I didn't expect to update so soon because of family coming in late for Christmas and staying a week. However, my uncle and grandmother went half-and-half on a new laptop and I wanted test it out. I'm really in love with this thing. So in the spirit of this awesome gift, I offer you another chapter of Fly on the Wall.
Thank you all for your endless support. I seriously love you guys for the reviews and alerts, and the favorites too! I just wanted to point out that chapter nine will take place during 'Flying Mind' then chapter ten will be during Tunnel Vision and the other episodes that go along with it. It's all worked out in my head and all it needs is too be written out, which isn't that hard.
However, the previously mentioned uncle only comes in once or twice a year so I may not have it up for awhile. I really feel like I need to repay him for the whole buying me a new laptop thing. So card games and my time with be spent with him until, I think, Wednesday when he leaves. But I also figure that since he might want to spend time with his daughter as well, I will have some time to myself and work on updates for this and the side stories for this 'verse'.
Placing the buffer to the side, the medic gave his patient a quick glance over while frowning. Although some of the plating was not the original, or at least what he had before Knock Out replaced it due to the disease, one could hardly tell. Mostly thanks to Knock Out's superb smoothing of shades and welding lines. A few of the lines would scar but in the very least it meant that he would be able to tell his pet from the rest of the hive.
Seeing as his work was done, he crossed the room and leaned over the control panel. A keystroke later, he brought up his current vitals and the ones taken before the treatment was given. He compared them with ease and found it somewhat surprising when he noticed how quickly the beast had begun to recover. He was at nearly fifty percent functional already for Primus sake, which hadn't truly been expected.
"Well," he hummed as he pressed another button, allowing his current status to take over the screen. He scanned over the information and processed it, running over it a few more times before he glanced back over the Insecticon. Everything seemed to be in order, so he added, "I suppose I could start bringing you out of stasis, huh? Just have to hope you come out of it slowly, and not bolt up and rip my helm clear off my shoulders."
He paused for a moment, then a smirk came to his lips. "Oh, you wouldn't do that, would you," he purred at the unconscious mech. He turned back to the screen and hovered a perfectly sharpened talon over a key. He added with a snicker, "not after all I've done for you. Even a simple minded cretin like yourself could understand gratitude."
However, just as Knock Out was to press the very button that would start his pet's systems, the doors to his med-bay opened. He snarled lightly, ready to remind the newcomer that the area was under quarantine, but stopped when he turned to see a particular sight. There in his doorway was the new Second In Command, a powerful servo rested on his cracked cockpit and a scowl visible on his lips. It reminded the medic of a time when another seeker came storming in, but without one of his arms instead of roughened glass.
"Are you busy," the seeker questioned, voice uncertain and slightly brooding. His servo dropped slightly to reveal more of the wound, which seemed to have gotten worse since Knock Out had seen it in the hall earlier. He added when the medic didn't reply right away, "I can return at a later time if you would prefer, there is no real hurry at this time."
Knock Out almost wanted to laugh but couldn't. Despite being rather amusing to see the normally stoic seeker nervous, it was also quite pathetic. Almost as pathetic as the treatment of his former partner after being caught about those filthy organics. He couldn't help but wonder what had caused this reaction from Dreadwing, however, he also knew if he waited to long to reply to him, he would lose his chance. Dwelling on the subject would do nothing. He was not being kept alive for thinking but repairing the Decepticon warriors.
"Take a seat," he motioned to one of the cleared med-berths. He watched as Dreadwing approached, surprisingly not limping any longer, then hopped up on it gracefully despite his size. So different than Breakdown, he noted absently as he made his way over the seeker. Despite the few likes they had, there was no doubt that this mech had been something special in Vos. He held himself much like Starscream but with an air of maturity that Starscream lacked. "Dare I ask how this happened," he inquired, examining the cracked glass.
"It is of no importance," the seeker replied, wings twitching in a manner that he was familiar with. Shame. "I just need repairs before my meeting with Lord Megatron. I am certain that he would not be pleased."
Knock Out snorted at that, "of course not," he mused as he leaned over, brushing a digit over the wound. He almost smirked at the pained hiss that the seeker gave him, and then he stood up straight and turned. "I'll have to check the back for replacement glass. Do you think you could wait here?"
"I have no where else to go," he admitted.
The medic did not reply with actual words but did make some sort of annoyed noise. Only then did he advance across the med-bay and head in the direction of the storage center, digging through the many containers that held various replacement pairs for officers only. He was certain that the gorgeous yet rough glass had to be located in here somewhere, as he had replaced Starscream's cockpit glass multiple times with spare left over for just in case purposes. He was also sure that he requested supplies to be sent upon the new seeker's arrival, but was rebuffed when Dreadwing supplied him with items from his own ship.
This wasn't entirely rare. Seekers were always strange creatures, especially those who seemed to know Starscream. Bringing his own supplies and giving them to Knock Out was probably the most normal thing that had happened to the medic thanks to a seeker. However, the main reason that he remembered this was that Breakdown had chosen to mock Dreadwing for this, which Dreadwing had snorted something of about that spider femme. It had upset Breakdown and it took Knock Out two joors, and a replacement glass, to reverse his partner's mood.
He shook the moment of the red faced and downcast Breakdown out of his processor as his optics settled on the tinted and arched glass. He gathered it within moments and scrolled back into the main room, pausing when he saw Dreadwing glaring in the opposite direction. Knock Out could not pick up on the words that were spoken but the way his field flared and lessened multiple times let the medic know that he was more than likely on a communication link with another, and one that was most certainly not Megatron by the look that the seeker wore.
"Dreadwing," he said suddenly, making a noise with his intakes that sounded much like an organic clearing their throat.
The seeker whipped his helm around in surprise then frowned, "I've got to go," he muttered, speaking to whomever he'd been speaking to over the comm-link. He then brightened his optics and scowled, obviously not liking whatever the other had said but still seemed to end the call. "My apologies," he added to Knock Out moments later.
"Who were you speak to," the medic asked, not really caring. It was really none of his business, and although Dreadwing had done much for him lately, he still wasn't fond of being in his proximity for too long. Too many memories threatened to show themselves and there were too many similarity, and Knock Out just didn't want to deal with that. Any of it. Especially now.
"A drone," he answered too calmly for it to be the truth.
"I see," he replied as he worked his way to the transformation seams on Dreadwing's chest. He was no where near as surprised as he should have been when the seeker's frame tensed and his field pulled back violently. Ignoring it though, he popped up the cockpit and swiftly unlatched the locks that kept the piece in place. He removed the broken glass and abandoned it next to the berth, moving to grab the new piece.
"I'm surprised," Dreadwing said suddenly.
Knock Out slipped the glass into place with little effort, "about," he questioned and knelt down, attempting to get a better look at the latches he needed to fasten.
"For a grounder you seem to know a lot about a seeker frame," he answered, flinching when the medic probed a talon to roughly against the inside of the cockpit. "Most medics would have to resort to old files and learning documents."
"Yeah, well, I repaired Starscream enough to know the frame set up inside and out," he snorted before clasping the latches swiftly. He also made sure to connect a few wires that seemed to have shaken loose. He stood and crossed the room, ignoring the distressed flicker in Dreadwing's field at the mere mention of Starscream. He paused at his computer station and added, "you're free to go. You know the rules, any pain, come back, blah, blah, blah." Yeah, he could probably work on his bedside manner.
Surprisingly though, Dreadwing just slid off the berth and left the med-bay without another word. Either he'd gotten the hint that Knock Out had been trying to give him since he arrived, or he was more uncomfortable with the entire situation than Knock Out presumed. It didn't matter though. The seeker was gone and the medic could return to what he planned on doing in the first place, and hopefully in peace.
"Go figure," he mumbled as he placed his servos flat against the control panel. He scowled then and glanced over his shoulder, rolling his optics at the still frame on the berth behind him. "A seeker creates the weapon that nearly killed you, which was fired by pretty much a seeker clone, and then another seeker has the nervous to waste the time that could be used to bring you out of stasis. You really should stay far, far away from fliers, my little Outbreak. Maybe I should write you a memo for when you awaken." Then he snorted slightly, "supposing that you can read."
Without wasting anymore time, the medic pressed the button needed to activate the Insecticon's systems and bring him out of his current position. He picked up a datapad and synced it with the med-bay's computer system, then proceeded to move across the room. He took to the berth closest to his patient and hopped up on the surface, bringing the datapad into his view. He watched at the numbers climbed slowly, waiting for it to hit a hundred percent so he could mock the beast and possibly offer him energon, maybe just not in that order.
He did not lash out upon rebooting like he probably would have under any other circumstances. Although the dulled ache of his frame had some to do with that, it was the reminder that spread even through his subconscious during stasis. His medic would be there when he woke. His medic would not leave him for dead after placing him in stasis. He was not the other medic. The one that always hurt and tested on him, his pretty red Decepticon was different. No matter how strange that sounded.
Even when his visor came to life and his vision began to clear, the first thing he did was turn his helm and fight the urge to groan. He won the battle against his own frame and his sights came upon an obvious and distracted medic, who sat on a berth near his frame. Those odd yet pretty red optics were focused on the datapad that he held in one servo and the other tapped perfectly sharpened talons against the edge of the berth. Strange, he found himself thinking through the slight pain, how everything on that medic seemed to be just that—perfect and pretty. So unlike the other Decepticons.
"—so, I was thinking," the medic said, startling the insecticon for a moment. It only took him a mere second to realize that he did not actually notice that he was awake, but merely filling the silence. "You would look more civilized if I polished you up. I bet you would look quite good with some detailing as well. Maybe even a change in color. Well, I guess that wouldn't do much good huh? I don't think you would look quite as... charming in anything other than your current color scheme. Maybe we can do the detailing in a black or something, or just an outline in black and shade the silver—"
He blinked in thought and tried to follow the conversation as it furthered. It was useless, however, as the medic lowered his voice and narrowed his optics. Although he appeared angry, his field said otherwise. He was sad. The Insecticon did not know why or even understand, but he did know that he didn't like it. His medic should not be sorrowful. His medic should be witty and strange, and not like the other Decepticons. He wasn't when they met. He wasn't even sure if he was sad then as well. He had been a bit frightened when it came to Megatron, but nothing that others in his place wouldn't be.
Deciding that only he could change his medic's mood, for reasons he didn't quite understand, he twitched in an attempt to let the pretty Decepticon know he was there. When it didn't work, he clicked lowly and shifted, making an echoing scratching noise with his claws against the metal berth. This seemed to startle the crimson sports car out of his thoughts, and his optics snapped up and moved over to the Insecticon.
"Oh, you're awake," he said, smirking ever so slightly. The expression didn't reach his optics which still seemed oddly sad, and the Insecticon still didn't like it. He didn't voice this though, mostly because he couldn't in a way that the medic would understand. Instead, he just watched him slip off the berth and place the datapad aside, approaching his berth with slow yet steady steps. "Do you think you could handle some energon, Outbreak?"
Puzzled, the Insecticon did a quick scan of their surroundings, seeking out this Outbreak. When he could only come up with the sports car, it was clear that he was speaking to him. It didn't make much sense at first, but then he realized the truth; the medic had named him. It wasn't even a mocking name either, like the others had dubbed him, but in truth, an actual name. He didn't know what to think, especially as he stared up at the now hovering medic.
"Well," he growled, looking a bit impatient now. A servo rested on his curved hip and the other arm hung limply at his side, and oddly enough the medic's optics flared with concern that wasn't as hidden as he probably thought. "Don't tell me that it fragged with your systems. I had figured that it may cause some damage but the scans didn't pick anything up."
If Outbreak, it was strange for him to use that name for himself, could have frowned, he would have. Though, he did manage to dim his visor, which made his medic frown deeper. That wasn't what he wanted! He cursed their language barrier and his own weakness, but still managed to manipulate his magnetic field. It roared against the sports car with a flare of emotions to answer his question, which caused him to pull back in surprise.
He was fine. He needed energon though. He needed his medic to make him feel better again. Trust had managed to weasel its way in there and the Insecticon could careless. He did trust this Decepticon, more than he trusted anyone in his function previously. Prettycon, which is what Outbreak decided to call him because he needed a name too, made the pain go away, made him feel better. No one else had ever cared before this.
The medic stumbled and turned and made his way over to one of the cabinets. He fumbled with the door and then a cube of energon, before returning to the Insecticon, who was mildly amused by this. Yet he was concerned as well, worried that he had done something wrong and upset Prettycon. Surprisingly though, he just assisted his patient in sitting up and handed off the cube. Then, when Outbreak's grip was too shaky to bring the cube flawlessly to his mouth, he did that for him as well.
It surprised Outbreak. He hadn't expected further kindness from his medic, but when he attempted to bring his field close again, just to search for answers, the medic clamped down on his. It didn't upset him. He understood that Prettycon was probably confused, startled by all of this, and was being cautious. It was either that or something close to it, so he didn't exactly blame the medic and turn bitter. He just accepted the help and enjoyed the warmth of his Prettycon's servo on his frame.
Soon the cube was empty and his tanks were not aching. He was placed on his back once more and the container was abandoned on a nearby tray. He stared up at the medic for a moment, watching as he observed him for a brief moment. Prettycon then smirked and slipped a servo back onto his hip, swaying them to one side as if he were teasing the Insecticon with his figure. If that was the case, then it was working and Outbreak could feel his frame heating up ever so slightly, but managed to figure the urge to act upon natural responses. Although his current weakness had something to do with it as well as his need to impress Prettycon.
"Auto-repairs should take care of everything else," he said suddenly, causing Outbreak to rip his gaze from those curvy hips to those strange red optics. He lifted his other servo, then proceeded to pat his helm ever so slightly. "Just relax and recharge, and your strength should return. Now I have—what are you doing?"
With his large and powerful servo wrapped around his medic's much smaller and delicate one, the Insecticon watched as Prettycon's optics narrowed. He didn't answer, not that he could, but did give the limb an experimental tug. The officer didn't move, so he tried again but more gently. He observed how tense he was, the way his shoulders lifted and lips pulled back into a tiny snarl. It then flared his aura again, allowing it to mingle with the medic's, and watched as his frame instantly relaxed.
"I'm not going anywhere," he muttered, looking uncertain and almost ready to bolt.
It didn't sit well with Outbreak. He remembered a similar look in another medic's optics, the way that medic held himself, and how he ended up in stasis on another planet. He tugged at the limb again, rougher this time, and flared his energy. Although weaker as his systems wanted to slip into recharge, he still managed it, giving the medic one little request. To stay with him. To continue to care and to return the guarding favor he had done for him.
Surprisingly, there was understanding in his medic's optics. "Clingy," he snorted but still allowed the Insecticon to pull him closer to the berth. "Just until you enter recharge. Unlike you, I have important matters to take care of." He then allowed Outbreak to scoot over slightly, with just enough room to perch at the very edge.
It pleased him enough to deactivate his visor and enter darkness. He took a risk before entering recharge though. One of his thick armored arms moved carefully around his medic's torso, feeling the warmth that the crimson Decepticon produced. He also felt something else. The way that he tensed up momentarily but relaxed, allowing the Insecticon this one last thing before slipped into a peaceful recharge.
The medic scowled when he heard the little ping to let him know that the patient had fallen into recharge. Even though the feel of another field so close to his and so willing to mingle was nice, he wanted to get away and knew he had to. Not to mention, he was sure that his shiny finish—it should have been obviously that he would have taken that buffer to his own armor as well—would have little silver streaks. Annoying paint transfer similar but not even close to the blue markings that he often wore with pride from his quarters to the med-bay.
Knock Out spent several minutes trying to pry the Insecticon's clawed servo from his hip and wiggle out of the loop that the arm attached to it had around his frame. It obviously failed and the medic growled, but the patient remained obvious. He snorted at that thought and began angry with himself for even agreeing to sit down, let alone staying with the overgrown cretin. Most of all, though, he found that blaming Breakdown worked a Pit of a lot better.
After all, Breakdown had softened him, spoiled him even. He allowed him to get away with murder, quite literally sometimes, and always protected him, even though sometimes he was injured turning the process. But always afterward, sitting in their personal sanctuary known as the med-bay, Breakdown would pull him onto his lap by the hand and hold him close. This wasn't Outbreak's place, he found himself thinking bitterly, but Breakdown's and the latter would not like that some bug had taken his spot.
In a moment of anger, the medic glared down at the Insecticon and balled his fist, ready to smack the bug right off the berth and away from him. His optics focused for a moment and he froze. The way that large frame lay still and relaxed, it reminded him of a time that he didn't want to remember in the slightest. His partner in an interfacing afterglow, laying flat on his back and waiting ever so patiently for the medic to join him. It was an assault on his memory core and on his very spark, and sent him into a moment of weakness.
In this oddly vulnerable state, he managed to slid out of the Insecticon's grasp, much to his surprise as he couldn't before this moment. Then, he absently pushed the mech aside, just enough to make more room for his own frame. Once he was sure to have an adequate amount of room, he laid down next to him and weaseled his body between Outbreak's side and arm. Even from this angle, he could hear the gentle beating of the other being's spark pulsing in the chamber that held it.
He grasped the Insecticon's wrist and pulled the arm around him, allowing the clawed servo to come to rest on his side. The warmth of another body tickled at his sensory net and urged him to recharge. It was an enticing idea, one that called to him and reminded him of just how hard he'd been working and how much he deserved this. So he did it. He deactivated his optics and hushed his systems into a recharging state; pretending for a moment that the beast next to him was not some lower life-form but his previous partner. Soon enough, he slipped into the darkness and slept.