Chapter Text
“How is it now?” Hook asked, arms folded across his chest and a scrutinizing look glued to his face.
Scavenger—all too accustomed to his teammate’s attitude—focused on gingerly moving his right arm in all directions the joints in it allowed it to go.
“It’s… Fine. Really!” Scavenger answered meekly, voice colored with fatigue, “I may even be able to work.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?” Hook slashed Scavenger’s train of thought by sparing him a glance, absorbed in examining the inner workings of his teammate’s joint socket, gently checking connecting pieces.
“Uh…” Scavenger interjected, anxiety boiling up in his head, “Still bad?”
The surgeon simply shook his head and suppressed a grimace: “Test it again; use all your range and do it as you would normally, not like you are afraid of uncoupling it.”
Scavenger hesitated for a moment, but one didn’t have much of an option when it came to Hook’s orders, so he simply complied.
As he used his arm as instructed, complex shoulder mechanisms moved and switched to allow the gesture—as common as it is with older designs, it is overly complicated for the sake of it, but one cannot deny that those pulls and pulleys make for a marvel in mechanics.
The geologist was almost finished with testing, and his arm was responding just fine; he let out a vent he didn’t know (he kind of did) he was holding. Though he may have celebrated a little too soon since just as he went to position his shoulder on its back axle, it gave out and wouldn’t bulge, until he managed to re-click it into place, but it was already undone as the internal cogs of his shoulder joint gave out in a cacophony of whirls and screeches he was all too familiar with.
Scavenger tried to hold in a cry of discomfort.
“Hm…” Hook shook his helm and made a dental click. “I know what the issue is.”
Then it was back to work. Optic zoom in effect, and using both the complicated fine tools he got (stole) throughout his career and integrated hand instruments, he began calibrating recently installed hydraulics (installed as another way to relieve Scavenger’s ongoing pains), re-coupled mechanisms only to connect then again in different ways, aligned pulleys, and fussed over all other contraptions that made up his teammate’s overcomplicated shoulder joint, even the ones he already went over—especially the ones he already went over.
Then. Suddenly. The surgeon stopped, body remaining unmoving but expression shifting from a focused frown to a... frown, albeit an annoyed one.
“Enter.” He said, getting back to work.
And with that, the folding door separating the waiting room from the O.R. opened to reveal a very familiar bright green loader, whose expression and body posture ever relaxed as he locked the door behind him and turned to look at the two other mechs.
“How are you doing?” Scrapper greeted in his regular, nonchalant way.
“What do you think?” Hook hissed—he simply hated interruptions while he was working; if it wasn’t for the fact that it was Scrapper (who himself pretended to be clueless on most occasions), he’d be throwing a fit of rage, but alas, here he was humoring his nosy teammate.
Scrapper didn’t afford any of them any expression or body language as he quietly dragged a tall stool to a seat near the two mechs, paying close attention to the fast-paced yet elegant movements of his surgeon hands.
“We were—I was just worried.” He shrugged, voice neutral.
Hook huffed a puff of hot air, and he finished aligning the last axle on the final row. Re-checking all mechanisms over and doing a superficial testing.
“I’m fine, Scrapper,” Scavenger gently acknowledged.
“Just the normal stuff?” Scrapper asked, putting a gentle hand on Scavenger’s left wrist.
“Yes… I guess it’s the new normal now,” Scavenger said.
Though before Scrapper could interject once more, he was interrupted by Hook’s tools clacking against the medical berth, The surgeon clicked Scavenger’s shoulder armor back on, leaving no gaps. He stood at his full height, still examining the now-fixed joint. Then, without warning, he snapped his head in his leader’s direction.
“You needn’t be worried.” He proclaimed, optics intense behind his visor, “I am the one responsible for Scavenger’s health.”
“And you’re the best of the best that ever surgeoned on this whole universe.” He complimented Hook’s train of thought, laughing easily at his own comment.
“Despite your tone, I do agree with the sentiment, and I know you do too.” He finished and refocused his attention on his patient, motioning for him to commence the test of movement.
He drummed the fingers of his left hand on his treaded legs, looking down and hesitating for a moment longer. However, a subtle mental nudge from Scrapper urged him to look at his leader, who was simply giving him two thumbs up… Funilly enough, the cheesy action reassured him enough. So he took in a vent and simply went with it.
He proceeded to move his shoulder in all movements his joint allowed it to.
Hook watched, paying close attention to how the internal mechanisms were behaving, if there was any tension or looseness in movement, and how harmonious they were with one another. However, a more complicated mechanism to understand was Scavenger himself. For hundreds of years now the mech has been dealing with increasingly worsening joint issues—mostly on his arms and backstrust—it was completely normal for an older model of operational class to deal with these sorts of... debilitating mechanical issues, but it didn’t explain Scavenger’s general reaction when he suffered from a bad episode.
He shouldn’t feel guilty for a malfunction that isn’t even his own fault; he had a seasoned surgeon who had been taking care of him for a million years on end. He should be feeling AT LEAST grateful that he dedicates so much of his time to taking care of him.
He snapped back into place when he saw how Scavenger managed to use the full extent of his shoulder joint mechanism; it secretly pained him how such a simple act made the geologist brighten.
“Hook…!” He marveled at testing it out one more time.
The surgeon cocked his head slightly, unsure how not to break the moment. He cursed himself at how much he acted unlike himself when it came to his routine patient.
It was only when the sound of Scrapper’s (who he had forgotten was even there) hands clasping together that he snapped out of this train of thought.
“Well, isn’t that just swell? I'm glad you’re feeling better, Scavy, truly.” The sheer endearment in his voice was not even subtle. “Now, Hookie, anything we should know?”
Hook huffed, coming back to his cold and factual self. “First of all,” he held a finger.
“You still are far from dispensed—I’ll be examining you in the next few days to ensure your condition does not worsen, in the meantime...” He started, “You are prohibited from taking part in activities that will cause your strain; that includes shooting, carrying any sort of strenuous weights, and transforming. Am I clear?”
Scavenger’s optic band blinked in bafflement for a few seconds. “You can’t be serious, Hook!”
“Oh, yes—I am in fact known for my jokes,” he sarcastically retorted.
“Oh, please!” Scavenger gestured aggressively with his left arm, “How am I supposed to work? Are you expecting me to be useless for how long exactly?”
“For as long as I need you to be.” Hook countered coldly.
Scavenger was taken aback—he cycled his optics for a moment, complaint boiling up in his vocalizer before being squashed by his inherent need to comply and fear of conflict.
“If you say so...” He said weakly, gingerly getting out of the medical berth and heading for the door, body slumped in defeat.
“Ey, wait for me, Scavy! I’ll go with you in just a click!” Scrapper said from where he was sitting.
“Take care of yourself, Scavenger.” Hook commanded; in his defense, he did try to go for a softer toner before the geologist finally closed the door behind him, leaving only the surgeon and his leader.
“So…” Scrapper prompted.
“It’s not getting better nor worsening,” Hook interrupted. “Is that why you came?”
“Could’ve guessed,” Scrapper shrugged. “I just don’t want him to be in pain, y’know.”
“Mmhm.”
“You’re doing the best you can do with what we have, I unde-”
“Is that why you came here, Scrapper?” Hook snapped.
Scrapper blinked, noticing Hook’s silent order (more of a plead, but he would never admit it).
“More or less." The architect gestured to nothing in particular, “But also...”
He stretched his arms and made a grabbing motion with his hands. “I wanted to see my favorite surgeon in the world.”
“That is... awfully nice of you, Scrapper,” Hook sneered, refusing to reciprocate his leader.
“Hook!” Scrapper called, “C’mere you stubborn gasser!”
“Hurg!” The surgeon comically threw his arms into the air, “Fine!”
As Hook carefully approached with the intent of embracing his leader, he was hastily pulled in by his wrists and brought close to the other’s body—the inertia of the movement almost making the stool fall backward with the both of them, he quickly freed his hands to stabilize it, just as Scrapper carefully entranced his arms on Hook’s lower torso.
“Your mishandling of me is, to put it simply, appalling.” Hook smirked seductively.
“What can I do?” Scrapper began as his hold on Hook tightened in a hug—which was returned by the other, “I’m only a mech.”
“How is your bucket holding up?” Hook said as he disengaged from Scrapper and started doing a superficial examination of the couplers holding the aforementioned bucket together.
“Pfft! Better than detached, I’ll tell you that much.” Scrapper laughed softly at his own comment, “You can thank those Dinobots for that.”
Hook clenched his teeth—remembering how on today’s energon raid the Autobots had gotten them by surprise and how those primitive constructs ganged up on Scrapper and Mixmaster; luckily the mission wasn’t a total disaster, as the Decepticons managed to get the upper hand in the fight—still, damages made to the team are non-negligible.
“Dammed Dinobots,” Hook opened and closed a fist, probably picturing a Dinobot neck connector in it. “Mark my words: One of these days, I melt them for spare parts.”
“Pfft! You’re going to make them go extinct, sweety?”
“Ha. Ha. You’re hilarious; I hope you know that.” Hook remarked humorless.
“Oh, don’t flatter me.” Scrapper gestured.
“So you’re coming back to us to enjoy this lovely night?” Scrapper asked, crossing his legs and putting one hand on his knee.
Hook shook his head “I have to evaluate our medicine cabinet and, if necessary, write a request form. So I’ll be late.”
“Oh, so you prefer the company of drugs over your own gestalt?” He faked a hurt tone, “Good to know, Good to know.”
“Oh please!” Hook protested, “It’s not going to take long; of course, I merely need to re-check it three times to make sure I’m absolutely accurate. In the meantime, why don’t you five make yourselves useful and choose our nightly activity?”
“But choosing IS part of the activity, isn’t it?” Scrapper retorted. “Here, why don’t you and Long Haul do it together tomorrow morning? Not like we have any planned missions AND you’ve always enjoyed doing inventory checks with him!”
Hook froze at the name; he knew something Scrapper didn’t about his teammate and lover. He was quick to stop this train of thought and quicker to ebb off the feeling of betrayal forming at the bottom of his spark.
“Oh, have mercy! I am the only one who can do it to the utmost degree of accuracy.” He bellowed, secretly hoping Scrapper hadn’t noticed how he faltered for a click.
He did, however, notice how Scrapper’s optics didn’t move from him at all as he put on a savvy posture, shrugging before finally speaking, “Well, that’s just like you!”
Scrapper proceeded to head for the door, but he didn’t leave until he waved with his fingers at his surgeon. “See ya in not so long, I hope!”
~
“Scrapper, I’m telling you, I can do my work just fine!” Scavenger said as he nervously fiddled with his digits, “Hook’s just being prickly! You know him, don’t you?”
“Yes, Scavy…” Scrapper started, mind in another place as he answered, “And I know he’s a competent professional who knows what he’s doing!”
Scavenger shrunk at that—he’d be arguing for his case on their way back to their hab-suite for what felt like an eternity—though Scrapper didn’t put it on him too much, the geologist was already insecure as it was.
“Look, you’re a great hard-working guy; you really are!” Scrapper said, “But when... Certain things happen... Things out of our control... There’s little we can do other than live through it, not deny it, mind you, just... just remember we’ll take care of you and you’re part of the team no matter, okay?!”
Scavenger simply nodded, unconvinced but too overwhelmed to argue.
They walked in silence for a while, Scrapper’s posture upright and arms behind his back, with Scavenger following by his side in his regular awkward stride.
“So... um... Scrapper,” Scavenger started, “What’s bothering you?”
Scrapper stopped as he began to look at Scavenger suspiciously. “Why d’you say that?”
Scavenger gulped, “Stop it! I… I just thought you felt... Uh… Tense! I just don’t think you should be bottling these sorts of things up. Just because you’re the leader doesn’t mean you should... uh... how do I put this? Suffer in silence, yes, that.”
“Hm,” Scrapper mumbled as he resumed walking, Scavenger hastily following behind. “And why do you think I’m tense?”
“Hook and Long Haul,” Scavenger said, oddly matter-of-factly.
“Dammit!” Scrapper laughed, baffled, “You’re good!”
“It’s…” Scrapper let out a frustrated vent, “They’ve always had that... feud between them. I think it’s amusing... Cute even and they can still co-exist, WE can still co-exist.”
“But lately… Ever since we’ve been rebuilt here on Earth…” Scrapper rubbed his chin. “Lately they’ve become estranged—normal tiff turned into focused disdain—I simply can’t let it go on any longer; it can easily turn into resentment, and it’ll pull us all apart by the seams. I need to find the source of this and quick.”
“Have you..." Scavenger started, “Have you asked them about it?”
“Pfft! HA! That’s the first thing I did!” He playfully slapped Scavenger’s back, “These are Mr. I-Have-Nothing-To-Discuss and Mr. It’s-Nothing-To-Worry-About, we’re talking about here!”
“No matter, I’ll find a way; I always do,” Scrapper smiled to himself.
“Well, if nothing works, you could always...” Scavenger tapped into his own chest.
“The bond?” Scrapper said, perplexed, “No way! That’s off the table!”
“Look,” Scrapper continued, “I just—I just need them both in the same place, then everything will just fall into place naturally.”
~
“So Tuesdays, I wake up BEFORE the planet’s sunrise. I go for a 30km—maybe sometimes 35km—flight, all this on an empty tank. Then I come to base and drink my regular two cubes of unfiltered energon.” He flexed his armor, “but only on TUESDAYS!”
“Ewwww!” The cement mixer bellowed from the berth (an insanely large berth, which the flier found ridiculous), “Ya drink unfiltered energon! Na-na-nasty!”
“It’s not nasty!” The flier boomed, “It’s got the most... Er... What’s the word... ENERGY VALUE!”
“It’s pretty nasty.” Bonecrusher (he remembered that Constructicon name, points to him) said from where he was lying down next to his uncultured teammate. “Right, Haul?”
“Mmhm” The dump truck, which was sitting at the edge of the ginormous berth, answered absentmindedly, focusing on his data pad (must be some BORING work stuff, for sure.)
“C’mon, Flyboy!” The cement mixer urged, “Whaddya do on Wednesdays?”
The flier huffed at the nickname but puffed his chest in pride; at least SOMEONE was interested in his super-awesome workout routine. “Since you asked nicely and since you CLEARLY have lots to learn, I’ll tell you!”
However, before he could start a detailed ramble on such an important topic, the hab door swished open, revealing two garishly colored mechs, one taller and gangly and the other stocky and suave.
The lanky one went on his way to sit on a stool next to a drawing table on the flier’s left, while the short mech looked at him up and down. The way he carried himself struck him as nothing but absolutely professional—this guy’s aura was something else, and the way he was silently so assured of himself made the flier shell up.
“He came ‘ere to see you, Scrapper,” Bonecrusher said from where he was.
“Really? Well, I’m flattered!” Scrapper said, “Hey! I remember you! Dark red, cone... You must be Thrust!”
“Um…” He straightened and postured, “Yes, sir!”
“Tsk tsk tsk,” Scrapper interjected “Nothing of this ‘sir’ thing; I’m your friend, your pal, your buddy even! Just call me Scrapper.”
Thrust blinked; damn, I didn’t know the Constructicon boss-guy was chill like that…
“It’s nothing crazy! Wait nah, it’s pretty crazy, actually.” Thrust started, “Y'see, I wanted to invite you and your guys to a par-tee!”
“Really?” Scrapper marveled, “Why, tell me more!”
“Y’see, me and Dirgs were talking ‘bout how today’s energon raid was pretty sick—um... I talked at least—so I had an idea: ‘Hey! Why don’t we throw a super gnarly par-tee with banging music, games, and HIGH GRADE? Oh, TONS of high-grade!’. I took it to the big megs and he tots approved it! I said it was for morale but, AH! you know how it is!” He made a chugging motion with his hands.
“HA! I do know!” Scrapper said, “So when it’ll start?”
“OH!” Thrust exclaimed, “YE GUYS WILL BE GOING THEN? AND HERE I THOUGHT YE WERE A BUNCH OF BORING OLD FARTS! HA!”
Thrust put a servo over his mouth upon realizing what he just said, “No offense, I mean...”
“Um, it’s going on right now in the Control Room, with the... Er... bigaft terminal and the tables.” He rubbed the back of his cone-shaped helm. “We still setting everything up, but you can come and make yourselves welcome!”
Thrust suddenly started praying Skywarp (who was forced to help him) and the Cassettes (also forced to help him) weren’t making a mess of the place too early.
“Hm,” Scrapper pondered, focusing his attention solely on his teammates. “I’ll sure be there; how about you guys?”
“Count me in, anything for a good drink,” Bonecrusher said.
“Eh, I’ll see.” The dump truck shrugged.
“Uh?! Count me OUT! I don’t drink!” The cement mixer lamented.
“Oh! Oh!” Thrust began to snap his digits, trying to remember whatever Dirge had told him, “Dirge’s going to be throwing a par-tee of his own, except fewer drinks and more… Uh… More talk, yeah, like reunion stuff where you talk you spark out or whatever.”
“Sounds absolutely bo-ring!” The cement mixer mused, “Count me IN!”
“How about you, Scavy?” Scrapper’s helm snapped to the excavator mech, “You can’t drink; will you be joining Mixmaster?”
“Ehhh-!” The excavator’s lower treaded legs rubbed together nervously, “Aw, Scrapper, don’t you have any errands for me? Might as well make myself useful while you have your fun!”
Scrapper approached the excavator carefully, his expression unreadable through the mask and visor.
“Matter of fact, I do!” He grabbed the excavator’s shoulders from behind him, making him yelp, “Your job for today will be: accompanying Mixmaster! And y'know, making sure he doesn’t kill anyone! HA!”
Thrust was sure this was just an in-joke between them.
“What!?” The excavator shrieked, “Scrapper…! You can’t be serious!”
The nervous mech looked at his cheerful teammate, who was smirking mischievously and waving at him.
“Have fun, you two!” Scrapper casually slapped Scavenger’s back, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
“Hey, uh, if you guys want, I can take you there, It’s going on in the common room…” Thrust awkwardly said, feeling like he was interrupting some family business or whatever.
“Oh, you’re so kind, Thrust!” Scrapper put a hand on his chest, “Why don’t you boys go with him, uh? And, oh! Bonecrusher, wait for me in the Control Room, won’t you?”
And with that, Thrust left with three Constructicons glued to his back.
Such is the life of a fragging good party host, he thought to himself.
~
“Alone at last,” Scrapper remarked, looking at his resigned SiC.
“Oh, you’d-” His snarky remark was cut by Scrapper throwing his weight at him and making himself at home without a care.
“Felling touchy?” Long Haul remarked, holding Scrapper like a doll and making both of them more comfortable on their berth.
“With you?” Scrapper started, “How couldn’t I be?”
He started mindlessly tracing his partner’s chest, “You’re not coming?”
“Nah, I prefer drinking with you guys rather than these weirdos at base,” he shrugged.
“Oh, so you’re going to abandon me just like that?” He joked, “I’m baffled!”
“Hurg! You can be so needy, Scrapper!”
“Oh, I save it for you, dearest! You exclusively!” He laughed easily.
“Bonecrusher’s gonna be there.” Long Haul shrugged, ”And if you're real desperate, you can always ask Hook for company.”
“But I want you…” Scrapper whispered.
“You’re such a spoiled mech, Scraps…” Long Haul shook his head.
“Maybe I am…” Scrapper smiled behind his mask, feeling the warmth of the comment, “Maybe I am…”
“Mmhmm...”
The two of them stayed together for a few moments, simply enjoying each other’s presence. Oh, this was the good life. Scrapper couldn’t deny how he loved these few times of solace between gestaltmates; he believed these were the things that kept him going. Though he was quick to remember he had a mission here, he was sure he could enjoy his partner's presence later on.
remember
“Y’know…” He focused on tracing one of his partner’s headlights, “You don’t even have to be there for long.”
He gently grabbed the larger ‘Con’s chin with an index finger and a thumb, directing the other’s visor to face his own. “Two hours—just stay there two hours with me, and then you’re free to go! And more, wouldn’t it be nice for the Constructicon command to show their faceplates? Since the big mech himself basically sponsored this little get-together.”
“Slow down, Scrapper! I think you're going to exceed your ‘common sense’ quota.” Long Haul answered.
“C’mon, are you going with me or not?” Scrapper said, tone slightly rushed.
Long Haul mused for a moment before letting out a sigh.
“If that’ll make you ha-”
“Terrific! Let’s go!” Scrapper chirped, grabbing his partner’s hand.
~
In the cold atmosphere of the med bay, Hook sat on a stool in front of an organized medicine cabinet, though, according to the head surgeon himself...
“This is not right.” He mumbled under his breath, already taking the vials off the shelves.
He momentarily stopped, looking at the blank data pad in his lap.
“For the love of...” He pinched the bridge of his nose. He should be already finished by now, but his own thoughts were clawing at his mind, making his habits worse by the second. Though… Maybe if he reorganized the cabinet one more time, it would feel right...
He blinked at the thought. Kicking himself mentally.
If Long Haul didn’t get this situation straight to the rest of them, he’d have to intervene and risk ruining their already fraught relationship; sure, he didn’t care about that exactly, but gestalt cohesion was key to their quality as a team (oh, great, Scrapper was rubbing on him).
His train of thought was suddenly interrupted by a message ping in his comm. channel; upon checking who the sender was, he simply rolled his optics behind his visor and opened it.
‘Dear Hook (emphasis on dear),
Thanks for not ignoring my message; I knew you wouldn’t, but it sure feels great to point out!
Okay, I know you're probably making that I’m-annoyed-at-you-please-get-to-the-point face that only you know how to make (and I bet my bucket you just noticed it and forced a stoic look). Did I get you?
Enough preamble, point is, Thrust (flier, cone, red, Approx. 12 meters tall), invited us to a party!!! Yes, the three exclamation points are needed here.
Since you already guessed by my excitement(!!!), there’ll be high grade! Don’t worry, I promise not to embarrass you too much.
See you there!
<3 u. (this means ‘I love you’ in text!) ,
Sincerely,
You know who.’
A party? No, a Decepticon party. Hook thought, a scowl forming on his face. Such a reunion was frivolous at best, especially when he remembered who his fellow Decepticon ‘comrades’ were. There was no possible timeline where this ‘party’ would amount to anything of value.
He looked at the disorderly cabinet.
As much as it pained him to even consider it… maybe, just maybe… He needed some time off to refresh his mind…
Sure, a party with the rest of the Decepticons would be extremely bothersome, but Scrapper’s presence would make it almost bearable. Furthermore, Long Haul would sure NOT show his mug anywhere; though his distaste for other Decepticons was questionable at best, he simply didn’t care for getting overcharged for the sake of it.
The decision was made. Hook would go to this mindless party.
“But first…” He mumbled, focusing his attention on the cabinet once again.