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Chapter Text

"Hook, get up, Megatron wants to see us."

The gravel of Scrapper's voice startled the crane awake. He felt his processor subroutines snap back online, activating his fight matrix until he felt Scrapper's familiar servo rest over his chest plate. Reassurance pulsed from the wheel loader's field, drawing Hook to clench his servos enough that he could concentrate on shutting off his subroutines.

"No one else is injured," Scrapper whispered, "that much Megatron assured me of."

The crane met Scrapper's gaze, reading uncertainty and bewilderment in the flickering red of his visor, then let out a tired vent.

Megatron.

No one ever knew the whims of their glorious leader's processor.

For all Hook knew, Megatron was going to punish him somehow for the crane's increasing bitterness in the medical bay. As if the Decepticon leader held no understanding of how utterly exhausting it was working for three straight days on repairs for another failed, mass casualty, mission against the Autobots. Especially when half of the crane's patients insisted on being as poorly behaved as they possibly could be.

Too tired to even joke or carouse with Scrapper over what his best friend thought Megatron wanted of them, they walked in total silence until they reached Megatron's throne room. The warlord was seated with one arm over a raised knee, while his right arm dangled over the armrests of his throne. Scrapper positioned himself ever so slightly in front of Hook, protecting him as they stopped before the throne where Megatron was seated, his expression contorted with all that Hook could guess was contentment.

"Prompt as ever, Scrapper," Megatron mused, his sharp denta bared in a smile that had Hook shoot Scrapper a concerned pulse of worry through their gestalt bond.

He did not have much keen mind of being blown up by a smiling Megatron. At least if he was frowning, Hook would know Megatron was irritated with them. A smiling Megatron could mean literally anything.

Scrapper bowed his helm, a polite, "Yes, Lord Megatron," covering the flash of confusion that came off the wheel loader's field, close enough to scorch against Hook's plating.

Hook brushed a servo against Scrapper's back, underneath the bucket's bucket link, comforting the wheel loader as best he could. Neither of them had the energy to deal with an unpredictable Megatron.

Then Megatron's gaze turned to Hook and the crane felt a jolt of fear shoot through his spinal strut. His wire pulled taut in its housing, sending a rattle down through his boom as he met Megatron's gaze firmly.

"Yes?" Hook questioned, his voice tightly controlled.

No need to show Megatron that a simple look could cow the proud crane.

"I have received… complaints."

Hook froze.

Scrap.

He opened his mouth, ready to retort with his usual spiel about limited resources and limited servos in the medical bay — as if there would be a complaint aimed towards Hook from anywhere else — but a raised servo from Megatron halted him before even a sound escaped Hook.

"Not against you, Hook," Megatron almost reassured — this meeting had to be a figment of Hook's imagination, Megatron was never this calm — with a dismissive wave of his servo, "but at how short staffed the medical bay is. I found a solution."

Hook stared at Megatron. Stared at Scrapper, who shrugged, his field now flashing with sharp bewilderment. Stared back at Megatron. "What."

Megatron beamed. The dim lighting of the Victory's throne room made that smile far more menacing than Hook imagined Megatron had intended. "I have found you an assistant."

What.

Hook stared.

"I do not need an assistant," Hook spat.

The affront of the mere suggestion. Did Megatron lack faith in him after he'd been the one who had forced Hook into his position as the Chief Medical Officer of the Decepticon force? Yes, he was overworked and his supplies were stretched thin every day, but there was no one on the Victory Hook would trust with even a patient chart. His brothers helped but the intonation of Megatron's "assistant" struck Hook as someone whose entire designation would be a medical assistant, not Hook's brothers helping him as they always did.

"If it is one of those wild Stunticons, I—"

Megatron put up a servo, cutting off Hook's grumbling before the crane could gather too much steam. "Not at all. Someone who is already trained and skilled in medical repairs."

Hook scoffed. Impossible. No Decepticon on Earth, or Cybertron, was more skilled than Hook in repairs, if they even knew how to repair themselves. The only other medics on Earth were Autobots. Ratchet would never have helped the Decepticons, even one dying on the battlefield. Megatron had to be pulling Hook's wire, there was no one qualified to be his assistant—

Megatron yanked his right servo forward, revealing it from the shadows of the throne room's poor lighting, and the red and white servocuffed Autobot that stumbled forwards from where Megatron's large servo held his wrists.

It wasn't Ratchet.

"First Aid?" Scrapper gasped, his field contorting with shock as Hook stared, flabbergasted at the servocuffed Protectobot.

First Aid looked uninjured, not even a scratch or dent in his plating, but his visor was blazing with fear as Megatron released his hold on the Protectobot's cuffed wrists. With a satisfied smirk, Megatron shoved First Aid forward, sending the ambulance skittering down the steps to his throne before First Aid caught himself and straightened.

Hook stared.

Scrapper stared too, though he reached out a servo to mechanically grab First Aid's wrists to pull the Protectobot beside him. First Aid followed suit, his field surprisingly controlled as he was dwarfed by Scrapper's bulk and hefty construction warframe. Hook had to hand it to the pacifist, he was acting quite controlled considering he'd been captured by Megatron.

"Show him how your medical bay works, Hook," Megatron said, dismissively. "Any matter concerning First Aid goes through you, and you alone. He is here to stay."

That finally pulled a reaction from First Aid, a tiny little startle that allowed a hint of panic to brush over Hook from the Protectobot's field before First Aid reeled it in and became a quiet sea of control once again.

Hook looked at First Aid, then Scrapper, then finally Megatron. "Y-yes, Lord Megatron. I understand."

With a wave of Megatron's servo, Hook and his brother were dismissed, leaving them to escort First Aid towards the medical bay. The ambulance didn't once speak as they walked, nor did Scrapper, who looked as startled as could be, judging from the static bursts in his visor. That same shock was felt by Hook, though he kept it hidden behind a furious scowl.

He could not allow the Protectobot to see how floored, and even betrayed, he felt by Megatron's actions. Megatron generally stayed as far from being involved as he could be from the medical bay. The medical bay was Hook's and no one else's. All decisions around the medical bay belonged to the crane… all for Megatron to throw an Autobot for an assistant at him?

As if hearing Hook's thoughts about him, Megatron's voice clipped through Hook's internal comms with a pleasant, amused air. I don't believe you need to worry about First Aid poisoning our supplies, but do keep an optic on him. If he does anything untoward in taking care of any injured or the supplies, report it immediately to me.

Hook nodded, then remembered that Megatron couldn't see him nodding, and responded with a curt, As you wish, Lord Megatron.

The comms cut out just as the two Constructicons and their prisoner-assistant-captive arrived at the medical bay. Hook glowered as he stomped through the doors first. The medical bay's dim power setting when it wasn't being used could not hide the dearth of supplies Hook was missing, nor the energon stains on the floor and berths that he had not been able to clean before Scrapper had ordered him to rest from his three day/night stint of repairs.

He hated to think of the scorn First Aid must have been viewing his medical bay with.

Hook prided himself on cleanliness and having a spotless medical bay. The many rumors he knew the Autobots had generated about him, as a savage, dirty crane who peeled apart living Cybertronians for their parts, infuriated him on a normal day. To have an Autobot see evidence that those false allegations could be true almost made a circuit break in his processor.

A glance over his shoulder plating had Hook catch on a growl as he noticed First Aid looking around the medical bay, his facemask and visor making his expression impossible to read. Judgment was all Hook could assume the other was giving to Hook's medical bay and it took everything in him to restrain himself to a mere clearing of his vocalizer as he stalked up to the Protectobot.

First Aid's helm snapped to him, his visor flickering with something as Scrapper released his hold on First Aid's wrist, then unlocked his servocuffs. The ambulance rubbed at his wrists, then nodded to Scrapper and—

Thanked him.

Hook snorted, his spinal strut snapping straight as he shot Scrapper a stunned look. One his brother returned with a light shrug of his shoulders before Scrapper moved from First Aid to stand beside Hook.

The ambulance stared at them both, then back to the energon stains, then back to them both. Hook noticed the way First Aid rubbed at his servos, seemingly nervously by the tight way he wrung at each digit.

"What do you want," Hook snarled, his harsh tone earning him a sharp look from Scrapper that had the crane inhaling a deep, cooling draw of air into his vents. Calm down.

"May I clean?" First Aid asked imploringly. His optics darted to the energon stains again, then back to Hook with a near pleading expression.

Hook scowled, but glanced towards Scrapper, who gave him the tiniest of nods. "If you insist," Hook grumbled before he pointed to a cabinet near his office, which was at the very corner of the medical bay, "supplies would be in there. Don't touch anything but cleaning supplies."

"I won't," First Aid promised, with such an open honesty it left Hook off balance.

Autobots.

Sickeningly sweet pacifist Autobot.

A glance at the Protectobot showed he hadn't moved a piston since speaking, a fact that had Hook rolling his optics and venting deeply before he waved the other off. At that, First Aid scurried off to the cabinet Hook had pointed out and came out with the proper cleaning supplies. While the ambulance began cleaning, Hook turned his helm to Scrapper.

::. This is ridiculous. I refuse to have some Protectobot in my medical bay! I don't need an assistant, I'm fully competent on my— .::

Hook's rant was cut off by Scrapper's servo on his boom, the soothing press of his best friend's servo over his green plating enough to cool some of Hook's anger down. Scrapper rubbed at his boom until the crane felt his shoulders relax, and felt his temper disperse until Hook could control himself. A pulse of thanks from the crane had Scrapper removing his servo to rest it against his shoulder instead.

::. Let's clean, .:: Scrapper suggested, not an order, only a suggestion. It was rare for Scrapper to ever order his team around, least of all Hook. But it was a suggestion Hook heeded as if his best friend had ordered him nonetheless. ::. It will help both of us. .::

A vent escaped from Hook before he nodded, then approached First Aid.

The ambulance jumped when Hook bent down to the bucket of solvent, but a glare from Hook had First Aid return to scrubbing the medical berth he'd been cleaning. If the Protectobot was going to jump out of his plating every time Hook moved, this was never going to work.

Not that Hook needed any help.

The crane groused and grumbled to himself the entire night as he cleaned, stopping only when the medical bay was absolutely spotless. Not even a tool was out of alignment and the medical berths had all been polished.

First Aid had spent painstaking care cleaning every single stain he'd seen, then cleaning the tools the three of them had used to clean the medical bay with.

It almost infuriated Hook to admit that having a third set of servos cleaning the medical bay had made the work easier. Especially when First Aid's work was meticulous, similar almost to Hook's own self punishing drive for perfection.

Anger flashed through Hook as his processor instinctively compared First Aid to himself.

They were nothing alike.

But it was exceptionally late — or exceptionally early, depending upon one's view — and Hook needed his rest.

The Autobot would have to be dealt with.

"Autobot," Hook growled, too annoyed and irritated by his presence to use First Aid's name, "you will stay in the medical bay at all times, unless under escort of myself or my team. You will touch nothing without my permission, and access no data ports without my explicit permission. If you must, you can use an unoccupied berth as your own, until we get patients. There is an energon dispenser inside my office that you may use to acquire your daily ration from, you will have to use my name until Soundwave inputs your own ration card."

First Aid only dipped his helm, before he looked between Hook and Scrapper alike with another one of those infuriatingly understanding looks. He finished washing his servos, then strode over to the furthest berth, where he laid down and turned his back to the two Constructicons.

Which left Hook to pinch at the bridge of his nose and give an exhausted growl.

"Be easy on him," Scrapper whispered, "I'm sure he wishes to be here as much as you want him here."

Hook fumed, his denta grinding together as he shot his brother a firm almost glare. "I don't want him here. I don't need him."

"I don't think you have a choice," Scrapper warned, an edge to his voice that had Hook lower his helm and look away from the wheel loader.

It wasn't a choice he was happy with, but it was one he knew he had no choice in, as Scrapper said. Not when Megatron himself had commanded it. Defeat curled off the crane as he turned away from his brother, helm shaking.

::. I will spend my nights in the medical bay, to watch our prisoner, .:: Hook grumbled through their bond as he trudged towards his office.

A final squeeze of his shoulder preceded Scrapper leaving the medical bay, until all that was left was Hook and that blasted Autobot assistant. Hook cast one last resentful glance at First Aid, then closed the door behind him into his office.

Unbelievable.

An Autobot in his medical bay. As his assistant?

How had this week turned out so terribly, and it was only Wednesday?

Hook woke up from an uneasy recharge.

He'd been in and out of recharge, unable to rest for long before the Autobot's presence in his medical bay snapped him awake and had him peeking out his office window to see what the Protectobot was up to. Every time he'd checked, the blasted ambulance was asleep.

Every. Single. Time.

But he couldn't rest. Not easily.

So the crane had slipped between small bursts of recharge and organizing his office, even when it was already spotless, with not a single folder or datapad out of place.

A ping from Megatron, asking for an update on First Aid, led Hook from his office and into the medical bay itself. Standing at one berth was First Aid, his helm shifting slightly in a tell tale demeanor of investigating his surroundings.

Annoyance shot through Hook as he stepped towards First Aid and cleared his vocalizer. First Aid did not startle, nor jump. He merely turned around and gave Hook a warm… smile?

Whatever in Primus…

"Good morning, Hook!"

Hook rolled his optics at First Aid's chipper tone — could he act any less bothered by being the captive of the Decepticons? — but returned the greeting with a curt nod of his helm. The ambulance's visor glinted at the nod, and a hint of friendliness washed over Hook from the other's field.

There was a hint of dullness in his visor though, enough that Hook realized that First Aid likely hadn't refueled since before Megatron had captured him.

"Come with me, I will show you how to use the dispenser."

First Aid nodded, and quietly followed Hook as the crane returned to his office. He showed First Aid how to use the dispenser, using Hook's ration card. While First Aid was refueling, Hook responded to Megatron, informing him of the Autobot's status until Megatron ended the call.

With a "request" that made Hook's energon boil.

First Aid was still sipping at the cup of energon he'd dispensed when Hook turned to stare him down. Curious, First Aid tilted his helm to the side and watched Hook, his retracted facemask revealing no emotion as he sipped energon through a straw.

Hook felt like he was seconds away from an energon fuel line burst.

Megatron would be hearing Hook's many grievances over working with an Autobot. With this seemingly overly kind and friendly Protectobot. Why couldn't he have found a different solution to the complaints about Hook's medical bay — invalid as most of them truly were. Hook was an excellent surgeon, even more so considering his lack of training within a prestigious (or any) medical school on Cybertron. The Decepticons should be grateful he hadn't quit and left Cybertron when the war turned truly sour — than bringing a rival gestalt, and enemy faction member, into his medical bay.

Making Hook have to work beside him, as if the Autobot held the same rank as Hook.

To let First Aid work on any injured Decepticon who came into the medical bay while Hook watched?

Outrageous!

"Alright, Autobot, I am far more vexed at our situation than I would care to admit. Megatron has ordered me to observe you and ensure you complete repairs properly on any Decepticon that needs them," Hook snapped as he glared at the Protectobot, whose expression held an openness to it that almost made Hook double take. Autobots. No sense of self preservation.

Hook didn't need help.

He did not need to be undermined by an enemy!

This was his—

"I…" First Aid's openness fell away, his visor dimming as he looked down from Hook. The cup of energon in his servos was tapped at nervously before the ambulance cleared his vocalizer. "This is your medical bay. I understand your orders, but I would rather defer to your wishes."

First Aid continued to fidget with his cup of energon as silence stretched between himself and Hook.

The crane stood, rigid and unmoving. He could not allow himself to show the fact he was shocked by First Aid's declaration.

Autobot egos and righteousness were well known by all Decepticons. He'd expected First Aid to happily agree. Why wouldn't the Protectobot want to show the savage Hook how to "properly" repair an injured Cybertronian?

It was in the Autobot nature to believe themselves better. (Which Hook found laughable. The faction that most closely aligned with the government that had torn apart their home planet better? Please). Of course First Aid would find this opportunity Megatron had forced onto him as the perfect opportunity to discredit Hook's genuine hard work in learning how to be a surgical engineer.

That First Aid hadn't made Hook—

A sudden pulse of pain shot through the gestalt bond with a swiftness even Hook could not defend himself from.

A distant cry of his name went almost unheard as Hook staggered backwards, one green servo steadying him on the side of a medical berth as Hook tried to process what he'd just felt.

Then Scrapper's gravelly voice threw anti-freeze into the bond. ::. Constructicons, report. .::

::. Fine here, Scrapper! .:: Scavenger, always Scavenger first, promptly replied.

A chorus of responses from all but Mixmaster followed suit of Scavenger. Hook felt Scrapper's frustration gnaw into the bond before he controlled it with a vent.

::. Report to Hook. .::

Mixmaster didn't argue. There was no point with Scrapper.

"Hook?" First Aid was hovering inches in front of Hook, his servo extended towards the crane, as if waiting for his permission to touch him.

Hook waved off the Protectobot and straightened to stand. His legs wavered beneath him for a moment as Mixmaster's bond continued to pulse agony through their connection, yet he steadied himself.

Without the Autobot's help.

But First Aid continued to watch him with wide, visible concern from his visor. Hook watched the ambulance warily, denta grinding as he shook his helm in an attempt to chase off the other's worry.

"I am fine. Your concern was unwarranted," Hook growled, though any hint of venom was nonexistent as he worked to block off Mixmaster's bond.

He could feel Scrapper reassuring Mixmaster through the bond, his position as the gestalt leader affording him control over the gestalt bond in ways even Hook and Long Haul, as the torso components and grounding force of the bond, could not. The bond was softening, no longer spiking along his gestalt bond blocks.

::. He is on his way, .:: Scrapper informed Hook, a light pulse of affection flowing through their bond.

It almost made Hook relax, though only in mere fractions. Someday he'd have to thank his best friend for the unyielding support he always gave the entire team.

Amusement flickered through the bond as Scrapper let out a laugh, then playfully poked at Hook through the bond. ::. You never have to thank me. It might ruin your image, after all— .::

::. Shut up, Scrapper. .::

Hook slammed the bond off, but not in time to miss Scrapper's uproarious chuckling at his expense. Typical Scrapper…

A hiss of hydraulics turned Hook from where he'd still been standing, staggered by Mixmaster's bond, to the medical bay doors.

An extremely sheepish Mixmaster trudged through the medical bay doors, holding part of his left servo in his right. Blast marks scorched across his chest plate, but it was his near obliterated servo that held all of Hook's attention.

"What did you do."

It wasn't a question.

Hook stomped up to his brother, all the anger (and worry) he felt for Mixmaster turning his servos gentle as he took the cement truck's damaged left servo in his own.

But it wasn't Hook's statement that Mixmaster answered.

No, he stared past Hook's shoulder and pointed. "Why is an Autobot in your medical bay? Do I need to melt him down?"

First Aid squeaked.

Hook vented.

"Megatron's orders," Hook growled, without much other explanation.

Mixmaster blinked, quirked an optic ridge, then shook his helm. His gaze turned distant as Hook examined his mutilated servo closely.

A nudge through the gestalt bond brought Mixmaster back to the present, where he shrugged both his shoulders in mild response. "I mixed the wrong chemicals together."

Hook glared at Mixmaster, which was returned with another demure shrug. If First Aid wasn't there, Hook would have snarled every threat in the world to his younger brother. But the Autobot was watching him.

So he kept his anger in check and examined Mixmaster's servo. Three digits had been blown off, those of which were being cradled in the palm of Mixmaster's right servo. The rest of his left servo was mangled, parts of it melted and corroded, while scorch marks ran up the length of his palm and his lower arm.

::. Mixmaster. .::

Mixmaster's bond grew quiet, a tiny apology hidden in a babbling river of anxiety. An anxiety Hook vented against, but subtly pulsed reassurance to the cement truck for. Mixmaster gave him a small smile in return.

Hook finished his exam, told Mixmaster to sit on one of the berths, then stomped to his medicine cabinet. His supplies were low, as they had been for the past few months with continued raids that all failed.

He searched for the burn paste he needed, but came up empty. Just as he came up empty of the solvent he used for chemical eroded plating. It was gone too.

None of what he needed was there.

Panic edged into Hook's movements as he scrambled to find what he needed. He couldn't recall using the last jar of solvent. No Decepticon but for Mixmaster had any need for the solvent, and no injuries had been reported to his medical bay related to chemical burns. A quick check of the inventory logs showed that he was supposed to have a jar of the solvent. He'd clearly marked having one two days ago when he'd run a thorough inventory between repairs.

Had one of the Decepticons taken his solvent?

Had Hook miscounted?

"Mixmaster—"

"I didn't touch anything, Hook."

Panic settled deep into Hook's spark as he searched every cabinet and under every berth for the solvent jar. He needed the solution. If he didn't—

Movement out of the corner of his visor snapped Hook's helm up from where he was searching underneath one of his medical berths. Hook saw First Aid's servos moving towards Mixmaster. Rage shot through him before he even realized what was happening and he wheeled on the ambulance with a deep snarl that echoed of Devastator.

"Do not touch him."

First Aid froze, visor flickering in and out. He hovered near Mixmaster, his gaze fixated on Hook. Concern flickered in his blue visor.

"Hook, buddy," Mixmaster began, a trace of reprimand in his bond.

Hook ignored Mixmaster as he glowered down at First Aid. How dare he—

First Aid was offering out his medical kit.

Which was filled to the brim with supplies.

Including the solvent and burn cream Hook needed.

A surprised gasp rattled from Hook as he hurried up to First Aid, swiped a tube of solvent, then began his repairs on Mixmaster. First Aid hovered at Hook's side but the crane paid him little mind as he worked on his brother. Mixmaster was quiet, until a flicker of energy rippled off his field and brushed over Hook.

Whatever Mixmaster was transmitting through his field stiffened Hook's movements. His helm turned slowly to his left, where First Aid was bent over, repairing one of the dismembered digits that Mixmaster had been holding.

Anger flashed through Hook, his engine spooling up as he felt his hook rattle angrily in its housing—

Until he felt Mixmaster's calmness flood their gestalt bond. It made Hook's digits falter in his own repairs as he shot Mixmaster a quizzical look.

::. I gave him permission to help, .:: his brother explained calmly. ::. You can't do everything, and I'm in severe pain. .::

That made Hook flinch.

Mixmaster had been so blasé about his injuries when he'd walked in, and focused on First Aid, that Hook hadn't once checked or assessed his brother for how he felt. Not when his processor had latched onto the missing solvent and nothing else. Anyone other than his team who had hurt themselves would have been told off after Hook ran a coursary assessment of their pain.

His team were assessed while lectured, most especially Bonecrusher and Mixmaster, who were both the most prone to getting themselves hurt through various nonsensical or foolish actions. Hook was off balance with the intruder in his medical bay. He never forgot a single step when tending to his many patients.

Never.

The crane snatched one of the medical stims from First Aid's medical kit after a quick check in with Mixmaster confirmed a want for pain medication, which the ambulance had laid out on the medical berth Mixmaster was perched on for ease of access. A sigh of relief escaped from his brother as the stim was injected into his fuel line, but Hook felt none of that relief.

Not as he worked to repair the damage to Mixmaster's left servo. Not while First Aid worked diligently beside him on the three dismembered digits of the cement truck. Hook watched the ambulance out of the corner of his visor suspiciously the entire time, splitting his focus any time First Aid moved or reached for something in his medical kit.

But First Aid did everything right.

He even spoke to Mixmaster the entire time the ambulance worked, informing him of his every intention and the purpose behind each tool and solvent he used on the cement truck's digits. Mixmaster even seemed to enjoy First Aid's methods, judging by the shaded comments he made through the bond about "improvements" Hook could make based on the ambulance's method of care.

Hook's only response was a scowl that seemed to silence Mixmaster thoroughly.

It was almost mid afternoon when Hook and First Aid finished Mixmaster's repairs and had reattached his now repaired digits. Mixmaster was in recharge on a different medical berth, while Hook cleaned the berth they'd repaired Mixmaster on. First Aid was organizing his medical kit to the side, an action that kept drawing Hook's gaze away from his cleaning.

First Aid didn't seem to notice the crane staring at him until First Aid looked up and, quite visibly, startled.

A flicker of something passed through the ambulance's visor before he cleared his vocalizer and, quietly, said, "Yes, Hook?"

"Your medical kit," Hook directed, his glare fixed on the now closed medical kit that rested beside First Aid, which his servo hovered over, "how did you have it on yourself when Megatron captured you?"

(Hook ignored the desire to ask First Aid how his medical kit was stocked so thoroughly. He couldn't admit that he was jealous, not to his enemy).

"Oh!" First Aid fidgeted with the lid of his medical kit before answering, a nervousness in his gestures that Hook recognized from Scavenger. Part of Hook wondered if First Aid was as much of a people pleaser as Scavenger, or if he was anxious like the excavator, but Hook shoved those thoughts away. Why did he care? First Aid wasn't his friend or a patient. He was an intruder.

First Aid finally seemed to find a way to answer, when Hook picked up on his quiet voice cutting through Hook's thoughts. The ambulance fiddled with his medical kit as he answered, gaze glued to the floor of the medical bay.

"Megatron found me when I was without my gestalt. He ambushed me and threatened to dismantle my brothers one by one if I didn't cooperate with him." First Aid's voice shifted, a worried edge to his tone as he mentioned his gestalt. "He had me lead him to my base, where he suggested I gather my medical supplies without informing my team of his presence. I… was lucky that most of my team were away, as I can't lie to them."

Hook frowned. He hadn't even thought of the rest of the Protectobots or how they would take First Aid's kidnapping. He knew enough of the rival gestalt to assume that the four Protectobots would be furious when they discovered what Megatron had done. Maybe they would make a sweet enough deal so that the ambulance would leave Hook's medical bay and he wouldn't be stuck with sparkling sitting him.

(Though that fully stocked medical kit could stay when First Aid left. Hook needed that, much more than he needed an assistant of an Autobot. What in Primus was Megatron thinking? He should have sent a raid against the Protectobot base for supplies, not to kidnap their medic!)

"So you agreed to protect your gestalt," Hook surmised. He could respect First Aid for the choice. Gestalt was a complicated and intensely personal dynamic that changed any Cybertronian within a gestalt. From Hook's experience, gestalt loyalty superceded any other loyalty they held or were demanded. Hook would always pick his team over any Decepticon, no matter what.

Part of Hook was almost willing to voice that respect for First Aid's stated loyalty, until First Aid answered him, softly.

"That, and because Megatron told me how much help your faction needed." First Aid looked up from the floor, to meet Hook's gaze with a firm fire in his blue visor. "I could not idly sit by while fellow Cybertronians were suffering from a lack of supplies. I was given the chance to help, and I took it, for my fellow Cybertronians and to protect my team."

Hook scoffed, but turned away. "How noble of you," he growled, the sarcasm in his tone sharp and bladed.

So First Aid found himself the savior to the Decepticons?

Hook had been insulted before by Megatron believing Hook needed help, but he could not even find the words to describe the offense he felt at First Aid's statement. He could only imagine how First Aid viewed the Decepticons.

As savages who went without pain medication, who left medical bays dirty until a savior Autobot strolled in and offered to clean for them. Anger spiked through Hook and he turned on his heel and stalked into his office, where he slammed the door shut and allowed himself to seethe.

The noise level of the refueling chamber made Hook's audial receptors ache, even after he'd turned them down until the most they could pick up was the direct conversation from his brothers.

Scavenger and Mixmaster were seated on either side of Hook, neither saying much as they nursed their night rations quietly. Long Haul and Bonecrusher were discussing the latest design Scrapper had created for an energon converter the wheel loader believed would work with Earth's natural resources. Said designer was currently approaching the Constructicons' table with Onslaught beside him, the two gestalt leaders speaking to each other quietly.

Hook watched Onslaught with a raised optic ridge as both he and Scrapper settled down at their table, still discussing quietly between themselves. The Combaticon leader had been spending much of his down time with Scrapper, a matter Hook knew from Scrapper had to do with Onslaught seeking out the wheel loader for advice on how to deal with Bruticus. Something in the familiarity Onslaught expressed around Scrapper made Hook watch him, very carefully.

Hook wasn't privy to every conversation Scrapper had with Onslaught, but he wished he was. They didn't know Onslaught that well. Not since Onslaught had vanished and returned, apparently from the Decepticon Detention Center after they'd made a coup and failed against Megatron. Hook suspected there was more to Onslaught and his team's disappearance and reappearance than anyone was saying. His medical exams of the team showed intense spark damage and readings between the sparks and the Combaticons' frames that did not properly mix.

His train of thought was cut off when he heard Onslaught say his name. Hook turned to look at the other, optics narrowed behind his visor. Onslaught didn't seem to notice his glance as the missile truck gave a low, contemplative hum.

"Scrapper was telling me about the Autobot prisoner we have 'assisting' in the medical bay… How has he been?" Onslaught's query was asked with curiosity and warmth, not an edge of mockery or anything else.

But the reminder still rankled Hook.

He'd left First Aid in the medical bay when he heard the night ration bell ring through the Victory, Mixmaster following behind Hook silently. No other patients had come in that day besides Mixmaster, and Hook had not bothered to once speak to First Aid since their conversation about his medical supplies. He'd watched First Aid through his office's window, but all the Protectobot had done was sweep and clean even when the medical bay was already spotless.

It had made Hook sneer, seeing the proclaimed savior left with nothing to do but clean.

Insufferable goody two pedes.

"He finds himself a savior to our race," Hook growled, aware of the heat in his words as he looked Onslaught directly in the visor. "I hope Megatron gets rid of him soon, I don't need him."

Onslaught huffed, his expression hidden behind mask and visor alike, but Hook knew him well enough to suspect the other had raised an optic ridge behind his visor at Hook's words. The scrutiny in Onslaught's gaze made Hook look down at his cup of energon, which he'd hardly touched. Thankfully, the pressure from the Combaticon leader's gaze turned away as he addressed Mixmaster instead, though Hook noticed that Onslaught moved a servo down to rest against Scrapper's thigh as he did.

Suspicion rattled through Hook, but he pushed it away. He didn't know Scrapper's side, but he would ask. Later.

Hook listened only half-heartedly to their conversation, noting how Onslaught checked in with Mixmaster and asked how he felt, how he'd been hurt, until he heard Mixmaster mention First Aid by name. The crane stiffened as he heard Mixmaster compliment First Aid's work, turning his left servo so Onslaught could see the welds and repairs done to his servo. Mixmaster never once mentioned Hook's name as he continued to sing the praises of First Aid.

That Primus damned Protectobot, and not his brother?

Something stabbed through Hook's spark and he stood with a suddenness that silenced Mixmaster and drew a knowing look from Scrapper, which Hook ignored. "I have paperwork that needs to be finished," he growled in dismissal, before he stalked out of the refueling chamber.

He heard his brothers muttering amongst themselves, joined by Onslaught's ever dignified voice, but none of them stopped Hook. They all well knew to let the crane be when he got in "one of his moods" as Scrapper always called it.

But this time it hurt.

Shame plagued Hook's heavy, long strides as he stormed towards the medical bay.

His brothers made what he knew were jokes about hating him as a medic — at least, Scrapper had been forced to reassure Hook that the comments were jokes and meant in jest after one too many jokes about swapping Hook for a "real" medic had gotten under his plating and Hook had threatened to quit — but he'd never heard one of them so genuinely compliment, and prefer, some other medic.

A real medic.

One who had the schooling he'd never received due solely on his alt mode. His purpose as a mere construction vehicle.

It hurt.

Hook stormed through the medical bay doors, giving First Aid a snarl when he saw the red and white Autobot wave at him, and into his office. Where the crane slumped into his office chair and buried his faceplate in his servos.

Hook spent the next few days in the medical bay and nowhere else. He fueled solely from the energon dispenser in his office. Worked on the pile up of paperwork he always had following every failed raid or mission. Cleaned the entire medical bay until his servos ached, and observed First Aid as Megatron had initially ordered him too.

Most of the complaints that had come to the medical bay were minor, and all ones Hook allowed First Aid to tend to.

If Megatron was truly planning to replace Hook with First Aid, then he might as well get the experience of being the Decepticons' primary medic. Hook only interfered when the patients would squirm too much, or make too many threats against First Aid, where a single large servo over their chest plate would stop the wiggling Decepticon until the Protectobot ambulance had finished his exams and repairs.

First Aid had questioned Hook on his sudden shift in demeanor, but he'd ignored him pointedly and said nothing in response. The ambulance had gotten the hint after Hook had continued his silence, and he had not questioned Hook since. Instead, they worked in silence.

The ambulance was competent, at least.

He knew his way around every tool and procedure with strict adherence to patient comfort and care. The only time Hook saw First Aid demonstrate discomfort or unfamiliarity was how to deal with the limited supplies the Victory's medical bay had. First Aid's medical kit could only alleviate the chronic problem temporarily.

A crackle of static pulled Hook out of the medical file for Frenzy, who had come in twice in two days for joint repairs and needed his repairs and new joint materials noted down in his medical records, and to his internal comms. Soundwave's number, and a looming "Accept/Deny" message, flashed across his systems.

Hook knew better than to deny any message request from Soundwave. Not if he wanted to live peacefully within the Victory.

I read you, Soundwave. What do you need?

Thrust, Ramjet: Need immediate medical repair. Need your expertise. Arriving in thirty seconds.

Soundwave said nothing else. He need not have anyways.

Hook was out of his office, paperwork forgotten for later, in five seconds. First Aid stiffened as Hook hurried to one of his storage cabinets. The ambulance was at his side without a word, taking every tool and medical supply Hook handed him and placing them neatly on separate medical trays.

Two medical berths were prepared and ready just as Acid Storm, Dirge, Thundercracker and Skywarp came in, carrying Ramjet and Thrust between them in pairs of two. A quick examination of both injured fliers made Hook's spark plummet in its spark chamber.

Ramjet's spark was being held by threads of wire, and Dirge's servo.

Thrust was not as close to the brink of deactivation, but he was close enough.

Ramjet would need to be first, and until he was stabilized, Thrust's repairs would have to wait.

A gasp from behind Hook had First Aid suddenly push past him, though he paused to look up at Hook. "Let me do this, please. I have considerable practice with spark based surgery. I can help him best. Please."

Hook hesitated. Ramjet and Thrust were both dying. Hook could tend to both, but—

Hook nodded to First Aid and moved to where Thundercracker and Skywarp had gently laid Thrust down on one of the prepared berths. His plating was torn open, parts of his spark chamber revealed but not enough for Hook to see through to his spark. He knew the telltale wounds of Ironhide, Cliffjumper and Sunstreaker's primary weaponry on the two injured Decepticons' frames.

Hook placed a servo on Thrust's shoulder for a moment, then turned to begin his—

A squeak of pain from First Aid, followed by Dirge's voice suddenly snarling in vindictive, hate filled Decepticon binary, had Hook whirl around. The blue Conehead (the name had stuck even in Hook's processor after the Stunticons had come home from the Autobot brig giggling about the nicknames the Autobots had for all of the Decepticons) had his rifle aimed directly at First Aid, its muzzle glowing to life, as First Aid lay sprawled on the floor.

"Get away from him, Autobot!" Dirge snarled, his digit moving to his rifle's trigger.

Hook felt himself move before he processed what was actually happening.

The crane slammed the rifle to the side using his hook as he shoved Dirge backwards, against the wall. Using his immense height, Hook towered into Dirge's space, denta bared with venomous intent as he glared into the jet's optics.

Dirge blinked up at Hook, shocked.

"Do not harm my assistant," Hook hissed, "unless you want to lose Ramjet. First Aid will fix him."

A protest built in Dirge's gaze, but he seemed to think twice on it. With a nudge from Hook after he released Dirge from the wall, and a quiet command for him, and the other three uninjured, to refuel, the four Seekers left.

Once they were gone, Hook turned back to First Aid. The Protectobot was shivering, his visor sparking with static, until Hook extended a servo to him.

"They won't bother you again," Hook assured First Aid once the ambulance took his servo. Hook helped the ambulance stand, released his hold on him and resumed his repairs on Thrust.

First Aid moved to Ramjet's side, working in total silence as he did. Hook glanced across to watch the Protectobot as he repaired Thrust's fuel lines, then began the agonizingly slow process of reconnecting Thrust's repaired internal wire system so that he would be able to control and connect to his limbs, transformation cog and battle systems. To part of Hook's surprise, First Aid moved with deliberate care as he repaired Ramjet.

The Protectobot did not stop for even a moment as he contained every broken fuel line and sheltered the jet's exposed spark. A quiet request for assistance pulled Hook from Thrust, who was repaired enough to be considered stable, and to Ramjet.

Together, the two medics worked for hours on Ramjet.

Hook found himself following First Aid, rather than leading, as they worked on Ramjet's spark. It was evident First Aid was an expert in spark injuries, with every word and term he used that even Hook himself did not know throwing the crane for a loop. He schooled himself completely, not allowing First Aid to see how uneducated Hook was in this field.

The crane's servos and digits were sore by the time he and First Aid had repaired Ramjet's spark housing, using recycled materials the Victory still had in its morgue from deceased Decepticons. Long into the night they had worked, with First Aid never once showing the same exhaustion Hook felt. The only time Hook saw any hint of exhaustion, and more in a stunned moment of disbelief, was when Hook had led First Aid to the morgue for the spare parts.

For once, Hook had not taken offense at First Aid's shock. He understood the Autobots to have no issues with supplies, and thus suspected they never had to rely on their deceased faction members' frames for medical usage. Hook was used to what being a Decepticon medic meant, for it was on the frames of the deceased he'd practiced the skills he needed to save the injured, and the frames of the deceased whom he often had to use for repairs and patch jobs.

First Aid seemingly knew he had to accept the recycling of parts and had made no noise or complaints about it. Not that Hook would have been in the mood to debate on the difference between Decepticon and Autobot medical processes.

Now that both surgeries were over, Hook was seated on the floor between Ramjet and Thrust's medical berths, his back pressed against the wall as he monitored the vitals of both jets. Jolts of static pain coursed up from his left wrist, the numbness making him flex his left servo as best he could to exercise it.

He'd been so busy with repairs from every consecutive failed mission that he hadn't had the chance to maintain his servos how he liked to. The crane knew he needed to find time between watching First Aid for any attempts at sabotage (no matter how unlikely it was for a pacifist to attempt such) and tending to whomever else decided to get hurt for the maintenance. Or his numbness would spread—

Quiet steps stopped in front of him, before a flash of white and red bent down in front of him. "Hook?"

A growl slipped from the crane. "What."

First Aid kneeled down in front of Hook, his blue visor dull with exhaustion even as he stretched out a servo, where he was holding a glass of energon out to Hook. The crane looked at First Aid's offering and took it.

The Protectobot watched him for a moment before he sat down beside Hook. Neither spoke to the other, but Hook also did not find himself consumed by a desire to push the Protectobot away.

"Hook!"

Primus.

That deep, whiny voice was seared into Hook's processor as if he'd known it for millions of years, rather than the short eight months he had.

With a drawn out vent, Hook turned to the left, to be greeted by the sun bright yellow plating of Drag Strip, staring up at him with pathetically miserable optics. Curious. He usually went everywhere with his visor, believing it made him look "cooler", whatever that meant.

"Yes, Drag Strip?" Hook's tone was leaden with exhaustion, a sharp edge to it that Drag Strip seemed entirely unaware of.

The Stunticons were far too frequent of patients for Hook's temper.

Practically every other day, at least one of the Stunticons would either walk into his medical bay under their own power, or with the help of one of their brothers. Usually because their idiot of a leader had decided to pulverize his team for some failure the semi himself was too blind to see was his own fault, or by the Stunticons' own stupidity leading them to crash into the wrong Decepticon.

When the Stunticons would learn how to behave properly eluded Hook.

Embarrassment slammed off of Drag Strip's field, unrestrained and untrained, before the Tyrrell cleared his vocalizer and awkwardly shuffled his pedes. Then he tapped at his arm, before blurting out a rushed, "I hit my helm and I keep seeing bright flares of light whenever I move. I'm not scared or anything," Hook raised an optic ridge at that, "but I was hoping you could fix it, please?"

The use of Drag Strip's non-existent manners had Hook staring down at the Stunticon, before he vented, then gestured to one of the medical berths. "Sit."

Surprisingly, Drag Strip did exactly as ordered, though he kicked his pedes and swung them over the side of the berth as Hook gathered together a small examination kit. The Tyrrell continued to sit when Hook approached him and began an exam of his optic, using a penlight first to judge the Stunticon's reactions.

His red optics tracked the light, but slowly, and with notable delay.

A few more tests showed a clear concussion for the Stunticon, but no other external or internal injuries. A concussion could be cleared up with a sensory patch to his optical array, but Hook's supplies of those had been used up last on Astrotrain after he'd run into the side of a mountain in deep fog. Mixmaster had attempted to fabricate more sensory patches for Hook, only for them to have a defect that had caused the cement truck — who always tested his own inventions on himself — to lose his sight for three days. All of those had been thrown out and Hook had been left with nothing to help with any form of minor processor glitch, optical glitch or sensory glitch.

Hook's perfectionism itched painfully within his processor. The need to properly repair Drag Strip had the crane's digits twitching, until he controlled his urges with a growl and met Drag Strip's gaze.

"You will need to rest," Hook growled as he stepped back from Drag Strip and began cleaning his tools, even the ones he hadn't used. "The self repair nanites that somehow still function inside you will deal with your concussion. Should you hit your helm on something again, rest is the best solution."

A flare of frustration shot through Drag Strip's optics as he jumped off the berth, then shoved Hook out of the way. "Thanks a lot," the Stunticon snipped as he stalked towards the door of the medical bay.

Hook watched his back retreat, helm tilted curiously. He'd offered the best advice he could. Why was Drag Strip ungrateful?

"You could have helped him further," First Aid commented as Drag Strip left the medical bay in a huff, the ambulance's tone curious, but reprimanding all in the same. At least, that was what Hook heard from him.

It infuriated him. This wasn't First Aid's cozy medical bay on the Ark, run by himself and Ratchet.

It was Hook's. His damp medical bay that he had to constantly fight mold and rust off of due to the Victory's undersea prison. How dare First Aid lecture him on how to deal with his patients and their slew of injuries, minor or not.

"Autobots are swimming in supplies," Hook hissed as he wheeled on First Aid, whom, to his credit, held firm even at Hook's venomous glare, "I am not. I cannot afford to waste supplies on minor injuries, or I will have none left for legitimate injuries."

Something sparked in First Aid's visor at Hook's snarl, and the firmness with which he met Hook's gaze made even the crane stop for a moment. "That isn't what I meant, Hook. You do not have to use your resources to assist a patient with proper pain management. Drag Strip does not know how to deal with pain, he is a newspark. If you were to institute exercises or mediation, I believe you would see less minor injuries being brought to you."

"Drag Strip didn't need pain mediation. It's a minor concussion—"

"He wanted comfort." First Aid declared.

Hook glared at First Aid, his full height dwarfing the other. "I'm not a sparkling sitter—"

A laugh escaped from First Aid, the sound making Hook reel back with a snarl from his engine that radiated offense. How dare he—

Another giggle escaped First Aid before he shook his helm and vented. "That is abundantly clear. But that does not diminish the fact Drag Strip came to you seeking your help. He trusts you to help him when he's injured, why wouldn't he trust you to comfort him as well?"

Because he's young and foolish, and no one else on the ship can do what I do, Hook growled to himself.

"That is not my job," Hook reiterated.

He was a self taught surgical engineer. Every single one of his skills were earned through hard work, not through schooling or from being forged as a medic from the very start of his life.

Unlike First Aid.

Simply looking at the Protectobot's soft curves and gentle demeanor told Hook that he'd been made as a medic. That First Aid had had every chance and opportunity given to him to become the apt medic he was.

Opportunities Hook never had.

If First Aid knew of Hook's illegal medical facility he'd run in Iacon, he suspected the ambulance would begin ranting at him about "improper medical procedures" and "needing a license". He wouldn't be the first Autobot medic to turn his nose up at Hook's methods. It would only sting more from First Aid due to the fact Hook knew the ambulance was… skilled. That he had to work alongside him at the behest of his leader. Infuriating.

"If you are so determined in your beliefs," Hook spat, "then you can comfort the Decepticons. You will soon see it is pointless. They—"

Movement from First Aid flashed at the corner of Hook's vision, but he ignored it and kept on talking. Ranting, Scrapper would tease him. Until the sensation of First Aid's servo on his arm shot frozen mercury through Hook, his voice sputtering out in a trail of static as the crane turned his helm slowly to stare down at the small ambulance.

First Aid's gaze was fierce, the blue of his visor making Hook back up slightly. He could tell that First Aid was analyzing him, searching his frame for what Hook could not have guessed.

"You care, more than you like to let on."

First Aid's comment was left with silence between them.

First Aid's judgment made Hook swallow. His gaze darted away from First Aid, leaving the crane thankful for his visor that hid his optics from any who wished to look too closely at Hook.

"You cared about Ramjet and Thrust. You care about your team. The way you reacted when I went to help Mixmaster? That's the sign of a true medic's spark," First Aid fixed Hook with a stare as he spoke, his words making Hook bare his denta in a sneer at the Protectobot. "Why do you deny Drag Strip what you know he was asking for when you care about the Decepticons you heal? Is it pride?"

Annoyance shot through Hook.

He was done with First Aid's lecturing.

With a growl, Hook threw First Aid's servo off him, spat a cold "goodnight", and stalked off to the Constructicons' quarters. If First Aid wanted to sabotage the Decepticon medical bay after all of that drivel, he could be Hook's guest.

Not like it wouldn't be obvious who'd done it, if so.

Hook was certain Megatron would be rid of the Protectobot finally if he did get the mind to mess with Hook's supplies.

As unlikely as that was…

His annoyance did not wane when Hook entered his team's quarters to the sight of Bonecrusher wrestling with Scrapper. Long Haul looked up from the datalogs he was working on, a quiet greeting returned by a huffy growl from the crane. Mixmaster and Scavenger were hunched in a corner, the scent of burning chemicals a clear indicator of what they were doing.

Hook sent Mixmaster a scathing message about refusing to repair him if he blew himself and Scavenger up, then stomped into his room. The door slammed behind him, leaving a silence in the common room he did not notice.

Why was he allowing First Aid to get under his plating?

Why did everything that obnoxious ambulance say lead to such reactions from Hook?

He was proud, of course he was! Hook was the sole surviving medic of the Decepticon forces, held at a disadvantage with limited supplies and every skill picked up solely through trial and error. The crane was exceptional for it all, and First Aid dared to question him?

Hook ground his denta together, his fists clenched. An urge to draw his sword from subspace and use it on something was quelled when he heard his door open, and felt a rough servo rest on his shoulder.

Scrapper.

"What."

Scrapper didn't answer. Not verbally.

Before Hook knew what was happening, he was bundled under the covers of his berth, Scrapper's arms wrapped around him in a hug as his best friend leaned his helm underneath Hook's chin. A rumble from Scrapper's engine lured Hook's temper to eddy, his anger ebbing as he relaxed into Scrapper's hug.

Tomorrow, he could deal with First Aid.

Tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Laser bolts shot over Hook's helm as he dodged a swing from Sideswipe, then slammed the bottom of his pede against the Autobot, sending him flying. His brothers were scattered around the battlefield, engaged with the force of Autobots that Megatron had sought out to ambush.

A quick glance located Long Haul and Mixmaster, who were in a froth of red and blue that Hook thought was Warpath and Tracks. Bonecrusher was effortlessly stomping Ironhide into scrap, the Autobot's thrashing useless when Bonecrusher was as angry as he was. Hook winced as Bonecrusher's anger fed into his, causing the crane to lose focus for a moment.

The Constructicons were scattered, but Megatron had not called them to form Devastator. They seemed evenly matched… unlike Scavenger.

Scavenger was under heavy fire from Gears, Huffer, Cliffjumper, Bumblebee and Windcharger. The excavator was doing what he could to block the minibots' fire, and to regroup with his nearest Constructicon brother — that being Scrapper — but every time he moved the minibots cut Scavenger off before he could escape.

Scrapper was on the ground, Sunstreaker clawing and slashing at his faceplate with fury that Scrapper couldn't dispatch. Especially not when Sideswipe raced over to his brother to assist him, abandoning his fight with Hook.

::. Scrapper! .:: Hook turned to charge towards Scrapper, but a glare from Scrapper froze him in place.

The command was unspoken, but understood.

Hook drew his rifle, aimed it at the cluster of minibots that had just downed Scavenger, and fired.

A screech of pain burst from Cliffjumper as Hook fired off another volley that sent Cliffjumper to the ground. The others all turned towards Hook, giving Scavenger a moment's respite.

But then Hook saw Scavenger's visor flicker, and heard him screech a warning to him. Hook wheeled around in time to see a blur of red and white, recognize the roar of rotor blades, and then he was hoisted up into the air.

Blades' skids dug under his arms as the helicopter shot into the sky, the ground vanishing beneath them. Hook snarled the higher they got and lunged to grab onto Blades' skids as best he could. His rifle was long discarded on the battlefield, and reaching for his sword would make him lose his grip on Blades.

Hook did not fancy being dropped as Vortex would do to his enemies.

Protectobots incoming, came a lazy warning from Starscream.

Yes, very helpful, Starscream! Maybe next time he wound up in the medbay under his own stupidity, Hook would let him sit and suffer for an hour or so. The second in command would deserve it.

"Like heights do you, Hook?" Blades snarled when he finally stopped ascending, though a glance down made Hook quickly look away.

The ground was barely visible from the height Blades had taken Hook to, and all he could hear was the rhythmic beating of rotors. Even his gestalt bond felt a little distant. All of which made the pounding of his spark exceptionally loud to Hook.

His grip on Blades' skids tightened as a wave of fear crashed over him.

How did Blades know?

Perhaps he didn't. Maybe Blades was simply reacting, as Hook understood him to often do.

Stay cool.

"Trying to imitate Vortex, are we, Blades?" Hook scoffed, his field flashing with a sneering arrogance. His usual Hookisms, as he knew both factions knew him to have. The less Blades knew about the fact Hook was very much not enjoying this, the better. "I'd think such boorish behavior would be beneath you—"

Blades dropped him.

Later, Hook would maybe acknowledge that there was one benefit to the height Blades had taken him too: none of his brothers heard his shriek when his processor registered he was falling.

Not that they didn't already know how Hook hated being without some kind of stable footing beneath his pedes, but still.

He had an image to uphold.

Screaming while falling would devastate that image. Badly.

Thankfully for his image, the crane's vocalizer shorted out only a few moments after being dropped. His spark, on the other hand, did anything but short out. He could feel it thundering and storming the longer he fell, charging electricity through his frame that started to short out other parts of his frame.

Including his comms.

Great.

Just great.

Any attempt to contact the Decepticon Seekers went nowhere but for a sizzle of static. He would take being saved by Starscream over being destroyed from a fall currently, even if it set Hook into debt to the obnoxious second in command.

The ground rushed ever closer to him, and for the first time in his sparked life, Hook wished he had a different alt mode. Decepticon grounders didn't fly. Scrapper had tried to invent a device — a "wing" as he'd called it — that would permit him to fly, but after multiple test flights had caused Scrapper to be put under Hook's servos in the medical bay more than once, Hook had put his pede down.

Constructicons did not fly.

Maybe he should have let Scrapper follow his foolish design choice. Then he'd—

Hook suddenly stopped falling. He felt large skids hook under his crane boom and under one leg, stalling him mid air.

It wasn't Vortex. The Combaticons weren't on this mission.

Blades had come back for him.

Blades was playing with him.

Still choked by his fear, Hook shot Blades a glare (though all he could get a glimpse of was his alt mode's underbelly) as he dangled on his skids. His instincts snarled at him, warring with his fear and his millions of years of fighting for the Decepticons. But logic kept his gaze shifting to stare down at the still great distance from where Blades was hovering and carrying him, and kept Hook from thrashing or protesting much further.

The helicopter would tire of playing with Hook if the crane did not rise to his behavior. Hopefully that would lead to him not dropping Hook a second time, and rather discarding him to the ground from a survivable height. Hook was not entirely certain what he'd done specifically to the Protectobots to draw Blades' ire, nor did his processor want to be helpful for more than overthinking exactly what he'd done to annoy the helicopter.

Unfortunately for Hook and his need to know everything, Blades didn't care to explain.

With a sudden shift of metal, Blades transformed out of his alt mode, with his grip on Hook's boom and the nape of his neck ones that restricted most of Hook's movement, then they plummeted.

Hook thrashed with everything he had as the two fell. His hook loosened from Blades' grip after much twisting of his boom and, with a snarl of anger, the crane lashed his hook across Blades' faceplate.

Blades let out a howl of pain and dropped Hook, the rotors on his back spinning to catch him in root mode.

But nothing was there to catch Hook, who slammed into the ground with a plating breaking crunch.

Dirt, rocks and clouds of dust were all Hook could see as he lay, stunned, in the crater his impact with the ground had made. Weak blares from his sensors flared up, noting damages all along his frame, both external and internal injuries.

Not good…

With a shaky heave of air expelled out of his vents, Hook slowly gathered his servos and knees beneath him. He pushed himself up onto shaking legs, blurry vision whirring as his optics adjusted to the splitting ache in his helm. The crane could feel his brothers through the gestalt bond, but their voices were muffled behind the incessant ringing in his audial receptors.

Primus, he hated being dragged into combat.

Entirely beneath him.

Hook drew his sword from subspace, the pommel gripped in one servo as his vision slowly cleared.

A thud to his side was the only warning Hook had before he felt Blades' photon pistol fire an inch from his helm. Scrambling to the side, the crane slashed out with his sword with what little vision he had. He felt the tip of his blade sing across metallic plating, but knew by the roar of Blades' engine that he'd escaped the brunt of Hook's wild swing.

Spying a flash of red and white coming at him, Hook wheeled on his heel and jabbed forward with his sword. A puff of hot air billowed over him and the beat of rotors flared behind him, telling him that Blades had narrowly avoided his jab.

Just as Hook had wished for.

His vision had finally cleared enough to find where Blades was landing behind him, photon pistol primed with another round.

With a sharp snarl, Hook lashed out with his cable and hook and watched with satisfaction as it ripped between the plating of Blades' right palm and his digits.
Blades let out a shriek of pain and staggered back. An opening Hook would exploit.

Precision coiled beneath Hook's plating as he used his size, the blade of his sword and the whip of his cable and hook, to gain the advantage on Blades. The helicopter recovered but was met by a whirl of the crane's weaponry that had him on the edge of his pedes.

Hook had to dodge multiple shots from the Protectobot's photon pistol as he attacked Blades, but he had enough experience and control over himself to expect the helicopter's shots. He'd backed Blades into a corner when, with a furious snarl, Blades abandoned all decorum and launched himself at Hook.

The crane felt a piercing, sharp agony slash through his left ankle where Blades' sharp digits clawed through thick armored plating. Hook had to jerk to the side to dodge the upslash of claws that missed his chin and throat plating by an inch, if that, his balance off.

The crane could not gather the distance between himself and Blades to properly fend him off with his sword. With a snarl as Blades' claws sank and slashed into his plating relentlessly, Hook lashed out with his hook—

Blades' claws ripped through his cable, detaching his hook with an agony unlike the Protectobot's earlier flurry of slashes into his plating. Hook bit back the cry of pain as Blades grabbed Hook's severed cable and threw him to the ground.

Hook hit his shoulder hard, but scrambled up onto his pedes, the grip on his sword loose.

Blades roared, then lunged at Hook.

Hook swung his sword up.

Blades dodged Hook's swing and lunged forward, a flash of rotor blades Hook's only warning before he felt Blades' rotors impale his chest plate.

A cry of pain escaped Hook, his vision swimming with blackness as he staggered backwards from Blades. The helicopter ripped his rotors out of Hook's chest, which only made Hook falter onto one knee. He heard his brothers' voices screaming at him in the bond as he tried to stand. Hook wavered, and a sharp kick to the shin had him buckling with a shocked cry.

Blades' pede stomped down on his arm, and his lower waist, holding Hook down as he bent down to glare into Hook's visor. "What have you done to First Aid, monster?"

Hook narrowed his optics.

So that was what this attack was about.

"Nothing," Hook stated, his denta bared in a sharp, cold snarl.

Blades kicked Hook in the side, eliciting a grunt of pain from the crane. Where were his brothers?

"Don't lie to me!" Blades snarled as he reached down and grabbed Hook by his collar plating. "We know Megatron took him. What have you done to him?"

"I said it already — nothing," Hook snapped, his servos clenching as he glared murderously at Blades.

Which… was the wrong decision.

With sudden, blinding pain, Blades stabbed one of his rotors straight through Hook's chest plate. Again. Hook gasped and clawed at where the rotor dug through his plating but Blades only pushed more of his weight against the end of his rotor so that it shoved further into Hook's frame.

Hook snarled and spat, his processor running frantic subroutines as his bond flashed his pain to his brothers. He wasn't going to beg for help from them, but it was… needed.

Blades leaned down into Hook's space, until Hook could feel the hiss of heat from the helicopter's vents. With him leaning further over Hook, the rotor blade pierced deeper into Hook. The crane could swear that it was now digging into the ground beneath him.

Where were his brothers?

Desperation had Hook claw at Blades, but to little avail. Every movement he made against Blades only incensed him further, and led to more pain.

::. Scrapper! .:: Hook's shout through the gestalt bond went unanswered.

Instead, Blades leaned down and snarled at him. "There is no point in using the bond. You took our brother from us, I'm merely returning the favor."

Panic flared in Hook's frame, exuding off his field before he could catch it. Blades sensed the panic and smirked.

Hook opened his mouth to protest — to insult Blades, or to tell him exactly what was up with First Aid, he didn't know — but a roar of a diesel engine interrupted him.

Before Blades could react, a flash of green plating slammed into the Protectobot, tearing him — and his rotor — off and out of Hook.

That made Hook scream. His vision swam as he felt his spark stutter harshly under the strain and stress of the injury. He could hear Blades' frame being slammed into the ground. Could hear a roar of rotors as Blades fled. Heard a gruff voice growling his name, drawing his quickly failing vision up and to the sharp, worried face of Bonecrusher.

Thank… Primus…

Large servos opened Hook's subspace, the strange sensation of Bonecrusher's servos inside but not making Hook's conscious swim.

"I've got ya," Bonecrusher growled as his servos exited Hook's subspace.

Hook narrowed his optics at Bonecrusher, denta bared in a grimaced snarl. "Ask… permission… next time…"

Bonecrusher scoffed, his lip curling up into his own sneer. Hook expected his brother to bark back at him, to reprimand him or scold him, but Bonecrusher didn't. All he saw was that same, earlier worry flicker in his visor. "You have a terrible sense of humor," Bonecrusher growled as Hook felt his brother's servos moving over Hook's chest, though he was fully aware of how numb and out of body the touch felt to him. That wasn't good.

"And you're… a terrible medic…"

Hook's vision swam. He heard his name and felt Bonecrusher shake him, but his systems were crashing faster than Bonecrusher could repair him.

A sharp, worried call of his name was the last thing the crane heard as his systems fully shut down.

….

Static crackled through his audial receptors.

…
Angry… shouting.

Familiar angry shouting.

Megatron… and Scrapper?

…..

Light crackled at the edge of Hook's visor.

He felt like his chassis was on fire, every fiber and wire of his frame burning sharply.

A low, pained moan escaped his mouth as Hook tried to move. His frame protested hotly, a bolt of fire racing up his neck cables that made another, sharper, hiss of pain rattle from his vocalizer.

Seconds later, Hook felt a large servo grab his arm, curling it until he felt his servo brush against ridged treads and harsh plating.

"Easy, Hook. Rest. Astrotrain's almost got us home."
Bonecrusher?

"Yeah, ya daft old fool, it's me. Like I said, I've got ya. Even got you your hook. I know how attached you are to it."

Hook glared at Bonecrusher, seconds before his vision shorted out.

…

Loud voices woke Hook for the second time, these ones as familiar to him as his own spark.

Scrapper and Bonecrusher…

But they…

"His brother is why Hook's in this mess! How can you trust him?"

"Bonecrusher." Scrapper sounded irritated.

Tired.

Sore.

Had he forgotten his shots of nanite gel for his joint relief?

Scrapper was always grumpy when his aching joints acted up.

Moving weakly, which caused a sharp hiss of pain to escape Hook, the crane opened his optics and searched for Scrapper.

There.

His best friend's back was to Hook, the posture of his arms across his chest clear in how his bucket made tiny little annoyed clicks. Bonecrusher was in Scrapper's face, snarling something to Scrapper while he gesticulated angrily at First Aid.

Long Haul, Mixmaster and Scavenger watched from behind Bonecrusher silently, their bonds fuzzy to the addle minded crane.

"Scraps," Hook groaned, a far more painful process than he had anticipated.

Silence shot through the medbay as Scrapper wheeled around and, immediately, his servos were on Hook. Relief came off the wheel loader's field as Scrapper nuzzled his faceguard against the side of Hook's helm.

The crane growled at Scrapper, gaze shifting to glare at Scrapper's knees, one of which was pressed against the berth. "Did you take—" Hook cut himself off with a pained wheeze, his visor flickering out for a moment.

Scrapper gave him a worried rumble of his engine as he leaned back and stared at Hook, a silent comfort visible in his visor. But Hook ignored it as he shook his helm (with a burst of fire that followed the movement again), and glared at Scrapper's knee.

"Your nanite gel—"

"Hook."

Oh.

Hook felt himself flush.

He knew that tone. Scrapper never reprimanded him. Gently nudged him in the direction Scrapper thought Hook should speak, but never reprimanded.

Cowed, Hook vented and looked away.

A few more moments of silence passed before Bonecrusher started up the argument again, his concern for Hook touching, but…

"Let him," Hook finally interjected, his tone as firm and without waver as he could make it.

His statement was met by silence, but for the huff of vents and tick of fans. Then Hook felt Scrapper's servo brush over his shoulder. The comfort was appreciated, that much Hook expressed to the wheel loader when he turned to meet his gaze.

Scrapper nodded at him, turned, then beckoned the Constructicons to leave.

All but Bonecrusher did.

Stubborn…

First Aid glanced towards Bonecrusher, who simply stared him down, then he approached Hook. Time passed in a blur for Hook as First Aid repaired him. He was most aware of Bonecrusher hovering by his left shoulder and First Aid's voice softly speaking to him the entire time.

Whether that was for Hook or for Bonecrusher, the crane couldn't figure.

But he was… glad to have competent, trained servos there to repair him.

Not that he'd ever say as such to his replacement.

It was odd for Hook to spend the next three days laid up on one of his medical berths, with First Aid running the medical bay entirely on his own. Hook's brothers were almost always around in some capacity, to bother their eldest brother as well as to keep an optic on First Aid, and even offer their assistance if he needed.

Most of the Decepticons who had come in since Hook's battlefield injury had been quiet, their instincts taking them to their recovering medic until a sharp comment from him turned them back to First Aid. Only when he'd had to bark at Wildrider three times did Hook feel a strange twinge in his spark at the way the Ferrari, who'd been hovering nervously near Hook's medical berth, bowed his helm and skittered away towards First Aid.

He'd watched with narrowed, critical optics as First Aid tended to Wildrider — injured from another failed raid that Megatron had led just that day —, unaware of the protective growling the crane's engine was giving off while Wildrider sat and allowed the Protectobot to tend to him. When Wildrider had flinched after First Aid gave him a shot of pain aesthetic, Hook had almost climbed out of his berth until he saw First Aid pausing and stepping away from Wildrider.

The Ferrari had rubbed at the injection site between two pieces of arm plating with trace hints of coolant leaking down his faceplate. That had made Hook's engine turn up into a dangerous snarl. If First Aid saw one of the Stunticons crying, what would he think of the newsparks?

Instead, all First Aid did was sit down beside Wildrider and… comfort him.

Hook had been floored when Wildrider sniffled and then buried himself against First Aid.

Not that he didn't know Wildrider was a very touchy young Decepticon (he'd had a nervous Wildrider bury himself against Hook one too many times before in the medical bay), but that Wildrider did so with a Protectobot. The Stunticons' coding from Vector Sigma and Megatron alike made them hate Autobots. Made them incapable of trusting Autobots.

But Wildrider had allowed First Aid to comfort him, and repair him, until the little Ferrari left with a lightness in his step Hook never saw when he repaired Wildrider. To Hook's greater surprise, he hadn't been jealous but simply surprised. Confounded, even.

And so he'd watched First Aid for three days with a critical optic.

The ambulance weathered the insults and doubts from the Decepticons without complaint. He was gentle and kind where they were harsh and distrusting. The medical bay felt different when First Aid was leading it, but Hook was not sure why.

Every patient was treated to a smile, or First Aid's soft voice as he asked them what was wrong.

He listened to the many complaints, whines and tantrums of the various personalities that made Hook's life in the medical bay a near living hell.

Vortex and Blitzwing had come to the medical bay fuming, hate so strong off their fields that Hook could feel it even from where his berth rested. Neither had paid any mind to the small ambulance examining them as they argued with each other. Only when their argument had turned physical, with Blitzwing shoving Vortex and calling him a litany of insults that had the Combaticon helicopter lunging for the triple changer, did First Aid intercede.

He had jumped between the two fighting Decepticons and only a snarl from Hook's engine halted Vortex, with his clawed digits inches from First Aid's visor. First Aid had stood firm, servos on his hips, until Vortex muttered what Hook thought was an apology, then backed off.

Blitzwing had sneered one last insult at Vortex that almost made the helicopter act, but the unwavering stare from First Aid stopped him. Hook was surprised. He had to snarl at both Vortex and Blitzwing alike when they got a helm full of hot air beneath them and inclined to throw a fit in the medical bay.

Part of Hook wanted to know why First Aid was able to make both hotheaded Decepticons back off of each other, but the larger part of him — the pride of his place, of his purpose — kept his mouth shut and optics narrowed into hard flint as he watched First Aid.

He was woken from a weak recharge on the fourth morning of his "rest and recuperation", as Scrapper insisted on calling it whenever he visited the medical bay, with the sound of shuffling metal.

The lights were dim, merely enough for his night vision to not need to activate.

Movement to the side pulled Hook's helm to the right, where he saw a small, now familiar frame moving about near the supply closet. "First Aid." Hook's tone was rougher than he meant, the aftereffects of recharge making his usually smooth baritone gravelly.

First Aid made a small sound from where he stood, moments before he hurried to Hook's side. One servo moved to Hook's back, to help him sit up, while the other held out a cube of energon.

Hook took the energon and drank it slowly, the cool sweetness of the beryllium extracts making a pleased sigh escape the crane.

Which made First Aid smile.

Which made Hook scowl in turn.

His expression soured as Hook looked away from the ambulance. What was wrong with First Aid?

Overly friendly, overly caring. Compassionate. It continued to rankle Hook, even with the knowledge that First Aid had patched him up. Had repaired him and, judging from the many diagnostic scans Hook had run, First Aid's repairs had been… competent, at best.

Hook wasn't falling apart at the seams after all.

Grumpily sipping at his energon, Hook almost didn't notice First Aid pull out a datapad before the soft lilt of his voice carried through the medical bay. He read out every supply he'd used on every patient, as well as their injuries, but it was First Aid describing preventative procedures he'd given to Astrotrain that gave Hook pause.

They couldn't afford preventative procedures, as much as Hook itched to fix the littlest cracks or microfractures in the Decepticon ranks. There weren't enough supplies, never enough when Megatron focused so much of their productive means on idiotic weapon designs that never worked. (Hook always told the foolish warlord that they needed time to perfect his inane designs, but all it ever did was make Megatron rush them more. Hook missed working solely under Scrapper, who always understood the painstaking perfection Hook took to everything he did. Megatron yelled at him and simply did not understand the vision Hook had of what they could build with the proper time.)

"Before you protest," First Aid's voice whispered, a low, uncertain energy to the tremor of his vocalizations, "I used my own supplies for Astrotrain's procedure. None of yours."

Hook opened his mouth, for what he didn't know, then closed it.

"Fine," he growled, arms crossed over his chest plate in a clear sign of annoyance, his energon cube held to his side in one servo.

If First Aid wanted to use his supplies (dwindling though they were, Hook knew) then he could. Hook wouldn't protest a necessary repair being made to one of his faction.

You care, more than you like to let on.

Hook shuddered.

How could First Aid read him with such ease?

What did the Protectobot see in Hook that no other Decepticon, but for Hook's own brothers, could?

Hoping to erase that train of thought, Hook gave a low snort, then appraised First Aid with his usual criticism. "What will you do when you run out of your supplies?"

Only a fool would think Megatron would allow First Aid to leave the Victory to restock. Even if First Aid was there to become Hook's replacement, Megatron would loathe the reminders of how poorly stocked his faction's medical bay was. Hook suspected First Aid would not take being screamed at by a furious Megatron, whose fusion cannon would always be aimed at the perpetrator, as well as Hook did.

One got used to Megatron's fits when they'd known him as long as Hook did.

"My brothers would be willing to send us supplies if I was able to contact them—"

A cold, disbelieving laugh burst from Hook, interrupting First Aid.

The ambulance stared at him, his expression impossible to read as his facemask returned to cover the lower half of First Aid's faceplate. But his field was open enough for Hook to sense the hurt from the Protectobot, even as he quickly reeled in his field and hid it from Hook's purview.

"Do you truly believe Decepticons that dull, First Aid?" Hook hissed, his glare full of venom.

First Aid shook his helm, a tiny, faint "no, Hook" ignored by the crane.

Instead, Hook continued to rant, his anger over the situation Megatron had forced him and First Aid into finally coming to the surface. "If you contact your brothers, they will find the Victory, and then what do you think they will do? You already saw what Blades did to me alone, Defensor would destroy the Victory and all of us inside it."

"No, Hook, listen," First Aid tried to interject, but Hook snarled and continued his rant.

"As I have made abundantly clear before, I am as unhappy you are here as you are," Hook noticed a flash of blazing light in First Aid's visor, but plowed on. "If you want to escape, you can try it on your own, but I will never permit you to contact your team so that they may come to rescue you—"

"Hook!" First Aid's growl shut the crane up.

He blinked in shock at the Protectobot, who was standing rigid before him, hurt in his visor all over again.

First Aid's shoulders slumped, before he sat down on the edge of Hook's medical berth, servos still occupied with his datapad. "I do not believe in harming others, or leading others to cause harm to what the Autobots would term my 'enemies'. While I do not approve of Blades attacking you, or the harm my brothers have caused your team—"

Hook tilted his helm at that, but First Aid continued before Hook could stop him.

His team had been hurt beyond simply himself?

Was First Aid being truthful, or merely projecting a chance of his team harming the Constructicons because of Hook's incident with Blades?

"— it is an action I could prevent him from if I was able to secure a transmission to my team's base. If I explained the situation here on the Victory," a glare from Hook was met with a second of pause from First Aid, before his voice dipped with firmness, "without explaining your true vulnerabilities, then I am sure they would be more than willing to send us supply shipments from my stocks at the Protectobot base."

Hook stared at First Aid, judgingly.

The idea was, perhaps, sound.

Soundwave was an expert at masking the Victory's location. He was as loyal to the cause as he was loyal to his cassettes and then Megatron. Soundwave could see reason in asking their enemy for assistance.

Hook's pride loathed needing assistance from anyone, especially overly charitable Autobots. Whether this suggestion was another one of First Aid's attempts to treat the Decepticons like infant sparklings whom he needed to rescue remained unclear to Hook. (Part of Hook nagged at him for that belief, for if First Aid thought so, why had he been so gentle to Wildrider and even to the arguing Blitzwing and Vortex?)

But Hook's realism made him relent.

"I can discuss the matter with Soundwave and Scrapper," First Aid notably perked up at that, "but I can give no guarantee."

"I understand," First Aid returned, his visor softening to a warm, soothing blue as he once more stood, giving Hook his entire berth back.

Hook grumbled something under his breath and looked away from First Aid.

First Hook allowed him to work in his medical bay with him, and now he was pondering the idea of having First Aid's gestalt assist the Decepticons with their medical supplies. Logic and pride warred in his mind as Hook stared absently at his cube of energon. He felt First Aid's presence hovering near him, but no instinct told him to chase him off.

As long as First Aid didn't speak, then—

The sound of the door to the medical bay opening, and heavy, very familiar stomps of pedes, drew Hook's gaze up, past First Aid and to where Scrapper was stalking towards him.

His shovel was poised perfectly over his shoulders, which were set in a hard, straight line. It was only from his millions of years of knowledge of his best friend that Hook registered that Scrapper was angry. He was never so rigid, never so ramrod straight in posture, and his shovel "talked" more than he ever kept it still.

"Scrapper?" Hook's question hung between the three of them as Scrapper stopped in front of Hook's berth, then turned his helm to stare down at First Aid.

"Leave." Scrapper's command left ice in the air as he looked down at First Aid.

First Aid swallowed, glanced towards Hook, then stepped back with a polite nod. "I will be in the office if you need me."

Then he hurried away, closing the door to the sound proof office behind him.

Scrapper released a vent, then sat down on the edge of Hook's berth, facing away from Hook.

Hook shifted his stance enough that he could extend his free servo out to snag Scrapper's right servo, holding it close and with a gentle warmth flooding off his field to the front loader. Scrapper didn't notice, that much he could tell, as he shook his helm and stared at his knees.

"Megatron believes that the Protectobots find us the crux of First Aid's capture," Scrapper began, his tone unusually cold. "We were targeted by Blades and Hot Spot in the raid following your injury."

Hook almost choked on the energon he was still sipping since First Aid had first given it to him. His brothers hadn't told him about any further raids they were on. So First Aid hadn't been merely suggesting they'd been hurt… "Who—"

"Bonecrusher and Scavenger," Scrapper finished, the question so obvious, Hook needn't have asked.

The bulldozer's side of the bond had been notably quieter than usual, and Scavenger's was completely sealed off. Scavenger never sealed himself off in the bond. Not even when he was reprimanded for flooding them all with his immutable anxiety.

"Are they—?"

"They're alright. First Aid patched them up and both have been resting in our quarters since the raid. Beachcomber and Groove stopped Blades before he could deactivate Scavenger. Hot Spot seemed to realize what he was going to do once his team mate and the Autobot geologist interrupted them, and he called for a Protectobot retreat soon after."

A vent of relief escaped Hook. His frame relaxed just enough for him to shift completely so that he leaned up against the smaller Scrapper's side. This Scrapper finally noticed, with a grateful flash of warmth in his field.

Hook squeezed Scrapper's servo before he leaned his chin on top of Scrapper's helm and allowed his engine to purr. Scrapper's frame relaxed slowly, the silence between them calm and pleasant until Hook felt Scrapper gather himself and shift so that the side of his helm rested on the crane's shoulder.

"Megatron has banned us from leaving the Victory. We are not even allowed to leave for construction projects, and he has assigned all construction projects to Soundwave's supervision. Until this Protectobot business is concluded, he claims that we are 'too valuable to risk'."

There was a snort of derision cloaked in those words.

Memories of the Autobots' Ark. Of Devastator following Optimus Prime's orders.

Of Megatron controlling them back in return.

The implicit statement of Megatron's "value" was clear to Hook, and Scrapper both.

"I may have a solution to the Protectobot issue."

Scrapper scoffed but still looked up at Hook, the curiosity in his visor making Hook glance in the direction of his office. A hint that made Scrapper give a small sound that Hook could not decipher, before he looked back at Hook.

"Explain."

Hook hoped First Aid's belief in his gestalt would hold true.

Chapter Text

"You understand the rules we have set, correct?"

"Yes," First Aid confirmed, his gaze locked firmly onto Scrapper as Hook, Scrapper and Soundwave, further in the back, hovered around First Aid.

The ambulance was seated at the main communications console of the Victory, digits poised over the display controls. His determination and belief in himself was clear to Hook, as much as he tried to find a way this would lead into First Aid revealing the Victory's to the Protectobots.

First Aid had stood firm on his dislike for the tactics of war as he had discussed the desire to contact his team with Hook and later Scrapper. It had taken some convincing from both medics for Scrapper to finally approach Soundwave with First Aid's plan. Hook had expected immediate refusal, if not Soundwave reporting the two Constructicons for being traitors. Soundwave often ignored reason for the sake of his loyalty to Megatron — case in point, Hook's arguments against creating the Stunticons the way they did. The Decepticons didn't have the best materials for producing new members of their species, but anything natural to Cybertron would have been better than the human vehicles Rumble had stolen for Megatron's plan. Soundwave had promptly reported Hook's "disloyalty" to Megatron after he'd complained openly near the third in command, and the punishment (having to deal with Starscream for five days straight in the medical bay as Hook's "assistant") had driven Hook to near insanity.

So Hook had been shocked when Soundwave returned yesterday and agreed to the plan.

Maybe the cassette carrier saw how desperately the Decepticons needed supplies, and had considered how often Rumble and Frenzy both needed repairs.

Maybe it was more than just that too.

When Hook had asked Scrapper how he'd convinced Soundwave to agree, Scrapper had merely shrugged. Said a dismissive "Soundwave has called in the repayment of a debt he's owed me for millennia", and had left it at that.

Hook didn't prod further. He knew when Scrapper needed his privacy. No matter the fact that Hook's desire to know what had prompted the ever put together Soundwave to have a debt with the crane's best friend was still gnawing at him.

He'd been watching Soundwave hover in the back of the communication hub since he, Scrapper and First Aid had arrived. Soundwave had allowed Scrapper to take charge in setting up the communication hub for First Aid with not even a tilt of his helm to express his emotions. The most Hook had noticed was Soundwave catching the fact Hook was watching him as much as Hook was watching First Aid. The third in command watched him back, visor the same dim level of lighting as it had been the entire time.

Rumble and Frenzy were docked and had been upon their arrival. Ravage was cleaning her paws with her glossa, her optics locked onto First Aid with the same suspicion as Hook felt. They were all trusting that First Aid's pacifism wasn't simply convenient to the Protectobot when he needed it most to be.

"Begin." Soundwave's voice seemed to startle First Aid, who jumped notably in his seat, but turned to nod to Soundwave before the ambulance started fiddling with the communications unit.

Hook moved closer to First Aid, watching the way his digits moved over the communication unit. He waited for First Aid to reveal his lie, his trick, but none came.
First Aid entered the comm code for the Protectobots, leaned close to the microphone, then cleared his vocalizer.

"Protectobot base, this is First Aid. I—"

Static shrieked through the air from the receiver before a cacophony of voices responded to First Aid.

Hook recognized Blades yelling a slew of profanities and threats against the Constructicons, which had the crane glance up at Scrapper, unamused. Scrapper's gaze sharpened slightly and a tiny hitch of his engine was all the hint the wheel loader would give that he did not appreciate the threat.

First Aid said a few things to his team (mostly a slew of greetings and repeated variations of "I promise I'm okay!") before he straightened up and cleared his vocalizer.

Quiet came from the Protectobots' side of the comms.

"I need my medical supplies," First Aid began. He explained his station, working under Hook, and brushed — admittedly delicately — over the supply shortage the Decepticons had, by inferring that they could not keep up with the amount of injuries with the supplies the Victory had.

Hot Spot, who was now the sole voice speaking on the Protectobot side, gave low, contemplative growls and hums as First Aid spoke. When First Aid finally finished, he cleared his vocalizer sharply.

"We would need to agree upon a meeting point that is neutral to both parties," Hot Spot said, in a cool way that almost made Hook visualize the giant fire engine seated, with one leg kicked up, tapping a stylus against his faceguard. He sounded a lot like Scrapper in one of the wheel loader's contemplative moods.

"I have already thought of that," First Aid said, his gaze snapping to the three Decepticons watching him before he returned his focus to the comms. "We should meet someone far from human eyes. Southern Idaho is a fair distance of a drive for both Autobots and Decepticons from their point of base. Its further for us specifically, yes, but it's safe for both parties."

Hook watched as First Aid input some coordinates (not the Victory's he was reassured to see) to be transmitted to the Protectobots. A hum from Hot Spot came moments later, then a firm, "Craters of the Moon? I believe that could work. Who will run the supply pick up for you?"

"Scavenger," Scrapper spoke before First Aid could even form the idea to speak.

A growl of surprise escaped from Hot Spot. "Hello, Scrapper. Scavenger sounds suitable. You will send no one else but Scavenger, I presume?"

"Correct."

"Very well. Groove has volunteered to run supply for us in return."

Scrapper looked at Hook.

Hook gave a tight nod.

Groove had been the one to help prevent Blades from damaging Scavenger further, after all. He was a pacifist, and the least likely to decide to shoot Scavenger.

"That is acceptable," Scrapper said, before he stepped back from the comms unit, allowing First Aid it alone.

Who looked at Scrapper before he tapped the comms unit. "I think you should ask if Beachcomber will help as well. He can assist with transportation and I trust he will not speak of our dealings with the Decepticons."

Hook crossed his arms as silence met First Aid's suggestion. First Aid had discussed his choices for transport (Groove and Beachcomber, but no one else) with Scrapper and Hook beforehand, so Hook knew of the addition. It wasn't one he could disagree with either. Two pacifists weren't likely to attack Scavenger. Not that Scavenger wasn't capable of defending himself, but the Constructicons loathed going anywhere alone, especially with the Autobots around. He and his best friend were trusting First Aid on his word that neither Autobot would damage or attack Scavenger.

"I will ask him if he'd be open to a private discussion," this time a different voice spoke up, not Hot Spot.

He saw First Aid brighten and heard him whisper an affectionate "hey there, Groove" at the response.

Hook heard Groove respond back with a nonchalant response while the crane downloaded the voice print of Groove into his recognition matrix. He allowed First Aid to catch up with Groove for a bit before he cleared his vocalizer.

First Aid jumped. He looked up at Hook, hurt in his visor, then turned to the comms. "I need you to stop attacking the Constructicons. They haven't hurt me. They're being very fair and gentle with me, all things considered. I don't want to repair them again because of my own brothers. Please."

Silence.

But for some muffled growling that sounded like Blades, before Hot Spot's voice returned. "Understood. We hope you can return to us soon."

"I do too," First Aid whispered, just loud enough for Hook to hear him.

He glanced away, spark tightening in his chest plate. None of them wanted First Aid where he was. But returning him to the Protectobots without Megatron's approval would result in the Constructicons being punished.

So First Aid would stay, until Megatron decided he wasn't needed.

"When do you need the first shipment?" Hot Spot's voice barely registered in Hook's audial receptors with the torrent of thoughts racing through his helm.

"As soon as possible, please?" First Aid's voice trembled, though Hook couldn't reason why.

"Hey…" Groove's voice again. "We love you, alright? I know we can't feel you in the bond, but we're just glad to hear from you."

A tiny chuckle escaped from First Aid. "I know. I miss you."

A chorus of comments from the Protectobots flooded the comms, before Soundwave made a very clear sound from his tape deck.

"I need to go," First Aid promptly stated, the sorrow in his tone even clear to Hook.

"We will send Groove, and Beachcomber if he agrees, to the meeting site in two days," Hot Spot's deep, warm rumble softened, the sound of his engine purring clear even through the comms receiver. "Stay safe, little brother. Please."

First Aid glanced up at Hook before he turned back to the comms, and said, very warmly, "I will be fine. I've got it handled."

Something else was whispered from the Protectobots' side of the comms, before First Aid ended the call and stood up. He turned to Hook, gaze hard to read with how utterly rigid his entire frame was, then dipped his helm.

"Thank you for allowing me to contact my team."

"It was not for your benefit," Hook sneered.

First Aid stared at him. Then he shook his helm and his shoulders sank. "I'm ready to return to the medical bay."

Hook grumbled to himself, gave Scrapper and Soundwave both curt nods, then headed back towards the medical bay. First Aid followed behind him quietly.
At least verbally, he was silent.

His field, on the other servo, was turbulent.

Clashing energy struck Hook, flashes of hurt, of mourning loss, of fear and of anticipation. The crane turned his helm just enough to look down at the ambulance. His shoulders were still slumped and his pedes drug slightly as he walked behind Hook.

Hook had never been separated from his gestalt for long. The most time he was separated usually was a worksite project where at least one of his team was around. He wondered what it was like to be separated for multiple weeks from one's gestalt.

First Aid looked unwell, worse than he had before contacting his team.

"I don't need your help in the medical bay," Hook growled, "take a break until we get that shipment."

A sound of static, and confusion from First Aid's field, was the ambulance's response. But then he felt First Aid's servo brush his arm and heard him whisper a tiny, "Thank you, Hook."

Scavenger's excited voice droned on inside the gestalt bond as Hook, alongside First Aid, sorted through the first box of medical supplies the Protectobots had given them. The excavator was endlessly intrigued by the two Autobots, Groove and Beachcomber, who had met him for the supply drop.

::. Enough, Scavenger, .:: Scrapper finally said, cutting through another long winded Scavenger ramble about how Beachcomber and he had "seen a neat bit of lava rock and had examined it together" sharply.

An embarrassed apology came from Scavenger before quiet reigned once more in the gestalt bond.

A light laugh from his side pulled Hook to where First Aid was hiding his laugh behind a large stack of medical mesh. Catching Hook's gaze on him, the ambulance relented and met Hook's gaze, where the crane was met by warmth from First Aid's visor. Even with First Aid's faceguard up, Hook could tell he was smiling.

"You looked like you caught a whiff of rusted, rotting plating right then. What's going on?"

Hook rolled his optics behind his visor, but felt his mouth twitch with a smile involuntarily. "Scavenger cannot stop singing the praises of Groove and Beachcomber. Apparently they were distracted by lava rocks, and that is why they were so late to return the supply shipment. Unbelievable."

"Is that bad?" There was still that hint of humor in First Aid's tone as he questioned Hook, enough so that Hook stopped his work — sorting out different medical threadings that were used to stitch damaged plating together — temporarily to look at First Aid.

"Not exactly, no," Hook admitted grudgingly.

Scavenger was rarely happy. (Much like how Hook was rarely happy, or Scrapper was rarely happy. Alright, no Constructicon was happy). To hear and feel his brother's excitement and genuine joy meant more to Hook than he liked to express, especially to Scavenger himself. Hook's brothers teased him about his ego, but let Scavenger know you liked something of his and he'd never shut up.

A servo touched his arm.

Hook's gaze fell onto First Aid, where the ambulance was leaning into him, his right servo wrapped around Hook's wrist, visor hauntingly clear in its focus. Hook looked away, a strange warmth cycling through his frame as he returned to organizing the medical thread.

"Let him have this," First Aid whispered.

Hook vented, his shoulders slumping momentarily, but he nodded nonetheless. "If it keeps him out of the medical bay, then I will accept his blathering."

No need to let First Aid see that Hook was happy for Scavenger.

That would be as baseless an accusation as when First Aid had suggested he cared about every single one of his obnoxious, irritating, processor breaking patients. First Aid was thinking too Autobot for the crane.

(Though he was right. Of course Hook cared. How could he not?)

"Get back to work. I do not condone gossip hour," Hook growled when he felt First Aid's field softly brush over his plating. It was too comforting and soft for his tastes. They had work to do.

Blasted ambulance.

The words on the datapad blurred into each other the longer Hook stared at it.

The supply roster had become a blur after eight straight boxes of supplies. Even First Aid was flagging, as he continued to store supplies into the once empty cabinets. Hook hadn't expected to see how much the Protectobots had given them. Scavenger had made note of how hard it was transporting eight boxes, but Hook hadn't thought all eight boxes would be packed full.

Not that he was—

Heavy pedes stomped into the medical bay, accompanied by growling he well knew by now.

"Onslaught, what brings you here?" Hook vented, without even looking over his shoulder at Onslaught as he saved the progress he'd made on the supply list, then looked up at the leader of the Combaticons.

Onslaught was looming over Hook, red visor blazing, cannons smoking ever so slightly, and his shoulders were so rigid, Hook could have balanced a tray of full energon cubes on them without fear of them spilling.

It was clear he wasn't injured, so Hook could not fathom why Onslaught was bothering him.

Didn't he get enough Constructicon time with Scrapper?

"I need to speak to you."

Hook blinked, then turned back to his work. Even if the words on the datapad screen still were blurring over each other. "You already are, aren't you?"

Hook felt Onslaught's rage in the heat that radiated off the other's plating, seconds before he felt Onslaught's servo land heavily on his shoulder.

Unamused, Hook paused his work and looked up to Onslaught, optic ridge raised behind his visor. "What."

Onslaught's gaze turned frostily towards First Aid before he turned back to Hook. "As I said, I have cause to speak to you. You and Scrapper. Alone."

Hook raised an optic ridge archly. He said nothing for a time, gaze inscrutable the longer he made Onslaught wait. Perhaps part of him enjoyed seeing the ever in control Onslaught lose his patience. Perhaps part of him was annoyed at Onslaught wanting, always, to speak with Scrapper.

"Very well."

Onslaught let out a sigh of relief.

"Finish the reports," Hook said as he turned his helm to First Aid, who perked up at the focus on himself, "and then restock the battlefield medical kits."

A nod was First Aid's sole response as Hook stood up languidly.

He could take his time.

Push Onslaught's patience ever so closer to the edge.

The crane stretched, exaggerating it as he felt his hips pop from sitting for so long. He worked the knots out of his shoulders, swiveled his crane mount and boom, then finally looked to Onslaught.

"Lead the way," Hook drawled with a gesture towards the door out of the medical bay.

Onslaught stared Hook down, clearly meaning to intimidate him, but Hook simply met Onslaught's gaze coolly. The Combaticon eventually relented, turning his helm away with a frustrated sound before he stalked out of the medical bay.

"I will be back, message me if you need assistance with anyone or anything," Hook said with a dismissive wave to First Aid.

He heard a small engine rev in answer, and the continued sound of busy work. At least First Aid wasn't one for gossip, and seemed to enjoy busy servos.

Much like Hook.

Hook's engine let out an involuntary purr at that thought.

It was loud enough to have Onslaught gawk at him.

Mortified, Hook looked at Onslaught with a bored expression, challenging him to say anything.

Onslaught didn't, until they reached a door that Hook well knew led to Onslaught's private office. There, Onslaught knocked on the door, said a quiet "coming in," and then held the door open for Hook.

Hook bowed his helm in Onslaught's direction as he stepped inside — and saw Scrapper, pacing back and forth in front of Onslaught's desk.

::. You came! .:: Scrapper sounded relieved as he hurried up to Hook, large servos patting him on the shoulders and over his arm tires affectionately as Onslaught closed the door behind them.

Hook didn't respond to Scrapper but for a raised look that had Scrapper shake his helm, before he released his hold on Hook and stepped back. Onslaught took that chance to walk between the two and to his side of the desk, where Hook spotted two chairs seated close together, while two more sat on the opposite side of the desk. A fifth was scattered in the back of the room, broken and splintered as if a very large tank had crushed it.

"Brawl," Onslaught confirmed as he sat down in one of the two chairs on his side of the desk, then he gestured to the chair across the desk from Onslaught. "Sit. Please."

It was the please that had Hook double take. He glanced to Scrapper as the wheel loader continued to stand near him, and it was then that he saw Scrapper was upset.

No.

Not upset.

Scared.

Now deeply uncertain, Hook swallowed, then sat down across from Onslaught.

The Combaticon's haughtiness seemed to have left him the very second he sat down, for Hook could now see his entire frame slumped. His field seemed weak, tired, to a degree. Anger bristled off him still, in boiling waves of heat Hook could see from Onslaught's vents. And his visor…

It was dark with exhaustion. With what seemed to be a clear distance.

"Onslaught?" Hook quiered slowly as he watched Scrapper approach the desk and—

Scrapper settled into the chair beside Onslaught. Not next to Hook.

Frustration and jealousy shot through Hook as he looked at Scrapper. His best friend paid little mind to Hook as he moved a servo to Onslaught's plating.

The Combaticon let out a deep exhale of air through his vents at Scrapper's touch. Then Hook watched, horrified, as Scrapper's servo moved down beneath the table. Likely to rest over Onslaught's ample thigh, judging by the wheel loader's position and the way Onslaught's anger seemed to dissipate somewhat at the touch.

"How long have you two been seeing each other?" Hook asked, tone barbed in a way that only Scrapper could catch.

A shocked, saddened look from Scrapper was shot Hook's way, but it was one he ignored completely.

"Since Megatron assigned us both to work on the repair and reorganization of the brig," Scrapper answered, his gaze searching — for understanding, Hook believed.

Hook gaped.

That had been five months ago. Only a month or so after the Combaticons had been brought back online by Starscream.

Horrified, Hook glared between them both, then let out a disbelieving growl. "Does Megatron know?"

"No," Onslaught finally answered, his expression hard to read even with his faceguard lowered.

Hook let out a disbelieving snort.

Not yet, more like!

Angry, and aware that his anger was protective, Hook looked around the private office of Onslaught's for any potential bugs or spying cassettes. Finding none, Hook glared at both gestalt leaders.

"You both know the laws of fraternizing within the faction! Especially two as highly ranked as you both are!"

Hook hated the stress in his voice. It was too vulnerable. Too weak, especially for Onslaught to hear.

They were fools! Hook worked at his jaw, before he stood, anger overtaking his thoughts. He jabbed a digit at Onslaught, denta bared in a venomous snarl.

"If you get my brother in trouble because of your infatuation with him, I will kill you. Is this why you asked me to speak to you?" Hook spat, crane hook and cable whirring as his anger bristled out from his protoform and spark and into his entire outer plating. "I have more important matters to tend to than two love struck idiots—"

"Hook." Scrapper's glare and snarl shattered Hook's anger like a drill going through ice.

Scrapper's expression made it worse. It wasn't simply one of Scrapper's frustrated glares, no, this one was a protective, furious glare that smoldered all the way into his plating. It made him feel sick to have Scrapper angry at him.

He lowered his helm and sat back down, unable to even look at Scrapper after his reprimand. Hook restrained the urge to fidget with his servos as he heard Onslaught's vents cycle, and felt the air in the room turn cold and damp.

"I have a favor to ask of you," Onslaught began, his prideful tone entirely absent. Hook looked up, helm tilted as he recognized the strain in Onslaught's tone as desperation. "I need you to examine my team and I for—" Onslaught winced, servo flying to the bridge of his nose, while he took in slow, methodical breaths of air through his vents.

Scrapper leaned close to Onslaught, hushed voice whispering something to him Hook couldn't catch. But he did catch the way Scrapper's servo moved to brush under Onslaught's chin as he spoke.

It made Hook reel back.

Onslaught's digits dug into his faceplate as Scrapper stroked his faceplate, the gentleness in his touch the same but different from what Scrapper would give to Hook and the other Constructicons. It was caring. Vulnerable.

He truly liked Onslaught, didn't he…

Hook didn't know what to think of that.

He knew he should be happy for Scrapper, to want to see his brother finding trusted company in someone else, but it was Scrapper. Hook's best friend. The only person who tried to understand and listen to Hook. Scrapper already had enough responsibilities as the leader of the Constructicons. They needed him.

Scrapper seemed to pick up on Hook's distress as he turned his helm to look towards the crane. "What Onslaught is trying to explain is that he thinks he and his team have some kind of coding bug wrong with them. He gets like this whenever he has attempted to discuss it with me. I believe it is something like the Dominator Discs—"

Hook flinched.

Loudly.

His hook snapped so tightly against the spool that a sharp metallic clang rang through the otherwise silent office. His digits curled into fists. His vents opened and drew in large gusts of cool air.

"No."

How.

Hook shook his helm.

Megatron had destroyed the Dominator Discs.

Had promised the Constructicons they would never have anything similar touch them again. That the Autobots would never control the will of any of his faction again. The Autobots had hardly even encountered the Combaticons closely enough to use anything like the Dominator Discs on them, had they?

"Not—" Onslaught interjected, his voice oddly pained as he held his helm with both servos and took shallow, rapid vents, "—the Autobots. Meg—"

Onslaught's visor shorted out and he slumped face first onto his desk.

Hook scrambled to his pedes as Scrapper grabbed Onslaught's shoulder and one cannon and shook him, desperate worry in his voice as he called Onslaught's name. Hook pulled out his medscanner, though its feedback came back negative.

The scanner couldn't pick up on anything wrong with Onslaught. Even multiple scans read out the same negative.

But the Combaticon's frame was seizing, and energon bubbled out from his mouth in foamy, pink smears.

Scrapper looked up at Hook, the fear in his visor poignant.

"First Aid!" Hook barked over their comms as he signaled for Scrapper to help him pick up the large Combaticon. "Get a berth ready."

"Understood."

It took Scrapper and Hook not much time to transport Onslaught to the medical bay, but the decline in Onslaught's state was rapid. Where only small trickles of energon had been foaming from his mouth when he'd first collapsed, now energon was boiling out of his mouth and he was thrashing and screaming, all the while Onslaught's servos did not move from his helm.

Scrapper and First Aid helped Hook get Onslaught hooked up to energon lines and monitors as quickly as they could. Hook found tools handed to him by First Aid before he even asked for him, and a stack of supplies at his side as Hook rapidly cleansed his servos.

Then turned to Scrapper.

Who looked positively shaken as he stared at Onslaught's convulsing frame.

"Scrapper."

Hook's brother looked up at him, gaze distant, expression darkly pained.

"Don't let anyone in here," Hook ordered.

Scrapper's visor glinted, then he straightened. Purpose filled the wheel loader as he turned his back, still shakily, on Onslaught and stalked to the medical bay entrance.

Hook looked to First Aid, all trace of exhaustion gone from both of them.

First Aid's determined gaze met his, bright blue fire in his visor.

Hook didn't hesitate a second longer.

Hours passed as Hook and First Aid opened Onslaught up, searching for the source of the sudden energon bleed, while staunching the rapid energon loss he was suffering from multiple burst lines. Hook knew none of them were the source, but merely a byproduct of the source of the initial bleed. It was First Aid who was the one who spotted the source, though his horrified whisper of Hook's name made the crane — currently patching up multiple bursting energon lines — move from his work to where First Aid was staring at Onslaught's exposed processor.

The hardware around his processor's cerebellum was blackened, as if something had short circuited within it and burst the processor's many fuel lines.

"What could have done this?" First Aid asked Hook, his fear palpable as Hook slowly examined Onslaught's cerebellum with two digits.

Static leaped from the damaged cerebellum to Hook's digits, shocking him with more force than he expected. It was…

"See what you can do to repair his cerebellum," Hook demanded, "I need to look into his coding. He was mentioning that there may have been tampering in his coding before he collapsed."

First Aid nodded and went right to work, his touch expert and gentle.

Hook watched First Aid temporarily before he pulled open Onslaught's medical cable and port, removed his own from Hook's medical panel, then plugged into Onslaught.
He was met by a rush of dead noise.

Static, and faint synapses danced against Hook as he pieced together Onslaught's coding.

It was a maelstrom of incomprehensible mesh. Hook found parts that made sense — connections for the combiner coding and gestalt bond — but everything was jumbled. As if he'd been put together haphazardly and destructively.

But he had, hadn't he?

Starscream had thrown the Combaticons into rusted hulking shells of human machines. Megatron and Shockwave had… done something to the Combaticons after the fight on Cybertron. What had they done? Hook had never been given clearance to use Onslaught's, or the other Combaticons' medical ports, to see into the very base of their being.

Was that for a reason?

Determined now to find out what Megatron was hiding from him, Hook dug.

And dug.

He could hear First Aid working away at Onslaught, could hear the buzz of repair tools and could sense Onslaught's coding slowly stabilizing from First Aid's repair work and Hook's rearrangement of the missile launcher's coding. Fitting synapses where they were supposed to go, replacing burnt out codes with new ones that Hook always had installed into his systems for situations like this.

It was when he had dug through everything that Hook found what he was looking for.

It was foreign.

Unnatural.

Surging and sparking viciously even as Hook used his medical overrides to access the coding.

To—

Loyalty.

Hook felt himself collapse forward onto the berth, his subconscious catching him as he heard Megatron's voice barking commands of loyalty, of punishment, of fear and obedience and an inability to refuse into Onslaught's coding. His shoulders shook as the crane's energy depleted swiftly as he tried to override the coding and snare it out of Onslaught's frame.

He heard two concerned voices calling his name, then felt a large pair of servos grab him by the shoulder and by the boom. Grounding himself to Scrapper's touch, Hook steeled himself, then grabbed the entire strand of coding that did not belong and ripped it out of Onslaught.

The second he did, Onslaught's coding slammed into Hook, throwing him and his medical override out—

Hook staggered, throwing Scrapper off him as he slammed backwards into the wheel loader unintentionally, then stumbled to the nearest disposal receptacle and purged his tank. His servos shook as Hook clung to the side of the berth nearest him.

Loyalty coding.

Loyalty coding.

"Hook?" Scrapper's servos brushed his shoulder, the comforting strength of Scrapper something Hook openly sank into, First Aid's presence not even a thought as Hook let himself collapse into Scrapper.

"It's loyalty coding, Scraps," Hook explained, his voice high and strained, the baritone rumble broken as he looked towards Onslaught.

First Aid was staring at Hook, then back to Onslaught, who was—

They needed to finish repairs.

"Let me go," Hook whispered to Scrapper.

Scrapper hesitated but released him, though he hovered by Hook as he returned to Onslaught's side. The Combaticon leader was still pulled apart, with First Aid still working to repair the cerebellum damage from…

It had to have been a short out that had surged from the loyalty coding.

The loyalty coding was obliterated, at least.

Hook squeezed Scrapper's arm, a comforting gesture for both of them, then moved to stand directly beside First Aid. "I found loyalty coding imprinted into his coding matrices. I presume the coding flared up and caused a short circuit, judging from the burn damage along his cerebellum."

"That would explain why I found a foreign object in his cerebellum," First Aid said, a hint of venom in his voice that Hook would have noted more closely any other time, then gestured to one tray where a tiny black disc sat.

Hook stared at it for a moment, then looked at First Aid. The ambulance didn't even notice as he continued to work on Onslaught's cerebellum. A flash of respect creeped up onto Hook as he helped First Aid, the two exchanging tools, supplies and hardly a word between them until the repairs were finally complete.

Scrapper hovered nearby as Hook and First Aid placed Onslaught's armor back over his protoform, patching him up with methodical servos until there was not a trace of their work left on Onslaught's frame. Hook turned to his brother, noting the fear in his gaze and the way Scrapper's legs shook where he stood.

"Stay with him," Hook whispered, "he will need company when he wakes."

Gratefulness shot through the bond before Scrapper climbed up onto the berth beside Onslaught, minding the monitor leads and the energon fuel lines he was still attached to, and nestled up against the Combaticon's side.

A trembling sigh from First Aid drew Hook's gaze down to the ambulance.

He was shaking.

His visor was dull—

First Aid collapsed.

Hook caught him without thinking, the ambulance's weight insignificant to the crane as he slowly picked First Aid up and carried him, one arm under First Aid's back and the other under his knees. The crane carried First Aid to his office and gently set him down on Hook's private office berth.

"You did well," Hook whispered to First Aid as he slumped to the ground, leaned his back against the berth and let his optics slip closed.

Chapter Text

Hook stirred awake as the claxon for morning refueling rang through the Victory.

His back ached where he'd slept with it pressed up against the berth. Stretching, Hook stood slowly and rolled his shoulders with a yawn.

A message from Scrapper informed him that he had already left the medical bay, to get some space and energon, but that he would be back shortly.

Hook sent Scrapper a reply, then headed out of his office to his patient.

He moved to Onslaught's side to run the necessary diagnostics after such an intensive surgery while his processor fully caught up to being awake.

Nothing was amiss with Onslaught's scans, thankfully, which released a thread of tension from Hook's shoulders that he hadn't even noticed beforehand.

He had moved to wake First Aid, so that the ambulance would follow him to the refueling depot, when a ping came through his comms from Scrapper.

Are you coming? We've already pulled yours and First Aid's fuel rations, but Scavenger has volunteered to bring them to you if you'd prefer.

A faint, nearly imperceptible smile brushed over Hook's faceplate at Scrapper's message. Take it to his best friend to always be thinking of his team. Scrapper was likely thinking out the plans for the day while refueling, sketching away his feelings and whatever stray thought captured his mind. It had taken Hook ages to adjust to Scrapper planning ahead for him when they'd first begun working together, but now it was as normal to Hook as waking from recharge was.

No, we will be there. I have to wake the Autobot first.

Don't be too late, it seems Motormaster got up on the wrong side of the berth today. He's already picking a fight with Brawl.

Hook vented and pinched at his nose. Of course. Give us a few minutes. If Motormaster gets himself killed, comm me again.

Scrapper's laugh rattled through their comms, I know you'd be happier if he was, but I won't allow it.

That's not true, Hook grumbled, optics rolling as he gently poked at First Aid.

Oh, I know, you unsubtle old crane.

Hook growled something obscene to Scrapper (again, earning him snickers), and promptly blocked his friend. For now.

"Wake up," Hook growled as he prodded First Aid a second time.

This time, finally, First Aid woke at Hook's prodding. Though he did so in a flurry of panic. He scrambled up, visor blazing and field flaring as if he thought there was an emergency before him.

"Easy," Hook growled as he pushed down on First Aid's chest with one servo. "Onslaught's scans are normal. I'm waking you up for morning refueling."

The ambulance quieted, visor flickering with static as his helm tilted to where Onslaught was resting, then back to Hook. Specifically to where his servo was laid over First Aid's chest. First Aid blinked and stared, affixed, on Hook's servo.

"What?" He grumped, denta bared in a sneer, though there was little meaning behind the look of displeasure. Hook was learning that First Aid simply was too (ugh) friendly and polite to ever have a truly nasty thought about someone.

Bleeding spark that he was.

"N-nothing," First Aid whispered, though he looked back down to Hook's servo. For some reason, Hook noticed a rush of blue flood First Aid's faceplate before he pulled away and stood up from the berth.

Bewildered even more than moments earlier, Hook stepped back and gestured to First Aid to follow. "Come on. Our medical expertise may be required shortly."

That seemed to shake First Aid out of whatever stupor was affecting him as, with a small nod, he shook himself, returned his faceguard and followed Hook out of the medical bay.

The walk to the fueling depot was quiet, and slow, considering how short Hook had to make his strides so that First Aid didn't have to jog or run after him. They passed Thundercracker, who was leaving the refueling chamber with a half empty cube. He nodded to Hook and First Aid alike but said nothing to them.

First Aid didn't even flinch, let alone move closer to Hook, either.

Perhaps he was being sensible since First Aid had helped Hook repair Ramjet and Thrust. Seekers were not often sensible from Hook's experience, least of all Starscream and his hoard of fliers. The Coneheads weren't sensible, but they at least were sensible enough to not follow Starscream around. Though Hook knew Skywarp and Thundercracker weren't friends with Starscream, they followed him around enough to project a friendship with the irritating second in command.

The only tolerable part of Skywarp and Thundercracker were that both listened to Hook in the medical bay with little question. Something to do with Skywarp's loyalty to Megatron and Thundercracker's general want to be healed and not suffer through pain.

The doors to the refueling depot opened as Hook and First Aid approached them, allowing for the cacophony of loud voices, clanging metal and laughter to assault their audial receptors.

Hook scowled and pushed through first, long legs carrying him towards the Constructicons' table.

A quick glance around the room found Motormaster sulking in the corner, at the table usually taken over by the Stunticons, though the rest of his team was absent. Soundwave was sitting across from Motormaster, slowly sipping at his cube of energon while his gaze was locked onto the Stunticon leader.

Hook quirked an optic ridge and looked away, to meet Scrapper's gaze from the distance between them. He could see stress weighing on Scrapper's frame even when he perked up and gave Hook a tiny wave, then gestured to the spots his team had reserved for Hook and First Aid. It made Hook's mouth twitch almost to a smile — until he saw Scrapper stiffen, visor flickering as he stared behind Hook.

It was then that the crane heard First Aid let out a pained squeak, and whipped around to see Vortex had the ambulance's throat caught in one servo, his glue gun's muzzle pressed against First Aid's chest plate.

"Where's Onslaught, Autobot?" Vortex hissed, his grip on First Aid tightening. "We saw his signal in his office, then it vanished. We felt his pain, then nothing. I don't know what you've done with Hook, but we won't let your nice facade—"

"Vortex!" Hook grabbed the helicopter by his arm, the crane's strength and considerable, towering height over the Combaticon, utilized to twist Vortex's grip off of First Aid as he leaned into Vortex's space.

Vortex snarled at Hook as his frame slowly buckled beneath Hook, until Vortex could do nothing more than snarl at Hook and glare at him.

"Protecting your pet now?" Vortex spat, gaze snapping from Hook to where First Aid was standing behind Hook.

Hook ignored Vortex as he leaned down until his faceplate was mere centimeters from Vortex's, and snarled. "Touch my assistant again, Vortex…"

The Combaticon stiffened. He met Hook's gaze with a growl, but then looked away. The other Combaticons had approached where Hook and Vortex were, confusion in their gazes as they looked between the two Decepticons and then First Aid.

With a snarl, Hook released Vortex and stood back up to his full height. "Onslaught required emergency surgery last night. I will comm you when it is possible to visit him. Do not arrive any time before I comm you, or I will kick you out," Hook growled to the gathered Combaticons, then turned to First Aid.

The ambulance was clearly shaken, his visor a dull blue and his frame shivering imperceptibly. Hook frowned and gently touched First Aid's back. A startle from First Aid met Hook's touch. Hook whispered a soft reassurance to First Aid, which garnered him a grateful look before First Aid practically glued himself to Hook's side.

Hook sent the Combaticons a glare — Swindle looked away, expression impossible to read, while Brawl was leading Vortex away to the Combaticons' table, and Blast Off watched Hook with a cold expression — before he guided First Aid to the Constructicons' table.

Scavenger quickly pressed against First Aid once he and Hook sat down, the excavator pulling out a plethora of his hoard that he scattered over the table.

To Mixmaster's clear annoyance. The chemist growled when one of Scavenger's knick knacks hit his energon cube. He grabbed the cube and moved away, to sit on the very edge of the bench while his mixing drum spun irritably.

"Scavenger…" Scrapper growled, "careful."

"Oh, s-sorry, boss," Scavenger's voice cracked and he quickly pulled his hoard of knick knacks back to himself, storing them back into his subspace.

First Aid looked to Hook, who shrugged at him, before he carefully reached out and tapped Scavenger's arm. Scavenger froze, helm turning slowly to look down at the short ambulance. "Thank you for showing me, Scavenger."

Scavenger flushed at First Aid's comment and squeaked warmly, tail scoop wagging in a way that made First Aid giggle. Scavenger beamed and turned to show First Aid his boom kibble, which the ambulance carefully touched at Scavenger's encouragement.
For some reason, Hook felt his spark hitch up for a moment at First Aid's giggle. It made him stare down at himself, before his frame stiffened up and he crossed his arms over his chest plate.

"Hook?" Scrapper whispered. His servo landed on Hook's arm as Scrapper peered up at the crane, worry sharp in the flicker of static within his visor. "Is it Onslaught? I… needed space. If he isn't well, I—"

Hook shook his helm and flexed his digits, before he unwrapped his arms from his chest plate and allowed them to rest at his side instead. "Onslaught is recovering. His vitals and scans read as healthy. He should wake later today."

Scrapper frowned at Hook's response, but the relief was clear, though his worry remained. "Then?"

"Nothing, Scrapper," Hook growled, his tone sharp. He didn't want to discuss with Scrapper about Hook's strange frame reactions, nor that odd way First Aid had looked at him earlier that morning.

Hook knew it was the trust Scrapper had in him that had Scrapper drop the subject, even when Scrapper continued to watch him with that hint of worry in his gaze. The front loader pushed Hook's cube closer to him, a soft "refuel for me, at least, please?" given not as an order, but his best friend's worry.

The crane let his vents cycle before he grabbed the energon cube and drank it down. "I could have refueled in the office," Hook whispered when he finished and placed the empty cube down onto the table, "you do not need to—"

"I wanted you out of the medical bay," Scrapper sighed in response, "I want to spend time with you outside of the medical bay."

Hook recognized stress and anxiety in Scrapper's confession, especially when the wheel loader shuffled closer to him, until their plating brushed against each other. Hook looked down at Scrapper, his spark twisting as he recognized the fear trembling through their bond from Scrapper, then leaned into his side.

"You're worried for Onslaught," Hook surmised.

Scrapper nodded, not that Hook had needed such a confirmation.

He knew how Scrapper's processor worked. Knew how much he cared about those he loved. Even if Hook still found part of himself pained over Scrapper's focus on Onslaught and how scared he was that Scrapper would turn away from the team with his feelings for the Combaticon, he could never intentionally hurt Scrapper. So he turned and gently squeezed his friend's shoulder, engine purring softly to him.

"Come back to the medical bay with First Aid and I once we finish refueling, then you can spend time with Onslaught." Hook looked to First Aid, who was still entertaining Scavenger's peculiarities, then sighed. "We will have to allow the Combaticons to visit him later as well."

Scrapper looked up at Hook, then nuzzled his faceguard against Hook's shoulder. "I can deal with them. I know how you hate talking to others."

Hook rolled his optics behind his visor at the subtle tease in Scrapper's voice, but he smiled at him nonetheless. "I will gladly accept the help."

A purr rumbled out of Scrapper's engine, his field warm against Hook's plating. He welcomed the warmth and closeness of his best friend, even as his gaze wandered to watch First Aid.

By now, Bonecrusher and Long Haul were chattering with First Aid — or, to be more exact, talking at the Protectobot — while Scavenger continued to beam with happiness through his field at First Aid's continued closeness to him. Hook heard Beachcomber and Groove's names mentioned a few times within the conversation, and saw First Aid's helm turn away slightly as the three Constructicons chattered away at First Aid. The ambulance's energon cube was barely touched at, and it was that which had Hook gently nudge First Aid in the shoulder.

"We should head back soon to check on Onslaught, so finish your energon." Hook stood up as Scrapper pulled away from his side, released his hold on First Aid's shoulder and left the refueling chamber.

First Aid caught up to him after a little bit, energon cube still in one servo. His arrival had Hook slow his usual pace so that First Aid didn't have to run, and he walked with him quietly to the medical bay. The ambulance's field brushed slightly over Hook, a contentment and happiness in it that had Hook look down at him, to watch the ambulance closely. He'd been different ever since Soundwave had allowed First Aid to contact the other Protectobots.

Maybe he and Scrapper could work with Soundwave to allow First Aid a few more chances to call the Protectobots. If it helped his mood, and kept First Aid ready to work in the medical bay while he was stuck with Hook, then the least Hook could do was try to help First Aid's mood.

Onslaught was still in stasis when Hook and First Aid returned to the medical bay. After washing and cleaning his servos down, Hook moved to check the Combaticon leader's vitals, while he heard First Aid move to organize supplies onto one of the operating trays. It made Hook look over at First Aid, helm tilted as he watched First Aid organize and gather together the supplies.

First Aid froze when he seemed to register Hook looking at him. His helm turned to look at Hook, before he looked down at the supplies. "If the other Combaticons have the same loyalty coding Onslaught does, then we need to remove it before their loyalty coding hurts them like it did Onslaught."

Hook vented and turned away from Onslaught — vitals clear and recovering — to approach First Aid. He took the first tray of supplies and stationed them at one of the empty berths, then returned to First Aid's side.

They worked in silence together, preparing the supplies they'd need for the other four Combaticons. Which… Hook groaned.

Bruticus.

How would they explain a surgery for him?

"Hook?"

The crane looked down at First Aid, who was staring up at him, visor flickering. He waved off the other's comment and returned to organizing.

But it seemed First Aid was not finished with the conversation.

"Loyalty coding?" First Aid finally whispered, his servos faltering on the medical mesh he was storing on one of the trays. "Why? Why would Megatron do that to his own soldiers?"

Hook looked away, his servos clenching into fists at his side. Everyone in the Decepticon forces knew of the Combaticons' attempted coup against Megatron two million years ago. Little else was known of the attempted assassination except that Megatron had survived and the Combaticons had vanished. Hook had been to the Detention Center with Megatron a few times to examine the stored sparks within the vault, but he had never known whose sparks he'd been holding.

Now he knew five of those had been the Combaticons.

His team's former allies. Friends.

It bothered him, deeply.

"They attempted to assassinate him back on Cybertron," Hook growled, "I presume he does not wish to see them betray him again. Onslaught is not one to turn your back to."

First Aid shook his helm, field flashing over Hook with shock and hurt. "But loyalty coding? Removing their free will from them because he's scared?"

"It would not be the first time he has used coding to take over his own troops," Hook snapped, the tube of medical grease he'd been holding in his servo bursting as he clenched his fist around it.

Annoyance sparked off him as he turned to clean up the mess he'd made, but was stopped by First Aid, who took his servo in his own and began wiping down the mess. "What do you mean?" First Aid asked, the tremor in his voice one Hook couldn't place the origin of.

"You weren't awake when the Autobots used the Dominator Discs on us, were you?"

First Aid looked down, shame clear in his field as he faltered in cleaning Hook's servo. "No, we were still in stasis on the Ark at that point. We only heard rumors of Wheeljack controlling Devastator and your team. None of us approved. I… was horrified to learn my faction would do that to someone."

Hook scoffed, engine letting out a low, angry growl as he looked away from First Aid. "Freedom is the right of all sentient beings… except for Decepticons, I guess?"

First Aid didn't say a word. It made Hook vent and he softened his field, as well as lowered the growl of his engine to a soft rumble instead.

"You did not make that decision, do not place blame upon yourself," Hook vented as he waited for First Aid to finish fiddling with his servo.

"The Autobots should never have taken control over you…" First Aid trailed off as he finished cleaning Hook's servo. The ambulance released Hook's servo and stepped back, to wash his servos without another word.

The empty silence made Hook vent, and he approached First Aid slowly. He touched the other's shoulder, which had First Aid turn to face him, the ambulance's helm tilted to the side.

"As I was attempting to explain earlier, your faction was not the sole one to take over my team's minds. Megatron did, solely because he was angry at the Autobots controlling his combiner team. Loyalty coding is clearly not beneath him." Hook ground his denta and hissed. "He did not even discuss the application with me. Who even gave them the coding?"

Hook muttered to himself, furious at Megatron. Furious for the Combaticons being used by Megatron without their own knowledge. They'd have to utilize Onslaught to convince the rest of the Combaticons to allow Hook to pick through their helms, to destroy the loyalty coding without Megatron discovering his duplicity.

But the brush of a servo against his chest plate had Hook stiffen, his gaze shifting down to First Aid once again. The ambulance startled when he seemed to notice that he'd touched Hook's chest plate, and quickly he pulled back and cleared his vocalizer.

"Apologies, I didn't—"

"Do not feel the need to apologize," Hook said dismissively as he turned back to approach Onslaught.

First Aid came to his side, joining Hook as he activated the switch that would pull Onslaught from his stasis. The ambulance tensed, seeming prepared for a bad reaction from Onslaught. His fear flickered off his field in a way that pulled Hook to move First Aid back from Onslaught slightly.

He didn't need the Autobot hurt. Hook didn't need more medical work for himself, not with four more — and potentially a fifth — surgery for loyalty coding on his table now.

A groan escaped Onslaught as his yellow visor sparked away, his awareness returning to him without violence as his helm turned and shifted to look at Hook.

"... Hook?" Onslaught looked behind him, to First Aid, then back to Hook, confusion sharp in his gaze. "What happened?"

Hook sighed, before he pulled a chair up and sat down. Then he explained, in full detail.

While he explained, the medical bay doors opened — which Hook knew meant it was Scrapper, as he'd locked the medical bay to anyone but those with his specific code — and Scrapper was soon on the opposite side of Onslaught, his servo taking Onslaught's right servo. Onslaught listened without a single word, the only hint of his horror — and fury — the blaze in his visor as Hook spoke.

First Aid's presence hovered over Hook's shoulder, field extended out to Onslaught, Hook and Scrapper with comforting waves. Onslaught noted First Aid and eventually, finally, sighed and looked away.

"You need to remove this coding from my team, then."

"Yes," Hook said, gaze shifting to First Aid as the ambulance looked down at Onslaught.

Onslaught nodded. "I will explain to them. They will distrust First Aid if it is you telling them he will be working on them alongside you, Hook. They will trust him if I command them to."

"I will never hurt any patient of mine," First Aid spoke up, that fierceness in his tone making Hook's spark do that same odd surge in its spark chamber as it had earlier.

He caught Scrapper giving him a confused, quizzical look, which made Hook shake his helm quickly and mouth that he was fine to his best friend. Scrapper tilted his helm and stared into Hook's gaze sharply, but did not press him. Not that Hook could have given him an answer anyways.

"I believe you," Onslaught said, his gaze shifting to look at Hook. "If Hook believes you are worthy of assisting him, then I have little reason to not trust you."

First Aid flushed, his field flashing with shock and joy across Hook's plating, before First Aid tucked his field back to himself and gave Onslaught a professional nod. "I will follow whatever Hook asks me to do."

"And you will be there when we remove the coding of your team," Hook added, "I do not trust working on Vortex without your presence."

"Understood," Onslaught said, his tone softening slightly as he shook his helm. "I know how difficult he is. When do we begin?"

"As soon as we can," Hook said, "we cannot allow Megatron to discover our plans."

Onslaught hissed, a sound that made even Hook stiffen out of surprise. He'd never heard Onslaught make such a noise, not even in the most ridiculous, time wasting meetings of Megatron and Starscream screaming at each other back and forth. He vented and then carefully placed a servo on Onslaught's shoulder.

The Combaticon looked up at Hook, yellow visor dark orange with anger, then vented and closed his optics, shutting his visor down. Scrapper moved up onto the berth beside Onslaught, helm buried into Onslaught's shoulder.

Hook looked away from Scrapper and Onslaught, then nudged First Aid away. They'd give Onslaught space and time to recover, before Hook had Onslaught call the other Combaticons to the medical bay. First Aid stopped Hook as they entered the medical bay's office, his servos brushing over Hook's arm as the crane turned towards his desk.

Hook stopped and allowed First Aid to touch him, the soothing field and touch more welcome to Hook than he'd admit.

Chapter Text

First Aid's engine rumbled quietly from the other side of the desk. Hook watched him from the corner of his optic as the crane leaned his chin on one arm, which was spread out over his desk. First Aid's helm was laid on the edge of the desk, his engine rumbling the soft sounds of recharge. He looked almost peaceful, if not for where he was.

It made the crane stand slowly.

He pondered everything that had happened since the day before, when Onslaught had sought Hook out for him to meet him in the Combaticon's office. The crane had never expected to discover what he did, of Megatron's lies and the loyalty coding that festered inside the Combaticons. What else had Megatron lied about to Hook and the others?

Where would Megatron's desires for power end, when he had already controlled the Constructicons once without their consent, and had left potentially fatal loyalty coding inside the Combaticons?

Hook shook his helm, frown flickering across his face as he set to work tidying up his office space. He moved quietly, so as to not wake First Aid. The faint buzz of voices from the medical bay, those of Onslaught and Scrapper, echoed from outside.

Part of Hook, that nasty, embarrassing jealous part of him, wanted to listen in to what his best friend and Onslaught were saying. To know what they discussed when they were in private. But the part of him that loved Scrapper and wanted him to be happy turned away from the door and moved to the furthest section of the office.

He gathered two rations of energon and approached the desk, where he gently tapped First Aid with one of the cubes.

"Fuel up," he whispered as the ambulance stirred out of his recharge, visor shorting out temporarily as the ambulance registered his surroundings.

But then First Aid nodded, took the cube and discarded his faceguard.

Hook downed his as quickly as First Aid did, then he pulled one of his datapads from his desk and placed it in front of First Aid.

"These are the schematics I have on all six Combaticons. We know where Onslaught's coding was centered, and I would presume that it will be in the same region as the rest of his team," Hook explained as he leaned over First Aid and flicked through the slides. "Study these, and you may ask any questions you need of me."

A startled sound escaped First Aid as he looked up to Hook and frowned, his servo hovering over the datapad's screen. "Are you certain?"

Hook waved a servo and growled. "No need to hold on sentiment. You are my assistant, you may as well have access to all of my notes."

Especially with surgeries of such a risky nature. Physically for their patients and if Megatron…

Hook shuddered.

Do not focus on that possibility.

Luckily, First Aid interjected with a slew of questions about each of the remaining Combaticons. Hook answered each with growing enthusiasm. As much as the crane could complain about his work, and how Megatron had forced him into his role as Chief Medical Officer, Hook loved his work. Just as he seemed to be enjoying discussing his work and experiences with First Aid.

Likely due to his desire for someone else intelligent within the medical bay. Not for any other reason.

Most assuredly not.

Hook would never respect a pacifist medic.

Never.

A nagging voice gnawed at Hook, its words indecipherable to him as he drowned it out with all of his pettiness, thorniness and the hint of fear that settled deep down inside his spark. What if he was coming to respect First Aid?

A knock on his office door drew Hook away from that thread of thought, thankfully.

He muttered a "wait here" to First Aid and then went to the door, which he opened enough to see Scrapper.

"Ready?" Hook surmised.

Scrapper nodded, gaze steeled with an emotion Hook could not read. "Let's get this over with."

Their gestalt bond wavered with anxiety and fear from Scrapper, which Hook attempted to soothe with a nudge of confidence through the bond. Scrapper looked up at Hook, his field flickering with the smile Hook knew was hidden behind his faceguard. It made the crane soften before he extended a servo and brushed his digits over Scrapper's shoulder.

"Have Onslaught call his team. First Aid and I will finish up here until the Combaticons are ready to hear from us."

A faint laugh escaped Scrapper at Hook's semi command, before he gently shoved Hook in the shoulder. "Don't get too close to him, Hook. I doubt the Protectobots would much care for him joining the Decepticons permanently."

Hook stiffened, mouth curving down into a sneer, mouth opening to snap at Scrapper—

Who closed the door in his face and left Hook standing at the now closed door, bewildered.

With a mutter under his breath, Hook turned back and stalked over to First Aid, who was buried in Hook's notes. First Aid didn't even look up at the crane when he approached. His dedication to his work was…

That flicker of respect churned through Hook once more.

It made the crane vent out a loud sigh before he put his servo down on the desk near First Aid.

The ambulance looked up at him.

Hook felt his field flicker against the crane's plating for a second, a feeling of trepidation chilling through Hook's frame once it did.

"If Megatron discovers what we've done?" First Aid asked quietly.

Hook closed his optics, then sighed. "I will take the brunt of the blame. This was my decision."

First Aid looked away from Hook, his field shrinking away quickly, but not before Hook sensed a surge of… sorrow, was it?... ping through his plating from the ambulance.

No response came from Hook in return, not even a sigh as he shook his helm and began to pace the office.

What if Megatron discovered their duplicity?

Knowing the warlord, he would not punish Hook himself. He would hurt someone Hook cared about. Would hurt Scrapper…

They could not allow Megatron to discover the truth.

If they did…

The next hours passed in a blur. Hook hardly remembered anything between each surgery besides the sense of urgency and secrecy their actions demanded. First Aid worked diligently alongside him as they removed the loyalty coding from the remaining four Combaticons.

Convincing the Combaticons to listen to his and First Aid's explanations had been the hard part. Blast Off's quiet, running commentary on Hook's inefficiency had almost caused the crane to lash out — until Onslaught had interjected with a stern command and told the shuttle off. The other Combaticons had been quiet, even Vortex — to Hook's immense surprise —, and none had protested.

Not even to First Aid working on them.

The respect they held for Onslaught was clear. Maybe Onslaught was an... alright choice for Scrapper to pick as a partner.

It was that respect which had Swindle volunteer first. The little jeep was terrified as he laid down on the berth Hook and First Aid designated for him, but he did not shake. Did not pull away or flinch as Hook put the jeep into stasis.

While they'd worked on Swindle, Hook had felt the glares of Vortex and Blast Off resting against his back. Only when Swindle had woken from stasis — a much easier process considering none of the Combaticons had the same processor bleed that Onslaught's loyalty coding had done to him — did Hook feel those glares shift from him.

And so they'd continued.

Brawl had volunteered next, the big tank's voice out of character in its tininess and fear. First Aid was the one who comforted the tank, even during his stasis. Soft whispers and gentle touches to Brawl's plating kept the tank calm in ways that made Hook watch First Aid with wonder.

He wondered if First Aid would show him how he managed such a kind bedside manner while holding the respect of those he healed. It didn't make sense to Hook. Decepticons didn't want kindness. They wanted to escape the medical bay as quickly as they could. Not to linger while their surgeon reassured them over and over.

Blast Off was the only one who demanded he be awake during the process, his glare never dying as Hook and First Aid worked on the removal of his coding. Hook truly hated the arrogant shuttle. Hopefully he wouldn't have to deal with Blast Off again for a while. Annoyance.

For Primus' sake, Vortex was an easier patient. All the helicopter asked for was to be put in stasis before they started any medical port plug ins, and to not be touched beyond that which was necessary for the surgery. A request Hook followed with only the tiniest of grumbles — for show more than out of actual annoyance.

It was late in the early hours of the next day when they finally finished all four surgeries, and the crane was exhausted. The Combaticons were all resting, including Onslaught, who had been allowed off his berth to hover near his team as each of them underwent their respective surgeries.

Scrapper was helping clean up the tools from Vortex's surgery alongside First Aid as Hook finished scrubbing his medical protocols, in case the loyalty coding had gotten into him from all of his hardline erasing he had to do to the code while First Aid plucked the actual physical disc out of each Combaticon's cerebellum.

Discs which Hook burned in the incinerator, knowing that if any Decepticon found them, they would be questioned and their actions discovered. Thus he also knew he could never write notes on the surgeries either. A fact which bothered him, for it was not thorough enough for him, but the risk was not worth it.

No matter how his perfectionism gnawed at him to complete the process.

Hook didn't know when he flopped onto one of the few unoccupied berths to recharge, nor did he notice when Scrapper flopped onto the berth alongside him, snoring heavily. All he saw as the crane slipped into recharge was First Aid pressed up against the berth while he sat on the floor near Hook. Close enough for…

Hook moved his servo and placed it on First Aid's shoulder as his optics closed and he slipped into recharge.

Decepticon activity was slow, and very limited over the next few days after the Combaticons' surgeries. Megatron's focus, for once, was concentrated on the Decepticons repairing and working around the Victory.

Which meant Hook was busy for other means, ones he disliked more than repairing the Decepticon forces. (Part of him also missed the time he had with First Aid, who had been tasked to the medical bay while the Decepticons worked on the ship).

Watching the Stunticons as they attempted to grasp the concept of welding. Even with Scavenger there at his side, patiently and excitedly showing Breakdown how to weld, Hook's patience was nonexistent.

Not when Drag Strip kept trying to play with the welder instead of using it properly.

Sparklings!

A laugh escaped from Scavenger through the gestalt bond, followed by the excavator tapping Hook on the helm with his scoop. ::. Could be worse— .::

A ping over Hook's comms had him shut off the bond, just in time to hear Megatron's calm voice through his comms.

"Hook, I need to speak to you in my throne room. Please arrive promptly. Scavenger will stay with the Stunticons."

Fear shot through Hook before he could stifle it.

Scavenger's field brushed over him with concern, before Hook sent him a curt explanation — ::. Megatron has requested my presence. .:: — and headed towards Megatron's throne room. Scavenger rumbled a confused query to him, which Hook ignored.

He knew as much as Scavenger did on why Megatron needed to talk to him. Or…

Primus, it couldn't be about the Combaticons, could it?

Hook's plating spiked and bristled with worry and anxiety in the trek to Megatron's throne room. He schooled himself and his plating to be as calm and frigid as the crane always was. If he showed a hint of weakness near the warlord, Megatron would know something was up with his CMO. By the time he arrived, thankfully, Hook had gathered himself together. His frown was firmly set in place, and his cable whirred quietly with his displeasure.

All mannerisms Hook would normally give the warlord when he was interrupted from his task.

"Ah, Hook!" Megatron said with a cheery hum as the crane entered the throne room and stopped before Megatron's throne.

Hook bowed his helm, tone even as he greeted Megatron.

The warlord waved off Hook's formality and slowly stood up from his throne. Every movement Megatron made was precise as he walked down the steps that led to his throne, and then approached Hook. He circled the crane slowly, gaze appraising as Hook stood stock still and stared straight ahead.

"It has been awhile since I last asked for an update on First Aid," Megatron finally said, tone soft, "how has working with an assistant gone for you?"

Oh.

So that was the topic.

Hook hoped that was the sole topic Megatron would broach with him.

So he steeled himself and answered truthfully. "I have become more accustomed to his presence. His competence is clear, even to myself and has made certain surgeries go more smoothly. I believe his presence has also… helped the Decepticons' anxieties while inside the medical bay."

Megatron hummed, his field contemplative as he listened to Hook. "I see, I see. That is good news all around. So you would concur that we should keep him around longer on the Victory?"

"I— What?" Hook stuttered, shock rippling off him before he schooled himself.

"You would agree with me that First Aid should stay on the Victory for longer, correct?" Megatron reiterated, all while the warlord continued to circle Hook, gaze locked like lasers onto the crane. Hook did everything in his power — his dignity could allow nothing less — to hold completely still, but for watching Megatron with as disaffected a stare as he could muster.

"At this point, he has proved useful," Hook said, slowly, unsure exactly what Megatron wanted Hook to say. Was he testing him? Being genuine?

"Good, then we shall keep him for longer. Optimus offered a reward for First Aid that I believe undervalues his usefulness to us. Until Optimus has come up with a worthy reward for First Aid's return, he will stay with us here."

Hook nodded, and feigned a small smile. "I see no fault in that summation, Lord Megatron."

"Of course you would not," Megatron hissed from Hook's side.

The tone was hidden. As if Megatron knew something Hook did not. He blinked and turned his helm to track Megatron, confusion sharp in his field. "What do you mean by that?" Hook asked cautiously.

Megatron paused behind Hook's back, one large servo moving to rest against his swivel mount as the warlord leaned close to Hook from behind. "I hear you are becoming friendly with First Aid? Is that true?"

Hook swallowed. He blinked, but nodded, slowly. "Friendly, yes. First Aid is not a Decepticon. He requires a gentler method to coax out the best of his abilities."

"I see."

Again with that hidden tone. As if Megatron was laughing at Hook. As if he knew what Hook didn't.

It made Hook's spark pick up a beat, his cable whirring as Megatron continued to hover at his back. If he turned around to face Megatron, the warlord would get exactly what he was wanting from Hook. A show of his fear, of the crane losing control and Megatron's utter power over his CMO. So he kept his frame locked in place, even as Megatron's plating brushed up against his back.

"Careful, Hook, I don't need my medic having a cross faction friendship, now, do I?" Megatron said, tone pleasant, as if they were long term friends.

Hook swallowed and nodded, with a tiny, faint, "no, sir, Lord Megatron."

"Good," Megatron chuffed, "you're dismissed. Thank you for your time."

"Thank you, Lord Megatron," Hook whispered, helm bowed as Megatron slowly moved away from him to return to his throne.

He turned on his heel and began to head out of Megatron's throne room, when he heard Megatron call his name. Hook stopped and turned all the way around to look at Megatron, where the tank had a leg casually propped over the right arm rest of his throne.

"Remember, Hook, nothing happens on this ship without my knowledge."

Hook bowed his helm, aware of the stricken fear in his spark at that wording, and nodded. "Of course, Lord Megatron. I am fully aware."

A chuckle escaped Megatron. "Go on. Oh. And I would prepare the medical bay. We have organized another raid on one of the Autobot aligned fuel depots the humans use."

Hook nodded and turned. He left Megatron's throne room calmly and slowly, even as his spark thundered with terror.

Only when he found himself locked in his room in the Constructicons' quarters did the crane allow himself to falter.

He slumped against the wall and slid to the ground, one servo moving to cover his mouth as his tank rolled and lurched.

Megatron knew, didn't he?

"Hook?" First Aid's voice pulled the crane out of a poor recharge, and up to where that blue visor was hovering inches from him, illuminated with worry. "You are taking on too much stress. You haven't properly recharged in a week."

Hook snorted as he rose up from where he'd flopped over his desk. Datapads were strewn everywhere, unfinished patient chart updates on multiple screens.

"Why do you care, First Aid? We are enemies, lest you forget that you are the Decepticons' captive," Hook snapped, irritated at the ambulance's remarkable skill of finding every issue Hook was struggling with.

"You aren't my enemy," First Aid whispered. A tremor in his tone had Hook narrow his optics behind his visor.

"Don't be naive," Hook spat, "we're not on the same side. That means we are enemies."

First Aid finally met Hook's gaze, a determination flickering strongly in his visor. "No. You are a fellow Cybertronian, as well as a fellow medic. You are not my enemy."

Hook glowered at First Aid. He was so stubborn over his convictions it was as impossible to argue with him as it was to argue with Bonecrusher. Made worse by that conversation with Megatron almost a week ago.

He'd closed himself off from First Aid, going only so far as to speak to him when surgeries and medical care necessitated it — and Primus, had they been working non stop ever since that fuel depot raid Megatron had mentioned to him.

Hook couldn't recall the last time that he'd actually fully recharged. He'd kept his distance from First Aid as best he could, Megatron's words to him haunting the crane's every action as the Decepticons returned from raid after raid severely injured. The Combaticons, Hook's own team — whom Megatron had finally allowed to return to the battlefield out of necessity — every single flier and the triple changers had all returned from various raids injured. Only the Stunticons had evaded injury, and that only owing to their formidable forcefields, which Megatron had forced Hook to upgrade before the initial fuel depot raid.

The medical bay's stocks were depleted, even with Scavenger running daily operations to meet Beachcomber and Groove for more supplies from the Protectobots. Hook had to institute a supply ration, and many of the most recently injured Decepticons were made to heal through rest and their natural nanites, over surgery.

A matter that was driving Hook absolutely insane.

"Let me help you relax, please?" First Aid's servos hovered imploringly near Hook, waiting for the crane's permission.

With a snarl, Hook looked away.

It was permission, given in the best form that would not tarnish Hook's image with other Decepticons. Not with the likelihood of Megatron, or Soundwave, watching his every move in the medical bay hanging over Hook's helm at all hours.

First Aid's servos brushed alongside his shoulder armor, the digits of each servo digging between the green plating of his boom housing and the purple of his collar plating. A groan escaped Hook when he felt First Aid begin — Primus, it felt so good — massaging his collar plating.

Hook felt himself sink into his chair, his vents opening as his fans ticked on to run cool air through his frame. First Aid's servos worked slowly, following every transformation seam and fiber of the crane's body. He jolted when First Aid moved from his collar plating down to the swivel mount where Hook's boom rested against his back.

The crane fidgeted as he felt First Aid examine his swivel mount slowly with his servos. Hook was very aware of every single brush of First Aid's digits as he worked his servos down Hook's swivel mount and to his boom. He was also all too aware of how his spark raced when First Aid's palm stroked down his boom, and how hot his plating was when First Aid began swiveling and exercising the crane's boom.

A moan gusted from the crane against his will when he felt First Aid suddenly pop his boom back into place against his swivel mount. His vision swam for a moment as pain shot through his frame, only for it to fade out.

"That was from Warpath yesterday, wasn't it?" First Aid whispered, a strange note of hurt in his tone as he continued to exercise and massage Hook's boom.

"Yes," Hook said, all his growly tone long evaporated as his frame tingled with relief and exhaustion all in the same.

"I'm sorry," First Aid whispered, as if he'd been the one to hurt Hook.

It made the crane grumble and shake his helm.

He had not been one of the initially deployed Decepticons on the raid Megatron had ordered yesterday morning. He had only been called out for backup when Starscream and the fliers had been shot down by the Aerialbots and Megatron demanded for the remaining Decepticon forces to head to the battlefield.

Hook had seen it all as pointless, but had gone nonetheless. The Decepticons were picky fights over measly amounts of land, none of which would be useful to them but to rub in the faceplates of the Autobots as a loss.

Their attempt at backup had been anything but auspicious when Astrotrain was gunned down, while carrying Hook and the Stunticons as they headed towards the battlefield, by the combined firepower of Air Raid, Skydive and Slingshot. Astrotrain had crash landed, wounded and Hook had to divert to patch up the wounded triple changer instead of meeting up with his team — who had been engaged in combat with the Dinobots.

Warpath, Sunstreaker and Cliffjumper had apparently found that distraction the perfect opportunity to strike down the Decepticon surgeon and Astrotrain all in one.

Thankfully the Stunticons had not gone far by the time Hook had been pummeled down by Warpath and Sunstreaker, all while the crane had attempted to cover and protect Astrotrain, and it was the velocity and rage of Motormaster and his team that had fended off the three Autobots.

Their retreat, called moments later, had been terribly disorganized, to a point that Blast Off had to come down from his orbital position to transport many of the wounded. Long Haul was still complaining about having to be used as medical transport for Astrotrain.

Hook's helm was still aching from the audial full Megatron had given him (since he could not yell at the unconscious Astrotrain) for failing to provide proper backup to the Decepticon forces. Worst of all, the foolish warlord had chosen to yell at Hook over him providing medical care upon their initial return. First Aid had been worked half to stasis by the time Hook was finally dismissed and had rushed to the medical bay.

He still didn't know how First Aid could show such energy as he worked tirelessly to heal alongside Hook. Hook was exhausted but First Aid displayed none of his exhaustion. (Hook was old, that had to be it.)

Protectobots…

(It was impressive. First Aid had never once complained in the past week, no matter what Hook had demanded of him. No matter how hard they both had to work, First Aid woke every day with the same determination to heal as the last. Hook was—

(No. Not going there. What was wrong with him?)

Heat flushed along Hook's cheekplates at how his mind had wandered off into such an odd direction, but an interruption from First Aid was a relieving distraction. The medic's servos hovered at his hook and cable, where the Protectobot slowly maintained the length of the cable with a can of oil.

Oh.

Primus.

Hook's frame shivered beneath First Aid's digits, his spark pounding wildly as First Aid maintained the crane's cable. It was a task Hook usually reserved for solely himself but he could not find the energy in himself to tell First Aid off. He liked this.

Liked how First Aid's gentle servos felt on his frame—

Wait.

What.

Before Hook could process what he was thinking, he felt First Aid move his servos from his now maintained cable and Hook to his shoulders where—

A groan escaped Hook as he felt First Aid take one arm and slowly worked it, massaging it and exercising it with the grace that the ambulance always displayed around his patients. He heard First Aid giggle softly, before the ambulance took a moment to pause.

"You don't have to be stubborn. If you need me to give you more massages after our work, I will. All you need to do is ask."

Hook flushed. He turned his helm away and muttered something under his breath. He was too embarrassed to admit how good he already felt with just the past few minutes of this massage. A mutter that First Aid seemed to catch as he paused and then resumed with a sharp clearing of his vocalizer.

"Did you mean that?"

Scrap. He had heard.

Hook sighed and grumbled, before nodding. "I did. I know enough about physiotherapy from working with Scrapper's chronic issues that I could make a passable attempt at a massage for you. It is the least I could do to help maintain your energy levels and abilities in the medical bay."

"Oh." First Aid paused again, this time his servos completely left Hook's frame, before the ambulance's field shyly brushed over him.

Was First Aid blushing?

The heat of his field expressed such to the crane.

It made Hook's spark do a little stir.

What in Primus was wrong with him?

Focus, Hook!

"It is simple reciprocation, do not make a big deal out of my offer," Hook growled, in an attempt to save face.

He did not need First Aid to notice how flustered he was getting.

Hook was most assuredly coming down with something. Maybe he'd acquired a virus from one of his patients over the past week. Something that was making his systems run warmer than normal. One that made him act abnormal.

Yes, that was it.

He was most assuredly ill. Under the weather, as the Stunticons liked to say.

Nothing more.

Thankfully, First Aid did not press as he resumed his massage. It gave Hook time to focus on nothing more than how good his frame felt under First Aid's massage. How his joints loosened and old aches, in his wrists and digits, seemed to vanish beneath First Aid's digits.

The sudden sound of a heavy engine purring startled Hook out of a… recharge? He'd fallen asleep?

What?

He looked up — looked up.

His processor took a few moments to register that First Aid had positioned Hook on his back and was working on massaging his hips. He flushed, and slammed his engine silent. He really needed to look into bothering one of his team into giving him massages more often. A lot less complicated asking one of them than First Aid.

Especially when Hook felt his cheekplates warm again when First Aid moved his servos down to Hook's left knee. First Aid glanced up Hook's frame to watch his expression as the ambulance's servos worked slowly at Hook's knee, rotating and massaging it as the crane let out another involuntary groan of relief.

First Aid looked away from Hook quickly at that sound. Hook flushed, embarrassed and clamped down on his vocalizer with all his internal might. He did not need to embarrass himself, or scare First Aid off.

This was simply two medics taking care of each other.

First Aid needed Hook in good condition and Hook needed First Aid in good condition.

Nothing more.

Nothing.

Finally, First Aid finished with Hook's lower half, only for him to move up to place a servo on—

Hook's spark kicked up once again.

He was ill.

He needed to run a system defrag for viruses—

First Aid looked down at Hook, his field soft against Hook's plating as his servo rested on Hook's chest plate. "How are you feeling now?"

Why was First Aid's voice so soft?

What?

Hook looked away and shrugged — oh. His shoulders didn't ache doing that.

Alright.

"Better," he finally admitted.

First Aid's visor flickered and his field enveloped Hook with warmth and affection at his response.

Hook's spark whirred in his spark chamber.

What in Primus was wrong with him?

"If you want, I'd love to give you a massage tomorrow after we finish our work?" First Aid offered, a strange hitch to his voice as he looked down at Hook.

"If we have the time, and only after I have reciprocated your efforts," Hook said, tone quiet, as he met First Aid's gaze — on accident. On accident.

First Aid's visor flared a warm blue at Hook's response.

Hook looked up into First Aid's visor, and felt a powerful, protoform deep shiver ripple down his spinal strut. He hadn't been aware of how much life and compassion reflected off First Aid's visor. He wondered what kind of optics First Aid hid under his visor. Whether they were as soft and kind as the Protectobot's demeanor. As soft as his servos as he massaged the crane's old, war worn frame. Whether—

Hook scrambled off the berth First Aid had lowered him onto, excused himself and fled, as calmly and in control as he could.

I hear you are becoming friendly with First Aid? Is that true?

Oh, Primus.

Hook was ill.

That was all the explanation he needed to explain why he felt so oddly around First Aid.

All he needed to do was run a small medical scan of his processor and all his suspicions would be confirmed.

Careful, Hook, I don't need my medic having a cross faction friendship, now, do I?

Oh, frag.

Chapter Text

Devastator's helm component was… distracted.

Usually it was his right arm's place to distract him. Devastator enjoyed some of his component's distractions, but not all of them. When the right arm desired for Devastator to dig through a quarry to find some minerals, he usually found himself enjoying it. When his right arm decided to flood Devastator's processor with an endless flurry of anxiety, it made everything hard.

That it was his helm was unusual, to make an understatement.

Devastator knew his helm component like he knew himself. His spark had awoken alongside Hook's when the crane's parents had taken the protoform to Vector Sigma to have its spark ignited by the super computer. Though Devastator did not understand who, or what he was in the beginning, he lived. He learned as Hook learned.
He loved the crane. Hook was his brother.

The crane never left Devastator so confused.

The combiner's vents hissed as he flexed his right servo and raised it to rub at the crane boom on his left shoulder soothingly. The sensation was often meant to self soothe the combiner, but, for a reason Devastator could not physically comprehend, all the action did was make Hook's energy stir inside him.

He felt heat race down his frame, but only within the part of him that was Hook. The crane's spark thundered, out of tune with the rhythm of the other five Constructicons' sparks.

A rhythm imbalance that made Devastator stumble.

His servo faltered off the boom and to a large sequioa tree that he clung to and held for support.

He panted, catching cool air in his vents and drawing it into his overly warm frame. Hook's buzzing heat faded slowly, though an inexplicable residue of distraction rested in the combiner.

Poking at Hook's side offered him no explanation.

Uncertain, and somewhat frustrated by the confusing behavior of Hook, Devastator sent a decombine command through to his components — and promptly felt stasis capture him.

Hook could feel Devastator's headache in his own helm, pounding away at him as he slowly gathered himself together after the decombination. It pricked and pounded in splits, harsh and dull pains the crane had no control over. He staggered and felt thick arms catch him, before Long Haul's voice shifted over him.

"You should lay down, doctor."

Hook glowered irritably at Long Haul, but allowed him nonetheless to lay the crane down on the mossy ground. Hook curled his derma in disgust as he felt the wet ground seep into his frame. But it seemed to soothe his-Devastator's-his headache all the same.

While he laid on the ground, he heard his team whispering to each other until the distinctive footfall of Scrapper stopped at his side.

The crane shifted his helm to the side to catch a glimpse of Scrapper shifting to sit down beside him, before the front loader's servo touched the back of his helm. His digits, rough and worn but gentle, began a soothing pattern of circles and kneading into the cowling of Hook's helm.

With a sigh, Hook closed his optics and rested beneath his best friend's touch. He heard the rest of his team hover for a few moments longer before Bonecrusher's growl had the four of them depart, leaving Hook alone with Scrapper.

All Hook heard for a while was the soft sound of leaves rustling in the low breeze, and the rumble of Scrapper's engine. It was soothing, to have nothing but his best friend at his side. The helm ache ceased slowly, until Hook felt centered enough to slowly sit up. All the while, Scrapper hovered at his side, his support silent but physically powerful.

Devastator's helm ache had faded to a mere, faint buzz in the depths of the crane's being when Scrapper finally spoke.

His large, rough servo brushed over Hook's shoulder, turning him to face Scrapper. The front loader's visor flickered between shades of red, flashing with abject worry and concern. It bowed Hook's helm and made him stare at his knee actuators as his friend's worry swarmed him.

"What is going on, you never cause Devastator issues. Tell me, please."

Scrapper's plea broke the crane. The front loader's voice wavered, his mask falling away to reveal his scarred faceplate and the set of his mouth in a stricken, anxious worry. Hook had always told Scrapper everything, trusting him as he had no other. They had known each other for too long for Hook to hesitate.

"Megatron," Hook hissed, his helm sinking to lean against Scrapper's broad chest as he moved a servo to run along Scrapper's arm until it rested on the front loader's shoulder tire. Hook explained everything that Megatron had said to him as the warlord confronted him, the threats and accusations of Hook's friendliness to First Aid. Of the fear Hook held towards Megatron discovering what he had done to the Combaticons' loyalty coding (and that the problem of Bruticus remained), and how Megatron would hurt those Hook cared for over ever hurting Hook himself.

Scrapper listened quietly, frowning but for the rare snarl that he allowed to escape his engine as Hook described how Megatron had spoken to him. It felt nice to always know that Scrapper would protect his team, Hook included, even from someone whom Scrapper respected as he did Megatron. The crane felt Scrapper's arms wrap around his back, resting on his swivel mount. Which…

Ah.

Yes.

That was what had upset Devastator enough to decombine.

Hook would have to explain to the combiner — somehow — about the small arrangement between himself and First Aid. The ambulance had worked out some of the sores in the crane's swivel mount earlier that day, before Scrapper had been able to pull the entire team of Constructicons away from the Victory to combine. He wasn't exactly certain why Devastator had become so flustered when he had touched Hook's boom in the manner the crane also knew was a self soothing process.

Hook was fine after First Aid's small massage. No lingering aftereffects.

He was fine.

Devastator simply didn't understand.

(How could he, after all, when Devastator had never once been able to have someone like him until Menasor's creation? A spike of loneliness ripped through Hook from Devastator, a fact which made Hook try his best to push Devastator's conscience away from him).

"Hook…" Scrapper began, hesitation pausing him before he continued, "why didn't you tell me of this sooner? I can help, if you allow me too. This is a matter that could affect all of us, and as my second…"

Scrapper trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words.

Hook felt his best friend's grip on him tighten, the reassurance from his field soaking into Hook's tense frame.

The awkward silence between them lingered as Hook tried to formulate why he hadn't told his best friend the moment after he had left Megatron's throne room. The crane had kept his conversation secret for more than a week. Had stewed on what Megatron had implied about Hook being friendly with First Aid. Not that Hook had come to any conclusion about what those implications meant.

All his thinking had done was turn him tense to First Aid, and to not be honest with Scrapper.

"I… was too lost in my processor," he admitted, digits moving to spin at Scrapper's shoulder tire absently. "I not only am struggling with figuring out how to deal with Bruticus' side of the loyalty coding, as well as keeping secret what we did to their team…"

The crane fidgeted with Scrapper's wheel, unsure how to explain the rest of his muddled thoughts. All of those which centered on First Aid. On how he was friendly to him. That weird feeling he got within his spark whenever First Aid touched him, or he worked alongside him. Hook was certain Scrapper would be able to piece together some kind of an explanation for how abnormal Hook had been acting, but to approach the topic?

"It's First Aid." Scrapper finally interjected, his expression still worried.

Hook nodded against Scrapper's chest. He felt a surge of strange, sick, uncomfortable heat roil through his tank.

Scrapper soothed him with another rub to his swivel mount. "You said Megatron mentioned your friendliness to First Aid, and that he kept leaving something within his words you couldn't understand. What do you think of First Aid?"

Hook hesitated. What did he think of First Aid? The little ambulance had fire, for a pacifist. He was skilled and sharp, quick to take action even without Hook needing to point out what he needed the Protectobot to do (much unlike Long Haul, who often complained whenever he was tasked as one of Hook's medical assistants) with their patients. Hook did not mind the conversations they had thus far held, and it was hard to suggest he disliked First Aid.

"I appreciate his help," Hook finally said, faceplate warming as he picked through his thoughts. "He is skilled, for an Autobot, and has saved many of our own with speed and efficiency. I do not need to correct his work, nor concern myself with the belief he could hurt our Decepticon allies."

The crane mulled over his thoughts as Scrapper gave a quiet hum of understanding, but tightened his grip on Hook's swivel mount. He could feel Scrapper's bond shifting to nudge against the crane's with a flurry of emotions in tow.

Worry. Concern. Amusement. Calm.

There was too much for Hook to properly understand the others and he was quick to take space from the bond. Only for doing so to allow Hook to see the serious look Scrapper was giving him, full of worry and love for the crane.

"Then what we all felt as Devastator a bit ago was your concern over Megatron's threats and for First Aid, or?" The way Scrapper trailed off left Hook with the obvious realization that Scrapper knew something Hook did not. His best friend always knew the crane's thoughts in a way he could explain, while Hook could not.

Hook looked down, staring straight into the purple of Scrapper's brand. He fidgeted and then vented out heat from his frame. "That is all," he surmised with a nod, "I was worried."

Scrapper gave a doubtful hum, before Hook felt him adjust so that the front loader could gently brush his digits over Hook's chin. He pulled Hook's helm up until he had to look the other in his visor. What Hook was greeted by was worry, and a surge of warm affection.

"Even Mixmaster can tell that is not the truth," Scrapper said, tone exceptionally light as he moved his servo from Hook's chin to instead rub circles against his helm cowling. "You care for him, Hook. We all felt it. Devastator felt it."

Embarrassment darkened Hook's faceplate at Scrapper's words. He opened his mouth to find something to say, to deny what Scrapper was saying, but he didn't know how to. His thoughts were preoccupied by First Aid. By that odd way the ambulance made him feel. That was what had so unsettled Devastator. That Hook liked First Aid.

"An Autobot as a friend is a foolhardy endeavor," Hook began, load line hissing as it spun in its housing. "Especially when I allow him to distract the bond as he did today. I should have had better blocks on—"

Scrapper stopped Hook mid-sentence, engine rumbling as he placed his servo on Hook's mouth to silence him. It made Hook pull away from Scrapper, engine hissing, gaze darted to the side as embarrassment flushed through him.

What did Scrapper know?

What did he see that Hook himself did not understand?

"This isn't simply liking him, is it?" Scrapper finally questioned, tone lowered.

Hook swallowed. He tilted his helm, gaze narrowed behind his visor as he stared at Scrapper. "I don't know what you mean?"

His processor scrambled, trying to find something to make sense of what Scrapper was implying. Scrapper and Megatron both seemed to understand the crane better than himself. His hesitation seemed to spur Scrapper on as the front loader looked at Hook, gaze imploring.

"I've seen you go from utter dislike for First Aid, jealousy even, to you enjoying working alongside him. Then, this past week, you felt off," Scrapper noted, quietly, "and only seemed to pick up in spirits when you worked with First Aid again. Your care for him is not just a form of liking his presence. I may not be you, but I have shared a gestalt bond with you for most of our lives — I know you. Enough to know you want First Aid. To stay and to be more than just your assistant."

Hook opened his mouth, to protest, but trailed off as Scrapper's gaze bored into him. He lowered his helm and stared at his knee actuators once again. What did he even say? Hook couldn't deny, nor confirm, for he had no clue what Scrapper was suggesting.

Of course he didn't want First Aid. He looked forward to when First Aid would leave his medical bay! He wanted the ambulance back with the Protectobots, with First Aid's own gestalt, not—

"Primus, Hook," Scrapper chided as he pinched at the bridge of his nose, inhaling cool air through his vents before the front loader stared Hook down. "You're in—"

"Boss!" Bonecrusher's voice, and the sudden arrival of the bulldozer, and the other three Constructicons, silenced Scrapper, who turned to Bonecrusher quickly. "Starscream's asking us back to the Victory. Apparently you weren't answering…"

Scrapper gave a vent, looked to Hook with a look that said "we'd discuss this later" and ordered the team's return.

Hook had to be shoved in the back by Bonecrusher before the crane could step after Scrapper, following in his team's suite as they transformed and drove to the pick up point for the grounders of the Decepticons. The crane, even for being one of the fastest of the Constructicons, was behind everyone but for Bonecrusher.

Who drove right beside Hook, close enough to scrape his blade against the crane's side. It made Hook growl at the bulldozer while shifting away from him. Only for Bonecrusher to follow his every movement.

"What do you want, Bonecrusher?" Hook snapped. He was not in the mood for more confounding discussions with his team. Least of all with the prospect of talking to Scrapper again over First Aid. Then the prospect of discussing anything with Bonecrusher? Insufferable—

"So you're growing a spark then," Bonecrusher teased, engine rumbling with… amusement? "How sweet."

What was wrong with his idiotic team?

Hook growled, rolled his optics and hissed. "Shut up, Bonecrusher."

Bonecrusher nudged him again, his blade knocking into Hook's front axle enough to knock the crane off balance for a spark racing moment. When he gathered his wheels back to himself, a snarl from Bonecrusher made the crane jolt.

"If the way you feel for him is real, don't frag it up."

Hook glared at the stained medical berth. His engine notched up, deep revs of irritation rumbling through him as he worked at the stain with solvent and a scrubber. The stain was ancient, from a time Hook could not even recall long before the Decepticons' exodus to Earth. He rarely had down time to try and work at the large stain, but the recent quietness since the week of failed raids had brought in only the rare, and very minor injury to be tended to.

Scrapper was currently suffering in the meeting that Starscream had told Bonecrusher of. The rest of the Constructicons had been dismissed quickly after Soundwave had taken a short report on Devastator from them before the meeting.

So Hook had finally approached the stain which had been itching at his mind for centuries.

He'd lost count of time as he'd scrubbed, and sprayed the stain with solvent, over and over. All for his efforts to lead to the stain mocking him in its permanence.

Determined to persist, Hook continued on the stain, until he heard a faint humming from further down the medical bay. Followed by the humming turning into the faintest hint of singing.

Bewildered, the crane looked up from the stain to see First Aid, who had set himself to the task of repairing and sharpening some of the medical equipment, tapping his left pede against the ground while he… sang?

Mystified, Hook stared at First Aid, the stain forgotten as the ambulance continued a tune in a dialect that Hook was not familiar with.

Optics narrowed slightly, Hook tilted his helm and listened further.

Maybe he'd recognize the tune the longer he listened to it.

It wasn't an Iaconian dialect, that much Hook knew for certain.

It wasn't any dialect of the builder corp that Scrapper and Scavenger had grown up with.

Not the builder corp dialect but… similar?

Standing slowly, Hook approached First Aid quietly, who continued to sing to himself as he sharpened a scalpel, the tapping of his pede following the rhythm of each stroke of the file. Until Hook cleared his throat.

First Aid jumped.

The ambulance's plating flared out as the file slipped out of his servo, clattering onto his thigh just as the ambulance's servo slipped and the scalpel—

Hook caught First Aid's wrist in one servo and the scalpel in his other before the scalpel could hurt the Protectobot. Hook looked down at First Aid, fully noting the way First Aid was staring at him with static shooting through his visor, then sighed. He shook his helm and placed the scalpel on the tray near First Aid.

"Careful," he warned as Hook went to release First Aid's wrist from his servo.

Only for his digits to brush up against First Aid's thumb enough to make First Aid let out a pained gasp.

That made Hook freeze, his helm shifting to stare at First Aid, who looked down and quickly removed his servo from Hook's grasp. "It's nothing," he reassured, field soft and… dismissive?

With a roll of his optics, Hook leaned close to First Aid and took the Protectobot's servo in his own once more. He growled and looked First Aid directly in the visor. "You know that I am fully aware of what medic speak such as 'it's nothing' means, correct?"

First Aid didn't say a word as the crane took his servo and examined it with a critical optic. But for a hint of his visor turning a few shades brighter blue and his field warming considerably.

Hook blinked at First Aid before he shook his helm and continued his exam of the ambulance's servos. He could see faint marks along the ambulance's servo, signs of wear from low maintenance — or, perhaps, improper. He was still an Autobot, after all — but what intrigued Hook the most was the poor movement in First Aid's digits. A few rotations of each digit had First Aid wincing and hissing in a way that made Hook shake his helm and scowl at First Aid.

"Follow me to my office."

First Aid vented and stood, though he didn't move.

Hook tilted his helm at First Aid, confused. "Why aren't you walking?"

Heat flared off First Aid's field and he gave a nervous chuckle before he lifted his servo and revealed that Hook was still… holding the ambulance's servo.

Oh.

Scrapper's unfinished conversation with him echoed in Hook's helm as Hook released First Aid's servo quickly. He felt that peculiar heat flow through his fuel lines as he walked towards his office, with First Aid following behind him quietly.

Neither spoke until they entered Hook's office and he gestured for First Aid to sit down at the chair across from his side of the desk. First Aid sat while Hook moved to one of his cabinets, searched for a specific repair kit and then walked back to the desk.

By that point, it seemed First Aid's curiosity had won out as he looked up at Hook. "What are you doing?"

"Maintaining your servos," Hook growled as he pulled up his own chair to face First Aid, sat down in it and pulled out the kit of tools.

Wire brushes, screwdrivers, oil, rags and the like were laid out perfectly, each perfectly maintained and cleaned. Hook took one of the wire brushes first and turned to First Aid.

"Give me your servo," he said as he extended a servo of his own and waited for First Aid's.

The ambulance's visor did that same bright flare of blue before he nodded and placed his left servo in Hook's palm. The crane nodded to First Aid before he bent low and slowly began working on First Aid's servo.

He started with using the wire brush to dip into every seam of First Aid's servos, starting from each digit and moving, methodically, to the next.

It was after Hook had finally begun cleaning First Aid's third digit that he spoke up, not because he was curious about First Aid, but to help the other's anxiety. Primus knew the ambulance was anxious. No other reason.

"That song from earlier. Where does it originate from? No builder corp unit I know uses the c note in that manner, but the harmony is familiar."

First Aid gave a startled sound at the question. Hook saw fear flicker through First Aid's visor before he looked away quickly. Fluxations of emotion burned from his field, enough that it made Hook step back.

Awkwardly, he cleared his vocalizer and muttered a tight, "never mind."

Silence pressed between them both, until Hook heard First Aid speak.

"I was raised by the rescue guild. They taught me their culture, their songs, their morals." First Aid vented, a pained sound that came from his engine.

And Hook well knew why.

He'd never met any member of the rescue guild on Cybertron, but their fate was well known. Destroyed millions of years ago, in the beginning of the war, by a government led mass bombing. Megatron and the Autobots had used the bombing as beacons to draw in support for their respective factions. Hook and his team had already joined the Decepticons. They'd believed there were no survivors, to know that First Aid had come from that long dead guild made Hook look long at First Aid.

"Interesting," the crane said with a nod before he bent his attention back to First Aid's digits.

He felt First Aid relax slightly as the crane continued to work, the silence not seeming to deter him.

But Hook could not help the sense of curiosity he felt towards First Aid. With a raised optic ridge behind his visor, he gave a snort and questioned First Aid further. "So the rescue guild is where your morals came from? Is it because of them that you are foolish enough to heal outside of your faction?"

First Aid growled. "Foolish? Did I not tell you just a day ago that I do not see you as my enemy? To me, healing Decepticons is the same as healing Autobots. We are Cybertronians. Faction lines mean nothing to me in the efforts of repair."

Hook scoffed, but his anger he'd once felt towards First Aid was not present. No, instead, he felt… fond.

His expression contorted, partially disgusted and confused, and the crane was ever thankful for the work he was doing so that First Aid did not have to see his expression. Least of all since he suspected First Aid would believe he was disgusted at the ambulance's idealism. Which was not… entirely true.

First Aid had healed some of Hook's own faction before Megatron had captured him. Had saved various members of his faction, using his own resources. All of the resources currently in Hook's medical bay came from First Aid's team. How could he be disgusted by him when those supplies had saved his faction more than once?

"You sacrifice time and resources for your faction's rivals, do you not see why I — and others — find that behavior foolish, if not dangerous?" Hook asked, genuinely curious. These little debates were fun to the crane. Not often did he get to argue with an Autobot and not have to be ready to defend his life at any instant.

"It's not dangerous," First Aid replied firmly, field flickering, "I simply refuse to allow this war to change me as it has for everyone else."

"Noble," Hook chuffed, his helm shaking as he thought about his conversation with First Aid when Mixmaster had hurt himself. He'd seen First Aid as little more than a naive, foolish and ignorant twat then. Now?

"You're teasing me, aren't you?" First Aid laughed, visor glittering as his frame relaxed fractions more.

Hook allowed himself to smirk, and nodded to First Aid. "I am. I find your views on medicine fascinating, even if I could never follow your ideals."

A flare of happiness burst off First Aid's field and remained there long until Hook had finished repairing and maintaining First Aid's servos. Hook had left his office and was washing his tools and servos in antiseptic when he heard the medical bay door open.

The crane turned, expecting to order a wounded Decepticon to one of the medical berths, only to see that Scrapper and Bonecrusher were both there. He saw Bonecrusher turn to look at First Aid, an expression he could not read flashing over the bulldozer's faceplate and visor before he turned back to Hook.

"We need to speak," Scrapper said. He turned to First Aid, tone polite. "Please, give us space for now? Hook can call you back when we are done."

First Aid nodded, but looked to Hook for a moment, before he left, giving Hook the medical bay and his brothers' sharp gazes and nothing else. The moment the door closed and locked behind First Aid, Scrapper vented and gestured to the office.

Hook's engine rumbled, anxiously, and stepped forward, passing Bonecrusher — why was he here? — and headed into the office. There, Hook sat down at his chair, crossed his arms and propped one leg over the other.

Scrapper sat down across from him, while Bonecrusher refused to sit. The bulldozer stood stiff, distance in his gaze as Scrapper let out a tired vent.

Hook looked between his brothers, frame tight. He wasn't sure he wanted to know exactly what Scrapper and Bonecrusher wished to discuss with him about First Aid. Not if whatever Scrapper had wanted to say to him was connected to whatever Megatron had seen in the crane.

Chapter Text

Hook felt cornered.

Scrapper had just barely sat down and already Hook could feel that Scrapper knew more about what Hook was feeling than Hook did himself.

Then there was Bonecrusher. The bulldozer was still standing to Scrapper's side, arms crossed and his expression tight and impossible to read.

"Why is he here?" Hook finally asked, a tiny hint of betrayal and disapproval in his words as he directed the question to Scrapper.

Yes, he knew Bonecrusher was the third in command, but he didn't need to be present at a private discussion as Hook knew Scrapper intended.

"Because he understands what you are experiencing the best of the rest of our team," Scrapper answered, "and he asked to join me."

Hook rolled his optics, but permitted it with a growl. Not that he was sure what Scrapper meant.

Luckily, he did not have long to wait to understand what Scrapper wanted, as the front loader adjusted himself and then cleared his vocalizer. "What does your spark feel like when you think about First Aid?"

What?

"What do you mean?" Hook growled, gaze snapping between Bonecrusher and Scrapper alike. "It feels like a spark. Normal."

Bonecrusher snorted, a laugh rupturing from his vocalizer before he stepped up to Hook's desk and leaned a servo, palm down, on top of it. "That wasn't normal. What Devastator felt wasn't a 'normal' Hook spark reaction. Don't act like we're stupid. We all share parts of our sparks with each other."

Affront hissed off Hook. He grumbled and pushed at Bonecrusher's servo until Bonecrusher retracted his servo from the desk. The crane adjusted his legs until both pedes touched the floor and uncrossed his arms. Show that he was in control. (He wasn't.)

"I still do not know what you are asking of me," Hook stated, stubbornness clashing with the genuine fact he didn't know what was expected of him by his two brothers.

Scrapper sighed, then repeated his prior question, emphasizing the part about First Aid and Hook's spark. Not that Hook could theorize a correlation between the two. He was ill. That was all. Under the weather still, exacerbated by sharing the medical bay with First Aid every day since Megatron had brought him.

"I am feeling under the weather," Hook concluded to admit. Scrapper usually would leave him alone if he said he was not feeling well. The front loader knew from experience how grouchy Hook got when he was ill.

Instead, he watched as Bonecrusher and Scrapper looked at each other, then looked back at him. Bonecrusher looked annoyed, not a trace of amusement or a hint of one of his smug, jerkish laughs anywhere in his field, bond or faceplate.

And Scrapper looked tired. As if he was… tired of Hook?

?

"I don't understand!" Hook exclaimed, again. Maybe they would both understand this time.

Instead, Bonecrusher let out a growl and walked around Hook's desk and towards him. Hook tensed, load line hissing as his engine notched up in its revolutions slightly—

Bonecrusher slammed his servos against Hook's shoulders, pinning him against his chair back as the bulldozer leaned in until he was an inch from Hook's faceplate. Heat billowed over Hook with the reek of oils and grease as the bulldozer sneered down at him.

Hook squirmed under Bonecrusher's touch. He batted at Bonecrusher's wrist with his right servo, only to hear a warning growl escape Bonecrusher.

"Your frame heats up when you think of him, doesn't it? Your spark races when he looks at you, doesn't it?"

"No!" Hook protested, his anger raising as Bonecrusher read out the very symptoms the crane had diagnosed already as an illness. "I already said that I am feeling ill. I likely caught a bug from—"

"You're in love with him."

Scrapper's words cut Hook off mid-sentence.

His mouth hung open, engine cycling and idling while he gawked at Scrapper.

What?

"Impossible!" Hook spat, plating flared, load line whirling.

There was no plausible way!

First Aid was his enemy!

Hook did not fall in love.

That was not how his processor worked. He knew he lacked sexual, as well as, romantic attraction. He could not fall in love if he did not feel attraction of any kind to anyone. Not even Scrapper, whom had once loved Hook romantically, had ever made Hook's spark surge with whatever "romantic desire" was.

Hook's spark giving off odd energy surges and pangs near First Aid was not him being in love. Hook would know when he was in love. He would not fall in love with someone unless he deliberately wished to. And he most assuredly did not wish to fall in love with First Aid. They were colleagues at best. Enemies at worst.

"Hook," Scrapper vented, that same earlier disappointment from their first conversation this day present in his voice, "we felt everything you are experiencing in the bond. We felt when he gave you a tune up to your swivel mount, and felt your spark racing for it. We felt how your frame heats up whenever you think about him—"

"The same way my frame would heat up when I was with Crosscut," Bonecrusher finally muttered.

The mention of Bonecrusher's deceased partner, killed in a mining accident almost eight million years ago, quieted Hook. The Constructicons were all aware of how much Bonecrusher had loved Crosscut. The minicon jackhammer had been assigned to work with Bonecrusher in the same mineshaft of a vast mining complex buried deep beneath the Sonic Canyons. He and Bonecrusher had fallen in love, only for Crosscut's death to turn Bonecrusher against trusting anyone with his spark ever again.

He'd only trusted the Constructicons because, Hook and Scrapper had both long debated, of the deeply hidden gestalt bond within them. But Bonecrusher, of all of the Constructicons, knew what romantic desires were.

Which made it ever more ridiculous to Hook that his best friend, and brother, would ever think he was in love.

He wasn't!

"Hook. Analyze your reactions," Scrapper said, tone mild — a sharp contrast to the way Bonecrusher was still breathing down Hook's faceplate — as he looked Hook in the visor. "I am certain you have already compiled all of the data you would need to come to a conclusion on what is 'ailing' you, haven't you not?"

Hook swallowed. He looked down and said, in a tight whisper, "Yes."

Scrapper nodded. "Then tell me what your analysis has hypothesized."

"I…" Hook fidgeted. This… was impossible. He wanted to shove Bonecrusher away and bolt to safety, away from his team. "I have experienced spark fluctuations whenever First Aid touches me. Whenever he allows himself to relax and smiles, or even sings, as he did today, my spark experiences the same fluctuation.

"I have also experienced overheat warnings and my frame being generally warmer than average whenever I spend long periods of time with First Aid…"

Hook trailed off.

He barely noticed as Bonecrusher stepped back and allowed the crane his own personal space. He noticed nothing, but what voicing his analysis meant.

Impossible…

He couldn't… he wouldn't…

"You may be a sparkless, stone cold bastard," Bonecrusher said, a hint of tease in his words, "as the humans would put it, but you're still Cybertronian. You can care for others and have that care affect you in ways you couldn't predict."

"No," Hook denied, weakly. He couldn't.

"Megatron already suspects, and likely knows, you are in love with First Aid," Scrapper continued, before Hook could spiral into his denials further.

So that was what Megatron had meant about Hook being 'friendly'. Oh, Primus…

Hook stammered, his vocalizer shorting out on whatever attempt of a protest he tried to summon. His analysis were never wrong. He worked through problems and logged everything and everything he'd logged about his reactions near First Aid told him…

Scrapper moved, coming around the desk to where he could touch Hook's shoulder. Hook looked up at his best friend, fear in his field that Hook could not pull back against himself. Not this time. Not when his best friend and closest confidant, and the experienced and ever aware and blunt Bonecrusher, were confronting him.

"Megatron can see what you have been denying," Bonecrusher growled, his arms now crossed over his chest. "Scrapper told me about what you didn't tell us about Megatron and your 'meeting'. Those threats he made? You should be smart enough to know Megatron could see you falling for First Aid."

The crane fidgeted. He didn't know what to say. What could he say? What words were sufficient to explain that Hook was… scared? Terrified of what Megatron, Scrapper and Bonecrusher could see about him. About what First Aid would think of him.

Scrapper's servo squeezed Hook's shoulder, then he felt Scrapper nuzzle against his helm, the front loader's engine rumbling a purr to him. "We have to protect the Combaticons, and thus ourselves. Megatron is fully aware of your feelings for First Aid, but that is all he knows. We need to keep it that way."

"What are you suggesting?" Hook asked. He caught his emotions and tamped them down, processor and bond picking up on the fact Scrapper had a plan and he needed to focus on him.

"Let Megatron believe you and First Aid are together," Scrapper said, quickly and matter of factly. "Once he believes his suspicions are true, he won't focus on anything but your relationship with First Aid. He will fail to see what you did to the Combaticons, because he will be preoccupied trying to formulate a way to utilize the fact his Chief Medical Officer is in love with an Autobot medic."

Hook stared at Scrapper. "You're suggesting I manipulate First Aid?"

For some reason, that idea made Hook feel sick. It was wrong.

"No," Bonecrusher growled, "we're saying that you need to let yourself follow what your spark wants. Do not manipulate or lie to First Aid. Be genuine. First Aid likely has no clue your feelings for him have evolved past annoyance or simple tolerance. You have to be at your most genuine, or Megatron will suspect a ruse and all of us and the Combaticons will be discovered for our treachery."

Hook could do nothing else but stare at Scrapper and Bonecrusher, before he lowered his gaze and stared at his desk.

You're in love with him.

"Alright," Hook said, steel in his tone, "but on my own time. I can't rush this, especially if we want Megatron to believe it."

Scrapper gave a soft laugh, and then nudged Hook with his faceguard, eliciting affectionate sparks between them. "We're not rushing you, Hook."

"You can't rush perfection, after all," Bonecrusher joked snidely, seconds before his expression turned serious. "You're not alone with any of this. You have Scrapper and I both who will support you through this. Don't be stubborn and prideful, for once in your life."

You're in love with him.

Those words haunted Hook through the coming months. He could not speak to First Aid about his feelings. Not that he had any for him. His brothers were wrong. Hook was not in denial.

Bonecrusher and Scrapper were wrong.

Or were they? The quiet part of Hook whispered every time he let his mouth twitch into an approximation of a smile at First Aid's presence.

But Hook had done the analysis. Multiple times since Scrapper and Bonecrusher had confronted him, and each time he had come to the same conclusion as they had.

Hook was in love with First Aid.

He perked up whenever the Autobot was nearby.

He wanted to spend time near First Aid, to simply enjoy the other's presence.

As the Decepticons started to trust Hook with injuries without him hunting them down first. Bolstered by First Aid's gentle and caring demeanor and touch within the medical bay, the Decepticons no longer bolted at the prospect of medical check ups. None of them liked them, but Hook wasn't being threatened with bodily harm daily.

It was an improvement.

One Hook knew he would have never allowed himself to admit before he had softened on the ambulance.

First Aid was efficient and smart. Hook well knew that from their debates as they worked alongside each other. It was fun to argue and bounce off First Aid and his belief system. Hook full well knew that he and First Aid would never truly agree, but Hook found himself respecting First Aid's views. After all, if it was Hook in First Aid's place as the captive, the crane would never have deigned to heal an Autobot put under his servos.

First Aid had helped heal and repair Hook's faction and, most importantly, his brothers, without complaints. Without a demand for recompense. It fascinated Hook how First Aid could see medicine as simply as healing every Cybertronian put beneath his servos.

Hook could never, and would never.

The Autobots were his enemies.

He did not have a bleeding spark like First Aid.

Even if that bleeding spark had helped Hook more than he wanted to count or admit to.

Bruticus, as Hook had feared, had been the hardest Combaticon to evict the loyalty coding from. Devastator had been forced to step in to subdue the much younger combiner until his energy was depleted enough for First Aid to induce the combiner into stasis.

Both medics had worked tirelessly to repair and recode the combiner until his thoughts were independently his own. Not his team's and not Megatron's. Bruticus was quieter, more calculating and Hook did not care to turn his back on the other any longer.

Onslaught had been, for him, grateful.

It was odd, carrying the knowledge that the Combaticons — once the Constructicons' friends before the Combaticons had vanished into the Detention Center — owed a debt to Hook. Not that he'd wanted such. Proud, arrogant Onslaught had insisted.

Not that Hook had a clue what to do with that conundrum, considering the massive one he had coming to terms with the fact he did feel something for First Aid. (Naming that something still terrified Hook, and left him incapable of even daring to approach First Aid with how he felt for him.)

He hoped he would not have to. That would be easiest for them all. There would be no complication if Hook simply didn't tell First Aid.

All he needed to do was show an interest in First Aid in a way that Megatron would focus on nothing more than his CMO falling in love.

Hook winced.

In love.

Primus.

Hook hurried, medical kit tucked close to his chest plate, from the Victory's docking port. Scavenger's urgent message to him, asking the crane for medical assistance, had had him scrambling from the medical bay.

He'd said nothing to First Aid as he bolted from the medical bay. Had only told Scrapper over comms that Scavenger had a medical emergency, and had charged unbidden to the docking port. Soundwave had been very amenable to Hook leaving. He had not even asked Hook for an explanation as he unlocked the docking port and powered it for the crane.

The crane threw himself into his alt mode the moment his pedes touched the ground, dropped off by Astrotrain — whom Hook had accosted and drug with him upon running past him in the hallway — nothing but Scavenger on his mind. He couldn't feel any pain from Scavenger through the bond, which he knew meant that Scavenger himself wasn't hurt. If he was not the one injured, then it was Beachcomber or Groove injured on their supply trade with Scavenger.

It was for his brother that he rushed with intense speed to deliver aid to the injured Autobot. Roads and nature flashed past his windows as he drove, diving past humans driving their ridiculous automobiles. He ignored the hooks and crass comments from the humans he swerved by.

Eventually, he took a dirt road that led into a national forest — apparently a human attempt to conserve parts of their planet from their violent expansionist destruction — and drove as swiftly as his massive alt mode would take him.

While he did not love off road travel as much as Bonecrusher or Scrapper did, Hook did not allow his displeasure at the way the road slammed into his axles to slow him.

Hook slowed as he neared Scavenger's coordinates. He threw himself out of his alt mode and hurried on swift pedes until he saw a clearing that was the source of Scavenger's coordinates. He could see the excavator standing in the middle of the clearing, his scoop tail slamming against the ground in—

The crane's processor took a millisecond to realize Scavenger's thumps were timed precisely. A quick thump and then a swish to the side and then up, followed by two sharp rapid slams against the ground.

Was that builder corp sign language?

He slowed as his instincts began translating what Scavenger was saying.

He's here.

Trick.

Who was "he"? Hook stepped into the clearing, just in time to hear a warm chuckle greet him.

"Ah, good. You received Scavenger's message. Good. How long have you had the Protectobots under your beck and call?"

Hook gawked.

Megatron was standing with Groove pinned beneath one pede, his fusion cannon lazily aimed at the heavily injured Protectobot. Flanking Megatron were Motormaster and Skywarp, the former of whom had Beachcomber pinned to the ground, his injuries clear to Hook's trained optic.

Two loyalists, Hook noted to himself as he composed himself and stared, boredly, at Megatron.

"Almost a year," Hook said slowly, going along with whatever Megatron wanted to hear. "Since you captured First Aid. The Protectobot helped us contact his team and convince them into sharing their store of medical supplies with the Victory."

Hook felt Groove's intense stare boring into him like an auger at his words. He ignored the motorcycle as he bowed his helm to Megatron.

"None of that," Megatron said, engine humming. Hook looked up and watched as Megatron signaled to Motormaster and Skywarp.

Both Decepticons strode forward to the supply boxes that were piled behind Beachcomber. They began loading as Megatron turned his attention back to Hook and Scavenger.

"I would never have taken you for being devious enough to manipulate First Aid as you did," Megatron chuffed. His boot pressed down against Groove, creating a sickening grinding sound that made Hook flinch. "And to trick him into believing you're romantically attracted to him?"

Megatron cast Hook a sharp grin. "You are a true Decepticon."

Hook swallowed. He looked down, unable to speak.

Luckily, Megatron continued on. Though this time he turned to Scavenger, who jumped and startled openly at the warlord's intense stare. "And Scavenger? Lying to and manipulating two Autobots into being your friends? I am proud, my Constructicons, very proud."

Scavenger looked away, a pitiful squeak that was practically incomprehensible escaping him before he tucked against Hook. Hook glared at Megatron but did not allow him to see such as he reached back and offered Scavenger one of his servos to hold. Unsurprisingly, his brother latched onto Hook's servo, shivering as Megatron stepped towards the two Constructicons.

Hook expected Megatron to strike them, to show his actual displeasure, but all that Hook was met by was Megatron… squeezing his shoulder and whispering more congratulations for his and Scavenger's "trick" against the Protectobots.

It made Hook feel ill, even more so when Megatron patted Scavenger on the helm. Scavenger flinched and clung to Hook's servo like a lifeline, his guilt, fear and hurt slamming into Hook's field.

He watched, numb, as Skywarp loaded Motormaster's trailer with every box of medical supplies, until the semi was laden with the supplies.

Pride flickered off Megatron as he commanded his Decepticons to leave Groove and Beachcomber where they lay. Hook risked one final glance back at Groove and Beachcomber. The Protectobot was glaring at Megatron while he'd crawled to Beachcomber's side and was tending to him weakly. Beachcomber, on the other servo, was practically immobile, but for a flicker of his visor. Hook felt a tug in his spark to help the two wounded Autobots (for Scavenger, of course, not for any other reason) and turned to step towards them until he heard Megatron order them to transform.

Hook looked away and followed the other Decepticons, with Scavenger trailing behind him.

They said nothing to each other as they reached the Pacific Ocean. There, Astrotrain picked all, but for Skywarp, up to reach the Victory.

Hook clambered out of Astrotrain first, his plating prickling with discomfort the longer he was in the confined space with Motormaster and Megatron alike.

Thankfully, Megatron did not stop Hook, nor did he speak to him except to ask Hook to help Motormaster unload the supplies from Motormaster's trailer in the medical bay.

Hook nodded to Megatron and strode at his fastest walk possible to the medical bay.

Scavenger hurried along behind Hook as the crane stormed towards the medical bay. He could hear Motormaster's irritated growling about transporting the medical supplies from much further behind, which served solely to quicken Hook's pace as he marched to his medical bay.

"Hook?" Scavenger finally spoke up, voice trembling.

The crane turned on Scavenger, gaze smoldering as he stormed towards the medical bay. All pretense of how the other Cons viewed him entirely absent. "What?"

Scavenger flinched. He looked down just as Hook reached the medical bay, entered his code and stomped through the open doorway.

Hook controlled himself, plating shuddering and quaking — not with fear or discomfort any longer — as he waited for Motormaster. He felt First Aid's confusion as the ambulance appeared from the office. He stopped in his tracks when Motormaster drove into the medical bay, but quickly hurried to help as Motormaster lowered his trailer ramp.

It took a short time for Hook, Scavenger and First Aid to unload Motormaster's trailer, and for Motormaster to almost promptly floor it out of the medical bay.

A sigh of relief escaped Hook at the Stunticon's departure. No matter how he'd unconsciously adopted some of First Aid's bedside manner, nothing could make Hook want to be near Motormaster for longer than necessary.

He spoke not a word to First Aid or Scavenger until they finished, and even then all he said was a "goodnight" to First Aid.

With anger bristling off him, Hook left the medical bay and walked — as controlled as he could keep himself — towards the Constructicons' quarters. Only to see Megatron headed his way.

Hook stopped and straightened to his full height, where he towered over Megatron. "Yes, Lord Megatron?" Hook questioned, leveled and calmly.

The better he displayed being uncovered, the less Megatron would question that he and Scavenger were lying.

Primus, how had he found out?

Soundwave?

Megatron's servo patted Hook on the side, his field warm as it enveloped him. "You should have informed me in our meeting that falling in love with First Aid was part of your ploy to take his medical supplies—"

Hook caught the wince that wanted to snap up his spinal strut with a nod and hidden grinding of his denta together. This was better than Megatron discovering the truth.

"—I would have given both of you more time alone together and off duty if I had been made aware."

"I believed it would be more…" Hook scrambled for the right word, spark pounding in his chest plate, "... authentic if I allowed you to believe my feelings were genuine for First Aid."

Let him believe you and First Aid are together, Scrapper's voice echoed in his mind, once he believes his suspicions true, he won't focus on the Combaticons.

Megatron guffawed and patted Hook on the side — Hook really wished he would stop touching him — and smirked up at Hook. "Continue leading him on. I doubt the Protectobots will be giving us any more supply drops, but they might if I dangle First Aid's return in their direction."

"Of course," Hook agreed, very stiffly. "May I return to my quarters? I am exhausted, and have little energy for a drawn out conversation."

"Oh!" Megatron noted, gaze filled with — by Primus — pride as he moved out of Hook's way. "I will check in with First Aid. You and Scavenger both have earned the rest tonight."

Hook gave Megatron a curt nod, and even more curt "Your Lordship" that made his plating crawl before he stepped away.

The walk to his team's quarters felt far too long. The crane could feel his rage boiling over as he stomped into the main quarters of the Constructicon common room, then swept into his room.

He slammed the door behind him, and let out a snarl as all his energy expelled out of him in the crane flinging his medical kit across his room.

"Primus, damn it all," Hook groaned as he leaned his back against the wall and sank to the floor.

His anger had subsided, to be replaced by throbbing numbness. There went his medical supply shipments, and the sole bargaining chip for the Protectobots not attacking the Constructicons.

He barely heard the door to his room open before he felt strong arms wrap around him. A masked faceplate rubbed against his helm as Scrapper pulled Hook close to him. His field brushed over Hook, comforting him. Hook hesitated only for a second before he turned and pressed into Scrapper, vents billowing heat.

He would have to tell First Aid what had happened. The ambulance's gestalt bond, dampened by the distance between himself and the others, would dull how Groove's injuries would feel to him but Hook knew the ambulance. Knew that First Aid would be feeling Groove's pain as if the motorcycle was beside him.

But Hook could not find it in him to talk to the ambulance. Not today.

Tomorrow.

The Constructicons were woken early by Soundwave.

They were being summoned to fight.

They would be the only combiner team present.

Hook growled as he was jostled into Astrotrain's cargo bay, squished against one wall by Blitzwing, who was arguing with Bonecrusher about their tactics.

"Keep your helm on a swivel," Scrapper warned from Hook's side, seconds before Scrapper nudged his shoulder against Hook's. "The plans for this mission are foolhardy. He didn't listen to Onslaught's corrections to the marching orders, and ignored any of my questions about our goal."

Brilliant.

Hook ground his denta, sent First Aid a comm message to prepare the medical bay for all returning Decepticons to be injured, then shut off his comms. He could not let himself be distracted. Not after First Aid had reacted so viscerally when he'd told him the day prior about Groove's injuries. The guilt Hook had felt had made him flee the medical bay quickly, and he had not returned since.

Primus, what was he doing?

Chapter Text

Light danced in the depth of Hook's vision.

He felt servos on his frame, moving with clinical precision.

Heard voices above him, going back and forth rapidly.

Felt a servo brush over his faceplate, before a quiet voice called to him.

"Stay with me, Hook. Please."

The voice soothed him, somehow.

His processor sparked, then flamed out, throwing him deep into stasis.

Hook woke up slowly.

His frame was aching, as if he'd been welded back together from multiple pieces. Judging from how his digits protested from a single move, he likely had.

He—

Flashes of pain, not of his own, echoed in the back of Hook's processor. He could feel Devastator's anguish and a broken, long ago healed spark seizing as agony tore through green and purple plating.

Scavenger.

His team.

His brothers.

Hook startled fully awake, a choked call of Scavenger's name breaking from him before he felt weight pressing down against his servo. Shock rattled off him as Hook turned his gaze down his side, following the line of the medical berth to—

First Aid's helm was perched on Hook's right servo, faint, delicate sounds of recharge escaping from his engine and vocalizer. A faint whiff of oil and repair solvent filled the air from where First Aid was seated.

A soothing warmth engulfed Hook from the sleeping ambulance's field. It made Hook's processor focus, picking apart his cluttered memories until he understood why he was in his own medical bay.

Megatron had ordered his only combiner team on the field to combine. Devastator had been eager to fight, but Superion and the one armed and very furious Defensor (clearly Blades had not taken Groove's injuries, and Megatron's lies about Scavenger and Hook manipulating the Protectobots well) had given him little avenue to get comfortable with the Constructicon combiner's usual, and most natural, fighting style.

Even less so when a punishing hit from both combiners to Devastator's right arm left Scavenger immobile and screaming agony through the gestalt bond. His spark had seized from the damage, its pained pulses shattering Devastator's concentration.

So he'd been pushed on defense, defending Megatron and the remaining Decepticons as best he could.

Until Optimus Prime had tackled Megatron. Hook couldn't piece together the rest of Devastator's shattered memories easily enough to clearly see what had happened, but the sound of Megatron's fusion cannon and then a sharply painful burst of fusion ions that tore into Devastator's helm were all he could remember.

Everything past that point was blank, and a cursory glance around the medical bay showed five other green and purple frames laid out on medical berths.

Scavenger looked the worse for wear, even with the obvious tell of First Aid's gentle and precise repairs. There was a hint of dullness to Scavenger's plating that made Hook's spark freeze the longer he stared at Scavenger. He swallowed and looked away from Scavenger, guilt seizing his spark at the thought that Scavenger's injuries were his fault.

He pushed away those thoughts as his gaze landed on the rest of his team and where they were laid out on medical berths, silent.

Long Haul had mesh patches along his combiner mode's transformation seams. If one of the two torso components were hit, the other always suffered for it. Mixmaster, Scrapper and Bonecrusher were being monitored and had various plating repairs he could see, but nothing that looked life threatening.

A vent of relief hissed from Hook. His brothers were alright.

Thanks to First Aid…

Hook did not know what overcame him, but he watched his left servo move and cover First Aid's shoulder. His massive palm covered most of the ambulance's shoulder plate and back, and gentle circles from his thumb brushed over First Aid's collar plating. It was a silent thanks.

For healing his brothers…

First Aid startled awake, his pistons groaning and hissing as he pushed his helm up off Hook's right servo. The crane could see the drowsiness and exhaustion in First Aid's visor even as the ambulance attempted to clear it away with a smile.

"How long were we out?" Hook demanded, his curt tone sharp with worry.

"Two weeks," First Aid whispered, his tone pained as he rubbed one of his servos over Hook's right servo. Hook felt his fans choke on the air they were taking in through his vents to keep his systems cool at the touch, but he did not pull away. Merely, Hook looked away and stared at his team.

Weeks.

"What happened?"

First Aid vented, then moved his servo away from Hook — Hook caught himself before he tried to grab First Aid's servo back. Now was not the time — before he explained.

Hook listened with growing horror as First Aid described how Megatron's blast to Devastator's helm had neutralized the combiner, but he hadn't decombined. The Constructicons had been stuck as Devastator for days, until First Aid was finally able to pick through Devastator's nearly offlined coding to piece the Constructicons back together, so that he could safely give Devastator a medical override code to decombine.

The crane flinched as First Aid described having to force himself into each Constructicon's coding to force them to combine into their root modes before he could truly begin his repairs. How he had fought hard to keep Scavenger's spark afloat long enough for First Aid to conduct the repairs in Scavenger's root mode that Devastator's combined form had prevented him from.

He heard First Aid pause and felt the ambulance touch his shoulder, just as Hook's servo remained on First Aid's own. The ambulance cleared his vocalizer and then spoke, voice low, and deeply unsure. "None of your medical notes had information on Scavenger having a damaged spark, which I discovered in my repairs to his spark lines. What happened to him?"

Guilt had Hook turn away from First Aid and pull his servo away as he allowed himself to vent and then shake his helm tiredly. "An injury from before the war. His guardians attempted to deactivate him by tearing his spark in half. He only survived because a troop of builders found him. They had him repaired by a guild medic. I have tended to his spark ever since my team found him."

First Aid's gaze narrowed, the flicker of his visor glittering with intent and curiosity as the ambulance focused intently on Hook. "Found him? Did he leave this builder troop?"

"No," Hook admitted, unsure what more to say. It was Scavenger's right to talk about his past, but everything that had happened to him — all of those notes Hook hid from everyone but himself — was wrapped within his medical needs and disabilities. He hoped Scavenger would understand. "His troop was killed by a sparkeater. He was the only one to survive because the troop leader, who had adopted Scavenger, protected him and covered his frame with her energon so that the sparkeater would believe Scavenger dead. We — Scrapper, Mixmaster, Bonecrusher and myself — were drawn to his distress through the gestalt bond, long before we knew we were connected to each other. He's been part of our team since, and I have had to care for his disabilities with limited resources most of our lives."

Shock and horror — and a hint of protective care — flashed through First Aid's visor and his field. It made Hook's spark race, a fact that had him turn his helm away immediately so First Aid would not see how Hook's dark gray faceplate had warmed considerably.

"I will do my best for him," First Aid promised, before he lowered his helm and rubbed at Hook's servo. "Helping him is the least I could do after Defensor hurt him. Defensor was still there when I was brought to the battle field to help Devastator…"

First Aid took Hook's servo, intertwining their digits before he looked up at Hook, gaze pleading. "I… I told him to leave. Defensor tried to grab me but I didn't let him. I know he wanted me back — I wanted him back — but your team was my priority. I'm sorry for what Blades did…"

Hook huffed, shrugging as he turned away from First Aid. "I cannot exactly blame him. Megatron's lies about Scavenger and I would have upset my angrier team mates if our situations were reversed."

They were at war, after all.

Which…

Hook looked to First Aid. To their intertwined servos. To his team, repaired by the ambulance. Then he vented and spoke. "Megatron believes my growing care for you is a tactic of manipulation to have you work more willingly with me."

First Aid's visor shorted out and Hook heard his vocalizer hiss with sound, as if to speak, but Hook stopped him with a shake of his helm.

"He is misguided, just as he was in believing Scavenger and I intentionally manipulated your team for medical supplies. I have come to… care…," Hook felt perspiration drip from his vents at the almost confession he'd made, "about you. You are. Alright."

"Just alright?" First Aid teased, his demeanor shifting to a soft chuckle of amusement as he looked at Hook.

Who nodded, and grumbled an agreeing "yes, just alright."

They did not share anymore words as First Aid stood up and continued his rounds, checking on the five other Constructicons. It afforded Hook time to watch First Aid and think.

Of how he liked First Aid touching him.

How he liked their debates, their arguments and working alongside First Aid. How he'd miss him when Megatron finally decided to return the Protectobot to his faction.

What Bonecrusher and Scrapper had discussed with him continued to gnaw at the crane. He loved First Aid. Which still bewildered him and made the crane feel entirely out of his depths. He wished Scrapper was awake so he could speak to his best friend about his feelings, to hear the advice from the far more emotionally experienced front loader.

The crane mulled over his thoughts for hours, until First Aid had long left the medical bay to rest in Hook's office, and all noise from the Victory had died down. Only then did Hook hear the sound of the medical bay doors opening. He glanced over his shoulder where he was laid out, trying to rest, on his medical berth, to see Onslaught walking into the medical bay.

Curious, Hook sat up and said a firm greeting to Onslaught. The Combaticon turned to Hook just long enough to dip his helm to him before he approached Scrapper's medical berth. Once there, Onslaught sat down on the side of Scrapper's berth and, to Hook's shock, gently began stroking Scrapper's helm.

He heard Onslaught whisper something, too quiet for Hook to decipher, to Scrapper before he leaned down and—

Oh.

Hook flushed as he watched Onslaught kiss Scrapper's forehead. As he watched Onslaught take Scrapper's servo and pull it close to his chest plate.

Guilty, and embarrassed, by knowing he'd seen something so intimate between his best friend and his partner, the crane looked away. He stared at the wall behind him until he heard silence from Onslaught. Then he risked looking over towards Onslaught and Scrapper.

Scrapper had seemingly woken up, though only groggily, for Hook could see his best friend's helm resting on Onslaught's lap where Onslaught was seated near the headboard of Scrapper's medical berth. Scrapper's left arm was flopped over Onslaught's right leg, and the rumble from Scrapper's engine was a soothing purr.

Seeing his best friend that happy…

Hook hesitated, engine rumbling, then cleared his vocalizer.

"How do you manage your work and your relationship with Scrapper?" Hook asked, voice trembling slightly.

Onslaught looked up from his datapad to stare at Hook for a moment before he resumed whatever he was working on on his datapad. "I don't. He is a distraction, albeit a welcome one. But I have to accept that loving him compromises me all the same. If he were to be hurt?"

Onslaught shook his helm and moved a servo to lay across Scrapper's back. "I fear how my relationship with him can impact me on the battlefield, but having his friendship, his companionship and his compassion? That is worth more to me than the potential of my feelings for him compromising me."

"Even with your team?" Hook quiered. "How have they taken your relationship?"

"They disapproved for a while, but they saw I was happy. Swindle was the one who encouraged me to pursue my feelings for Scrapper in full." Onslaught looked down at Scrapper, his yellow visor bright with affection. "I am grateful I did. He's helped me through everything," Onslaught gestured to his helm subtly, giving Hook full clue to what everything he meant, "and been a voice of reason and debate I can rely upon.

"I would not go back on this relationship, even with its risks."

Hook looked away, cheek plates warm as he registered the scrutiny Onslaught was giving him. He heard Onslaught snort, and then the Combaticon gave a low chuckle.

"I thought Scrapper was joking when he told me you had caught feelings for First Aid. I see that I was wrong to believe he could kid about that."

Hook's cheeks blazed. He turned away and growled at Onslaught. Primus, he was treading unsafe grounds. But his spark pulled him in the direction of First Aid inexorably. He wanted to know what it was like to be able to trust someone else who wasn't his team. To, like Onslaught, have a companion whom he could share his thoughts and struggles with.

But First Aid was an Autobot.

His enemy.

Primus, how would he explain anything to First Aid?

He couldn't. Not yet.

The medical bay was spotless, with not a single patient striding through the doors even by late afternoon. It was a welcome relief to Hook, who had spent the day organizing the supplies they had alongside First Aid.

Working alongside the Protectobot felt almost second nature to Hook, almost as familiar as working alongside Scrapper and his brothers in the medical bay.

He liked having the other's presence almost as much as Scrapper's, even if idle chatter was not something Hook had become truly comfortable sharing with First Aid yet. They talked, discussing their morals and beliefs or argued, but First Aid did not know every part of Hook's spark.

Not yet.

Hook was, for all intents and purposes, having a good day.

Until Megatron strode through the medical bay doors and called Hook's name, pulling him aside, out of audial range of First Aid.

"The Protectobot will be returned in two days' time." Megatron's statement floored Hook.

He gawked at his leader, unable to speak. First Aid was leaving?

"The Autobots' desperation for their own medic being returned has afforded us our own hydroelectric dam that they will not once interfere with the operation of…" Megatron droned on, explaining himself even as Hook didn't hear it.

First Aid was leaving.

"Inform him, and have him prepared for a 0600 departure in two days time."

Hook said nothing. He merely frowned further as Megatron departed from the medical bay.

First Aid was leaving.

His stubborn captive assistant who drove Hook insane sometimes with his compassion.

Who challenged him at every point to be better. To exhibit his prowess so the ambulance would see that the Decepticons were in more than capable servos.

Primus, why did his spark ache at the prospect of losing First Aid's company?

The crane hated how his gaze lingered on the ambulance. First Aid was of the enemy faction. A pacifist and medic, yes, but he was an Autobot and Hook a Decepticon. Autobot superiority and morality compared to their violent Decepticon opponents would always clash. Would always complicate everything.

First Aid looked up at Hook as if he'd sensed the crane's gaze on him, his visor dimming before he approached Hook. "What's wrong?"

Hook shook himself back to himself, a scowl flashing across his faceplate as he looked down at First Aid. "You should be relieved. Megatron finally agreed to a treatise that will return you to your brothers in exchange for Decepticon held territory the Autobots have sworn to never touch."

The crane expected relief or excitement from First Aid. Anything to show he was glad to finally have his freedom within his grasp. Instead, all he saw was a flicker of shock and sorrow in that blue visor.

"I see," First Aid stated. He looked down, then back up to meet Hook's gaze.

Hook stared down at First Aid, long enough to catch the other's servo moving towards him.

"Thank you for protecting me." First Aid's servo on Hook's arm sent a shock of electricity through Hook's entire sensor array.

He tried to contain the way his frame burned at First Aid's touch, but the crane couldn't help himself. A deep longing for contact, for kindness, had always lingered in his spark. Ever since the loss of his parents in the beginning of the war, he'd longed for unabashed care and affection. His brothers had given him that, but the way First Aid touched him was different.

"You were useful to the health of my faction," Hook growled, aware of the heat in his deep baritone as he looked away from First Aid, "keeping you safe from the Decepticons was useful for me."

A soft laugh escaped First Aid, before Hook felt the ambulance's servo move up to rest on his shoulder, right over one of his tires. It made Hook's frame shiver, before he looked down at First Aid. He met a soft, concerned blue visor and First Aid's mask retracted, revealing a frown that Hook wished he could ease away.

How he'd come to care for the Protectobot medic astounded him.

Hook was supposed to be composed. In control of himself. Strong.

Not…

Why did Bonecrusher and Scrapper have to be right?

With a soft growl, Hook turned back to First Aid, raised his right servo to the other's faceplate and gently stroked his thumb over his smooth faceplating.

"Hook?" First Aid whispered, his visor churning with confusion as the crane's thumb froze over his cheek.

Hook didn't answer.

Not verbally.

With a low rumble from his engine, Hook tilted First Aid's chin up, leaned down and kissed him.

First Aid gasped as their mouths met. As Hook growled into the kiss and pulled First Aid closer to his chest plate, his servo's grip on First Aid tightening. Heat washed out of Hook's vents as he tasted the hint of beryllium and cobalt on the other's lips, as he felt First Aid respond and return the kiss with a shyness that made Hook's spark thunder. First Aid's servo ran up his back strut, pausing on Hook's swivel mount in a way that was not simply the touch of a medic caring for his fellow medic's frame. Hook liked how First Aid touched the crane.

The ambulance's lips were soft, as soft as the smooth and fine plating that composited his faceplate. It drew Hook's kiss deeper, until he pulled back, his vents heaving air to cool down his blazing hot frame.

First Aid stared up at Hook, his visor bursting with static as the ambulance moved the servo from Hook's shoulder to brush his digits over First Aid's lips. Hook watched as the corners of First Aid's mouth tilted up in an abashed, shy smile, before his pale faceplating suddenly flared with a rush of energon and he turned away from Hook.

The crane felt himself reach out for First Aid, but he froze before his servo could brush over the ambulance's back. He couldn't read First Aid's field, not with how the ambulance had retracted it completely, and not with his face turned away from Hook's view.

Shame flickered through Hook.

Had he misstepped?

They were from rival factions.

Primus, First Aid was a captive within the Victory, even if he was leaving to rejoin his team. Even if Megatron had finally given First Aid his freedom back.

The crane was a fool.

An awkward silence stretched between them both, before Hook felt his shoulders slump and he let out a world weary vent. "I apologize, First Aid. I overstepped—"

"No."

First Aid's response was firm. As sharp as Hook's sword. It cut through Hook's apology and left his mouth to close, just as the ambulance turned his helm to face him.
A deep warmth had turned First Aid's blue visor into a vibrant, pulsing glacier blue, a color Hook had never seen from the Protectobot before. He worked at his jaw, unsure what to say, before First Aid stepped forward, just enough for his smaller frame to brush up against Hook's massive one, and took the crane's extended servo with his own.

First Aid intertwined their digits, his servo so small within Hook's immense green palm. It made Hook stare down at the ambulance as First Aid continued to look up at Hook with that same soft, imploring, vibrant warmth in his visor. Hook allowed First Aid to move his servo when he felt the ambulance tug at it, until First Aid brought their intertwined servos to where First Aid brushed his lips over Hook's palm.

A shocked moan caught in Hook's vocalizer as First Aid's lips brushed so gently over his palm, as the ambulance looked up at him with that endearingly warm gaze, and it turned into a strangled punch of air when First Aid released his servo. He wanted First Aid to take his servo. To take the crane's face in his servos and to kiss him again. To let Hook feel the soft electric charge between their mouths as they kissed. As Hook would hold onto First Aid and press his frame against him, fields melding with their combined want for each other.

Primus.

First Aid's field brushed over Hook, his emotions a flux of shock, happiness, surprise and so much else the crane's processor could not portion out and understand, before First Aid stepped back. Hook felt his spark yearn for First Aid's touch again, even as the ambulance dipped his helm in a respectful nod.

"Thank you, Hook," First Aid repeated, though this time his thanks held something else as he continued, "for allowing me to learn your methods and to work alongside you. I hope we do not meet on the battlefield any time soon."

Hook blinked down at First Aid, his mouth turned down into a frown at the ambulance's words.

They were enemies.

First Aid shouldn't have ever been on the Victory.

Hook should never have allowed himself to soften to the arguments between himself and the stubborn, caring ambulance. Should never have allowed himself to look forward to meeting First Aid before the start of every day. Should never have allowed him to interfere in the medical bay and to change the atmosphere of Hook's workplace through his undying kindness to the Decepticon patients, no matter how difficult they all were.

"I hope not as well," Hook growled, then he turned away to stare at the cabinet of supplies closest to him. "You can take the next two days off. You deserve it."

A sound from First Aid followed Hook's statement, as well as a shuffle of plating, but he did not speak. Hook only heard the ambulance turn around and leave, then the opening and closing of the door to Hook's office, where First Aid had taken up residence in the last months.

Hook caught himself trying to peek over his shoulder in the direction First Aid had gone, a stabbing feeling of want in his spark urging him to follow the ambulance. But he could not. He would not.

"Damn it, Hook," the crane growled before he pressed two digits to the bridge of his nose and vented.

He should have protested Megatron forcing him to take First Aid as his assistant much harder than he had prior. Should have demanded he return First Aid to the Autobots. But he hadn't, and now the crane's thoughts were rampant with the lingering sensation of their kiss, and First Aid's kiss to his palm.

They were enemies.

Hook wanted his enemy.

He was in love.

Oh, Primus, was he in love.

Four days later, Hook's medical bay was filled with patients after another raid had gone wrong.

Blitzwing's arm had been brought in by a bleeding Astrotrain, while the triple changer jet/tank was held up between Onslaught and Motormaster alike. His injuries were visually the worst, but there was no shortage of nasty injuries nonetheless.

Hook worked tirelessly to repair every patient who walked through his doors. So many injuries were severe but all but for Blitzwing had been able to return to the Victory under their own power. It stumped Hook until he reached Blitzwing, and found his fuel lines to his severed arm already clamped off and repaired, and a faint paint transfer of white along the jet/tank's rotator cuff.

First Aid.

A small smile flitted at the corner of Hook's mouth as he began his repairs on Blitzwing. He'd have to thank the ambulance the next time they crossed paths.

Where, Hook hoped, he could get the lingering sensation of First Aid's plating off his servos. And off his mouth.