zomgitsalaura

So, Playswithworms wanted me to write a continuation to the “Sniffles” prompt she gave me. Hopefully this is what she was looking for.

This story is set in Playswithworms delightful little ‘verse; you must go read her stories *does jedi hand wave*

I’m going to bed now. Laura is tired and needs sleeeeeep :3

Remember, reviews and feedback are love. I don’t write often and they prod me into doing more.

Till next time,

Lots of love,

Laura

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Groove, Streetwise – sniffles

Groove and Streetwise felt awful; luckily no-one else on their team had contracted the virus that had decided to play merry hell with their systems. Currently quarantined in the med bay, drugged up to the optics and connected to external cooling devices, they both decided that they were lucky that they were the ones who had contracted the virus. Especially considering how fragile ‘Aids systems still were.

Ratchet had assured them that, as long as they didn’t break quarantine, none of the rest of their team would contract the virus. This assurance was then continued by Wheeljack, when he launched into a very excited explanation about how, once the virus was gone, their new found immunity would be transferred to the rest of the gestalt next time they formed Defensor. They were vaguely worried when he walked off muttering something about “infecting one of the Aerialbots” and “making sure the rest got the immunity” though.

For the moment, however, they would just have to deal with aching joints, overheated systems and the crippling boredom of the isolation room while their three, worried gestalt mates hovered (one of them literally sometimes) in the hall outside the bay.

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Hot Spot sat up from his current position sprawled across the large couch in the Protectobot common room. Still slightly dazed and confused from recharge he reached out for his team mates. Jerking fully awake when he found himself alone, the large gestalt commander rolled himself to his feet and made his way towards the soft sounds coming from First Aids room.

Rubbing his optic with one hand, the other propped on the doorframe, Hot Spot released an exasperated sigh. “’Aid, you need to recharge.” He said, striding across the room and seating himself on the unused berth.

Each of the Protectobots had a room, and berth, of their own in the hangar. Preferring to sleep together in a pile in the common room though, each room had become nothing more than a well furnished storage closet.

First Aids berth, at the moment, was home to a rather large collection of medical data pads (each of them currently on loan from a rather overworked Ratchet) and, curled in the corner against the wall with his legs tucked up to his chest, First Aid himself.

Since the senior medic didn’t want to risk ‘Aid getting infected like his brothers, worried about what the virus could do to the little mechs still recovering systems, First Aid had been taken off duty in the med bay until further notice.

The data pads had been provided in the hope that continuing his studies would distract the protectobot from his brother’s absence. Hot Spot, however, was worried that ‘Aid was beginning to retreat into his room for hours at a time, often forsaking recharge and energon to pour over the medical texts.

Reaching out, Hot Spot plucked ‘Aids latest pad out of his hands, drawing a faint whimpered protest from the tightly curled bot. Unfurling himself from his perch, First Aid rolled onto his hands and knees and attempted to re-snatch the retreating Data pad with one outstretched hand.

Leaning forward out of ‘Aids reach Hot Spot saved the page number, switched off the pad, and placed it on the neatly organised desk. Reaching back around and grabbing hold of the precariously balanced ambulance, Hot Spot lifted him off the berth, with little more than a few whispered protests and squirming, and made his way back to the main room.

“You can have it back after you’ve had a decent amount of recharge.” He lightly scolded, smiling to himself at First Aids resigned huff and quiet hum of assent.

Catching hold of the medic’s hands in one of his own and tucking them against his chest, the Protectobot commander shifted and made himself comfortable on the large couch once again.

“Plus, what would Ratchet say if you studied yourself into stasis, huh?”

“I miss Groove and Streets.” ‘Aid sighed quietly, wiggling upwards slightly from where he curled against Hot Spots chest and nestled his head on his larger brother’s neck. “When’s Blades going to come back?”

Lifting his hand and petting the upset medics red helm, Hot Spot shifted slightly in place and checked his chronometer.

“He’ll be back soon.” He answered, turning his head towards the door and hoping that the aforementioned helo’ would walk through. “He said he was going to go check in with Wheeljack. Go back into recharge. I promise I’ll wake you up when he gets back.”

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When Blades finally returned Hot Spot had yet to fall back into recharge, worried that First Aid would once again sneak off to read his data pads. Lifting his head from where it had been propped against the armrest, Hot Spot was surprised when, instead of just the previously absent helicopter, Wheeljack entered the room.

When Blades finally reached the couch, sighing loudly and flopping himself dramatically over the back rest, Hot Spot lightly tapped First Aid’s lower back plating. “Hey, wake up. Blades back and he brought Wheeljack.” He said, smiling as ‘Aid on lined his optics beneath the visor and pushed himself upright and further down Hot Spots body, finally stopping when he was sitting across the bigger bots lower legs.

“Blades?” he said quietly, rubbing his left optic beneath the visor as he reached around and pulled the exhausted helo down on top of him. “Why’d you take so long?” floated a muffled question from somewhere around Blades’ mid section.

“He was too busy hovering around near the ceiling outside the med bay.” Came Wheeljacks chuckled response from over near the doorway.

Leaning his arm across the back of the couch so he could properly see the engineer, a difficult task given that his lower extremities were currently being used as a berth for two of his sleepy team mates, Hot Spot cocked his head to the side and grinned cheekily. “So, have you managed to catch yourself a jet to infect yet?”

“No.” Responded the explosive engineer, shoulders and wings slumping in defeat, “I don’t know how they’ve been able to avoid me for so long. It’s almost as if they were tipped off as to why I was looking for them.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me if they were.” Hot Spot chuckled. “Any news on Streets and Groove yet?”

Perking up instantly and striding across the room to pat the Protectobots arm fondly. “Yep, that’s actually the reason I came down here.” He answered, vocal indicators flashing happily. “Ratchet said the last of the virus should be gone by morning.”

“So they won’t be contagious anymore?” First Aid chirped from underneath Blades, wiggling himself upwards until he could peer at Wheeljack from behind the helo’s rotors. “Can they come home?”

“Yes ‘Aid.” Wheeljack replied, turning on his heel and waving to the three bots as he made his way towards the door. “Groove and Streetwise can come home tomorrow.”