Ratchet's Version

0705 hours, and Ratchet was moving more or less in the direction of the Common Room. It had been a very long night last night and suffice it to say, he really wasn't feeling awake just yet. He sort of registered passing Prowl, the 2IC mumbling something about getting the latest batch of energon checked for contaminants. Upon entering the Common Room, he didn't even blink at the sight of the still dancing warriors, having optics only for the row of energon dispensers at the back of the room.

Someone spotted him entering and immediately raised the alarm. "Medic alert!"

Instantly, Autobots sprang into action, moving tables, chairs, and other 'bots to clear a path for the shuffling medic. Nobody wanting a repeat of the last time something was in his way. It was hard enough to get furniture as it was.

Rule Six of surviving the Ark- Never get between a medic and his morning fix

It was 1045 by the time Ratchet had gotten the Repair Bay cleared of its backlog of patients, the last being a fairly embarrassed Prowl with fairly impressive dent in his helmet that he had refused to elaborate on. After releasing the officer, Ratchet hunted through his desk for his requisition list and left the 'Bay to find Ironhide and hand it over.

As soon as he entered the control room somebody started playing 'The Imperial Death March' over the general radio frequency. Every Autobot within transmission range started sniggering, but most were wise enough to conceal it somehow as the very un-impressed CMO stalked across the room in search of the culprit. Hound gulped as Ratchet stopped and glared at him.

He leaned in close. "You looking to take a short walk off a tall cliff, nature boy?" Ratchet asked dangerously. Hound shook his head vigorously. "No Ratchet." He replied obediently. The music immediately cut out.
"Good." Ratchet turned on his heel and walked out the door.

Rules Seven and Eight of surviving the Ark- The higher the rank, the more omniscient the officer, and never, ever mess with a grouchy, omniscient officer

At 1225, Ratchet had finished his errand and returned to the sanctuary of his office to finish up the last of the paperwork he had left over. There was a knock outside. "Come in." Ratchet called, not bothering to look up from his paperwork. Sideswipe stepped in "Hey Ratchet, could you help me with something?" He asked. Ratchet grunted and glanced at the mech, only to do an abrupt double take as he realized that the red mech was somehow foaming at the mouth.

"What in the fragging heck…?" Ratchet blurted, half rising from his seat. "How did you…never mind, have you nicked your washer fluid line again? What does your internal diagnostic say?"
"It, ah, doesn't." The sheepish Lamborghini answered. "I was bored so I, um, ateaboxofsoapflakes." He said quickly, cringing in anticipation of the forthcoming tirade.

Ratchet blinked. "You ate a box of soap flakes." He slowly repeated. "Just the soap, or the box as well?"
"Just the soap." Sideswipe quickly reassured him, wiping away some of the suds. "It's just, ahh, it won't stop foaming and I was thinking you could maybe do something about it?" He asked hopefully.
Ratchet's expression darkened. "Do you have any idea how stupid that was?" He roared.
"…no." Sideswipe squeaked.
"You will now."

Rule Nine of surviving the Ark- Doing something stupid then turning up at Ratchet's doorstep is liable to get you mauled.