time to catch the Autobots off-guard if they’d planned it that way.

Sometimes the tactician suspected that they had planned it that way.

Showing some mercy to the overrun Sideswipe, Prowl allowed him to stay in recharge during this new excursion. He doubted the Lambo would mind sitting this one out. No doubt Sunstreaker would tell him all about it upon their return.

The battle had been harder then he’d thought it would be. Megatron had brought two gestalts with his fleet while Prime only brought Superion. The Protectobots were currently off on a relief mission in Indonesia and wouldn’t be back for a few days. A near record-breaking six megacycles long, the battle ended mostly by the participants just being too tired or too injured to continue.

By the time Prowl and the others returned to the Ark, he was nearly too exhausted to go through the normal debrief with Prime and the other officers. Promising to get the reports in by 1200 hours the next day, the tactician was dismissed at the meeting’s conclusion.

He couldn’t reach his recharge berth fast enough.

Three megacycles later, not feeling any more rested than before, the Vice Commander nevertheless rose to get ready for the next day. He couldn’t stay in his berth all day just because he was a little tired from the day before. Wars were not won by tacticians being lazy, after all.

Grabbing the datapads he needed for the day, thankfully no longer stuck to his table, Prowl went to his door. As he palmed it open, an odd thought occurred to him. He didn’t remember that scratch being there…

Oh well, he must have done it recently. It wasn’t as though he spent much time observing his doors anyway. Shrugging it off to faulty memory, he exited his room to make the rounds and then to his office to complete his reports. Hopefully everyone had done their part and written up at least something for him. He always did hate chasing his soldiers asking for reports when he had much better things to do with his time.

The day went smoothly, thank the Matrix. Most of those who had participated in the recent battle were either in medical or on duty and those who hadn’t were pulling extra weight to cover the injured. There was no time for anyone to be misbehaving, and that meant that Prowl could actually spend time working on his reports rather than delinquents.

Around 1300 hours, there came a knock at his office door. Sitting up straight from where he had been bent over for the majority of the morning, Prowl allowed them entrance. To his surprise it was Grapple who entered, muttering to himself. His bearing was strained and obvious frustration was making his expression look positively frightening. What could possibly have happened to him? Handing over his inventory report, the architect added, “I don’t think I’ll be able to get to your office lights today, Prowl.”

“What’s wrong?” the tactician asked curiously. It wasn’t the end of the world, but he had been hoping to have two of his overhead lights fixed by the evening.

“Oh, nothing major,” Grapple waved off, his expression showing that it was quite major to him. “A couple of bots can’t get back into their quarters. So that leaves me to sort out the locks! As if I didn’t have enough work besides. They deliberately chose the one day I had no free time to do it!”

“I’m sure that isn’t the case,” Prowl interjected gently. “Do you know what the problem is?”

The architect shook his head in frustration. “Their codes won’t work and the overrides don’t do slag either. I’ll have to disassemble the doors, it looks like, which will take hours!”

Well, at least it was only a few doors…

Once the time came for the duty shift, Prowl came to the unsettling realization that no, it was not only a few doors. Not one door in the personal quarters’ wing was working correctly. Not even Prowl’s.

This certainly begged the question ‘why,’ though as the day went on and no one could seem to explain nor solve this problem, Prowl figured he knew the cause at least.

Sideswipe wasn’t talking, and if his brother knew anything, he wasn’t either. According to the yellow Lamborghini, his brother had been in bed all day as he was simply too tired to do anything else. Prowl remained skeptical, though at the moment he could do nothing to prove Sunstreaker wrong. The cameras were no help and the monitors all said the red warrior hadn’t left his room during the battle.

Prowl would have to be stupid not to know how easy it was to fake all that. Sideswipe was much too good to be caught by simple scanners and cameras.

Sideswipe was clever, but was he clever enough to re-wire and reprogram every personal quarter’s door? The answer was a firm ‘no.’ Perhaps with unlimited time, the young hellion could have done it. But even though he had at most 7 or 8 hours, it was not enough for such a venture as that. It was just too difficult to hack into and then change all the codes, including the overrides. Why, it would just be easier to cut the wires entirely and then remove...

Wait a nanoclick…

Coming to a sudden thought, he rose to his feet and made his way to the bridge. Many of the displaced ‘bots were up there, having nowhere else to go but an overcrowded lounge area. Apparently going to the main control room was supposed to solve their problem in some way.

“Bluestreak,” he addressed the gunner sitting at the mainframe console. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Sure,” the younger Datsun said over the loud chatter filing the bridge. “What do you need, Prowl?”

“I need you to go into the database and download everyone’s room access codes onto this datapad. The access codes are on the first sheet.”

Giving him a curious look, the younger Datsun nevertheless did as told. And armed with his datapad, Prowl returned to his unopenable quarters. Unfortunately there was no one else who he could delegate this tedious task to. Aside from Optimus, only Prowl was privy to everyone’s private lock codes. Not even Jazz had the necessary clearance. A good thing too, in the Vice’s humble opinion. He loved Jazz immensely; he was the brother he’d never had. Yet he also wasn’t so blinded by affection as to trust this information to the other black and white and not expect rather… interesting effects. He knew his best friend better than that.

One by one he tried every ‘bot’s combination on the keypad. Proving his hypothesis correct, on the 26th 10-number-long combination, Brawn’s to be exact, the door opened with a merry hiss. Ahh… he thought so. The little rat…

“Grapple,” he spoke into his comlink. “Please come to my quarters. I have a solution to your door problem.”

If he was expecting gratitude, or even a better tempered architect, he was expecting a bit too much. Now that they knew it was the door itself and not the actual wiring, the entire thing had to be dismantled and taken down. Unable to actually perform this task, Prowl needed Grapple with him during all of this. And as Grapple was not allowed to undo the locks himself, Prowl had to be present and be subjected to the audio torture that was his disgruntled worker.

But if one needed the codes to open the doors and Prowl was the only one capable of obtaining those codes, how did Sideswipe manage it?

The more codes the two went through, the faster it went. At first, Prowl had thought the feat impossible for one lone mid-ranking warrior with no real technical skills. Yet at the rate they were going now, it was quite reasonable. Not something your average troublemaker could pull off, but to imps like Sideswipe, it was simply amateurish.

But what wasn’t amateur was how he had gotten those Primus-forsaken codes!

This was going to bother him all night, he could tell.

With all the doors finally undone, all that was left now was to put the doors back where they belonged, change the access codes (just in case Sideswipe did know them,) inform everyone of their new code, find out how the perpetrator did the deed, and then find some way to nail the red demon spawn on it.

A difficult task to be sure, but the reward far exceeded the cost in this case. Especially since half his day was now effectively shot to the Pit. Primus how he hated all-nighters. And if he could not get a restful night’s sleep, then neither would the rat that caused it.

“Red Alert,” he called into his comm. “I need a summary of all electrical activity from the past 12 hours.”

It was an odd request, just like the request for door codes from Bluestreak, but the security director did not question it. This was Prowl, not one of the troublemaking rabble that all too often haunted his days and nights. And if Prowl asked for something, there was a perfectly logical, well-founded reason for it.

It took him only a few moments on his keyboard, and the information was on display. “I’m looking at the summary now, Prowl,” he replied. “What are you looking for specifically?”

“A power outage in the residence wings of the ship.”

It didn’t take very long before the Security Chief was able to report back with his findings. “It appears there as a local power outage that lasted about four hours.” His tone grew suspicious, as Prowl thought it might. “Four hours of the battle earlier today. Prowl, this is a serious security threat! What if Laserbeak or Ravage were able to enter while were away? How did you know about the outage? Is something missing from your quarters? It’s important files, isn’t it? I’ll contact Prime right away, and have him lock down all available…”

“Red Alert, please,” Prowl interrupted before the red and white could short something out. “Nothing is missing and we saw both Ravage and Laserbeak at the battle.”

“Yes, but…”

“I have it taken care of. Thank you for your help. I believe it is merely a matter of crossed wires… And I know just the mech to help me fix it.”

OoOoOo

“You want me to what?”

Prowl stared at his victim with an even, unassuming, impassioned gaze. “I believe there is a series of faulty or crossed wires located behind these panels,” he handed over a datapad showing the electrical maps in question. “I need you to crawl into the vents below and check them for me.”

Sideswipe gave him a blank stare as though trying to decipher another language without his internal translator. “But… what about one of the minis? I’m one of the biggest mechs on base, you don’t really expect me to be able to…”

“Nonsense, it’s able to accommodate a mech of your size quite easily. All of the mini-bots are either restricted to quarters for rest or in the Med Bay. As you were the only mech remaining on base, out of all of us you remain the one with the most rest. Surely you wouldn’t mind helping for a few cycles?”

It was stated as a question, but they both knew it wasn’t. It was nothing less than an unofficial order for the Lambo to get his shiny aft over there now.

Without so much as a ‘yes, sir, right away, sir,’ Sideswipe was trudging down the halls looking as though he’d rather be sitting next to Ironhide and Red Alert through one of Perceptor’s briefings. Prowl was making this an order using rank, so this couldn’t be part of the prank.

So then what could the Datsun be up to?

OoOoOo

“…” Two hours later Sideswipe emerged from that much too small space that could not hold anyone ‘quite easily,’ thank you very much. He would’ve left earlier, but even if both he and Prowl knew there was nothing wrong with the power circuits, for all intents and purposes they both knew nothing, and he had to continue with the charade.

All he wanted now was a long hot shower and a large cold mug of high grade. In that order. With nothing in-between.

By some sweet stroke of luck, the room was empty of all save himself. Good, he wanted as much time and space as possible.

The liquid felt wonderful as he deactivated his optics, letting it sift into every seam and crevice. Oh this was heavenly! Just what the crazy, grouchy, overworked doctor ordered. The temperature was right, he had all the time in the world…

And he was suddenly seeing yellow.

At first he thought it was a trick of his optics. Maybe a faulty wire or glitched circuit. Yet no matter how many times he tried to reboot his optics, all he could see was yellow. No shower, no hand in front of his face, nothing.

Just yellow.

Following an increasing sense of dread, he wiped his optics, hoping it wasn’t what it appeared to be.

And lo. It was.

“Aaargh! Primus fragging friggit!” He stumbled blearily out of the washracks, trying to shake and wipe off any excess paint. Not that it would do any good of course. He was quite effectively repainted a lovely shade of yellow.

And ooh lucky him, it dried quickly.

Sunstreaker found him later that day sulking on his bunk. A pretty little smirk made it to the intentionally yellow twin’s face as he surveyed the damage. So that explained why his brother wouldn’t leave their room… “You know, Sides…”

“Stuff it.”

“I mean, I always knew you wanted to be like me…”

“Slag off, Sunny.”

“Well it’s nothing to be ashamed of…”

“I’m warning you, Sunshine…”

“It kinda suits you.”

“One more word…”

“But if you ask me, I’d go just one shade lighter to bring out your…”

Sideswipe was a golden blur as he dived down onto his snickering brother. A brother that was nearly laughing too hard to defend himself. And who was still laughing as they stumbled their sorry beaten selves down to Medical.

Ratchet made sure to put a stop to that laughing right quick.

“Of all the idiotic… what in the name of Primus is wrong with you?” he growled taking in their battered forms as they trudged in. “You two are going to be the death of me! If it’s not the fragging Decepticons blowing holes in you, it’s you doing it for them! And why in the name of all things holy are you yellow?!”

Sunstreaker couldn’t help a snicker, though the black glare he received from the medic quickly shut him up again. Sideswipe, however, found nothing at all funny about the situation. “I don’t know why,” he grumbled unhappily.

“So you just suddenly appeared yellow, is that it?” Ratchet asked, crossing his arms. Primus he really did think he was his creator or something, didn’t he?

“No,” the formerly red hellion responded. “I was doing some work and then I went to the washracks…” He trailed off, knowing by the sudden glint in the CMO’s optics that the rest of the story was not necessary.

It first appeared as a choked cough, then a light chuckle. Soon enough it became an outright cackle of glee as the enormity of the situation made itself fully known.

“It’s not that funny!” Sideswipe cried indignantly.

“Hooo yes it is!” Ratchet practically shone with happiness. “I don’t know who did this to you, but I’d say they deserve a medal of honor.”

In response, Sideswipe looked increasingly grumpy. His brother just stood back, simply basking in the wonderful atmosphere this whole episode was creating. For him there was nothing better than his ignorant slothead of a twin taken down a notch. And it seemed Ratchet, who never once agreed with him on anything, was thinking the same thing.

“Nice to see some sympathy here, daddy,” Sideswipe snorted, looking for all the world like a petulant child.

“Aw pipe down,” the boxy red and white grinned. “I’ll even forgive you and your brother’s stupidity and your disrespect for this. You slagging made my week. Now lay down so I can get to work on your sorry chassis.”

Obediently laying down, the warrior was eager to get the repairs done as fast as possible. The sooner done the sooner he could raid Ratchet’s paint closet.

“Oh by the way,” Ratchet added as he worked on a dent in his bright yellow chestplate. “’Jack used the last of the paint supply on a project of his. So unless you have your own stash you’ll have to stay piss yellow for a while.”

Slag.