Domestic Disturbance

Sorry for my second dry spell. I'm still trying to figure out how this will all end. I needed to do this small, filler chapter for two reasons. One because I'm feeling guilty for making you all wait. And two because I'm still trying to decide if Megatron gets to....touch Prime or not. Let me know what you think as I do take all comments and ideas into consideration when writing. I want to please!

Chapter 23: Morning


It's was only due to Ratchet's muchly appreciated over-protective nature that Prime was even able to get back to his quarters that night without being swamped by concerned Autobots. The semi, although not in the state of mind at the time to care, had to abide the medic's exaggerated diagnosis of his injuries in order to convince the others that he needed uninterrupted rest.

Rest which didn't come easy that night. Nearly desperate to power down his overly frantic processor, Optimus almost resorted to shutting down his higher functions. If only to keep the nightmares from plaguing his recharge. He would be a wreck in the morning if he didn’t, but like most Cybertronians he just didn't want to risk the dark unknown.

His very spark chamber seemed to ache as the dull sphere within it pulsed slow and unhappy. The pain was enough to keep him wide awake as his mind replayed his final conversation with the seeker. Failure, guilt, fear for the jet's safety. It all weighed on him as if he were bearing the entire planet on his shoulders.

What felt like a life time later, the sun finally rose and shone brightly into his quarters as if to attempt to cheer him up. It's usually welcomed beauty was lost upon the general this morning. He had barely slept a click and already the damn Earth was telling him to wake up and run out to protect it. While he could brush off the sun's greeting with a cold shoulder, he couldn't afford to do so with his comrades or his duties. He had to get up and move on.

~ ~ ~

Megatron usually never took the time to notice small insignificant things like sun rises or bright blue skies. Today wasn't any different. He rose from his berth the same as he did every morning, lamenting the fact that it was not occupied by another. The prickle of his commander's sentience toyed at the corners of his mind, reminding him of the previous night's activities. No doubt the Constructicons would still be working furiously to repair the seeker. According to their last update of Starscream's condition, their attempt to remove him from the blood soaked berth proved difficult as his lower section failed to follow his upper. The jet had snapped in half with a tortured screech of his mangled vocals, and it was all the six of them could do to keep Thundercracker at bay. Luckily Skywarp had arrived just in time to pry his wing mate off of Mixmaster, leaving a nice little bite torn from the cement truck's forearm. For some reason, the purple jet was much more cooperative then the blue one.

When his usual morning rituals were done, Megatron made his way to check on his commander's condition personally. His optics followed the smeared trail of mech fluid and energon that lead from Starscream's room to the med bay. Frowning, he glanced up the grisly path to find Rumble scrubbing the mess up. The smaller blue bot startled for a second as he saw the familiar pedes of the silver mech, but he never once glanced up to meet the other's stern gaze. Seemed the entire base had learned of the events of last night and none dared to anger their leader. He continued to mop at the purple-ish gore with renewed vigor, dunking the large rag into a bucket of solvent with a frantic slosh.

"Just...er....cleanin' up a little boss." He muttered as Megatron passed by. "Soundwave always says I never pitch in enough 'round here."

Without gracing the small cassette any acknowledgement, the tyrant stepped around the crouched Decepticon and on towards his destination. He passed through the large med bay doors and grimaced at the sight he saw. Chassis suddenly clenching with a sick hiccup he could only stare as his optics took in everything.

Starscream was lying on his back, or what remained of his back, while his legs and pelvis lay just to the side of the table on the floor. Several empty cubes of energon were piled in the corner, plenty of pinkish violet fluid sloshed under foot as if a cube had been knocked flying by a sudden unexpected thrash. Streaks of it decorated the walls and nearly reached the ceiling .A large tarp was put down to catch all the mess. An energon drip was hooked up to the broken mech, pouring in through a tube fed into Starscream's emergency tank. Almost as quickly as it entered the seeker, it dripped back out and into a quickly filling cube beneath the table. Three of the Constructicons where joint deep the red and white bot’s internals as they tried to patch the reserve tank for the fifth time, while two of them held his shoulders firmly to the table. Scrapper had the task of swapping the drip's cube out for the rapidly filling one beneath the table. The energon barely had time to fuel Starscream's structure before it leaked out, making it reusable. The seeker's chest heaved violently as he sucked in breath after breath of air. His vents working strained and frantic to keep his remaining structure cool. Every gasp a rattled gurgle as his vocal processor swam in blood.

Megatron could only watch as his air commander suddenly lurched with a sickening half cry. He strained against the servos that held him as he tried to move. Although he couldn't move very far. Mixmaster cursed and shoved the squirming jet down.

"Primus damn you, Starscream!" He grunted. "Where are you getting so much energy from when all of it is on the floor!?"

The tyrant's gasp suddenly brought attention to his presence. While all of the doctor bots looked up to see their leader in the door way, only Scrapper was able to leave his duties for a moment.

"Megatron." He rushed over to the silver mech. "We need to keep this area free from interruption. The slightest error could take Starscream off line. Why have you come here?"

The sound of the other Con's voice pulled the general's gaze from the operation.

"I....I just had to see his condition for myself."

The purple and green mech bristled in irritation. He fought down the urge to remind his leader that if he was so concerned then he shouldn't have done this damage to begin with.

"Well as you can see it's not good. We have to keep patching his reserve tank because all his thrashing undoes the repairs. We can't put him into stasis because at this stage it may just put him off line permanently. so we have to deal with the squirming. We'd tie him down, but there's not much left to strap to the table."

Scrapper glanced over his shoulder as the noise suddenly died down. Starscream seemed to slip back into his more relaxed state of panting. A small whimper, muted by the blood clogging his vocals escaped his mouth, followed by a gurgled groan that sounded suspiciously like someone's name.

"He...keeps muttering." The Constructicon continued, optics still fixed on the jet's moving lips. "Keeps trying to call out Prime's name."

"Never mind that." Megatron shook his head, placing a servo on Scrapper’s shoulder to draw the mech’s attention. "Just fix him. I’ll want a full report of your progress when I return."

"R-return?" The Con’s head swung around to fix the tyrant with a confused look. "Where are you going?"

"To defeat the Autobots." He answered. "Prime’s been....damaged recently. He’s unfit to lead them and they will surely lose if we attack now."

"Scrapper! We need another cube here!" Long Haul interrupted.

Megatron nodded and released the Constructicon, watching him run back to swap out the cubes. After one last look at his commander, the tyrant took his leave. Once out in the hall and away from the carnage and scent of mech fluid and nearly burned energon, the large Con released his long held breath of air, gasping another fresh vent. He hated the smell. It was one part of war that he could never get used to. Energon on it’s own had a rather pleasant odor to it. Though once it ran through a Cybertronian’s circulatory system it took on a different odor. A much more pungent, burned smell that turned his core every time.

Ignoring the disturbed beating of his spark and the present sentience that lurked within him, Megatron made his way to the Nemesis’ bridge. There his Decepticons would be awaiting him. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on Starscream when his prize was waiting for him. The jet would survive this. Just like he always did.

A grin creeped it’s way onto his lips as he pictured his victory. And the way the Autobot would look tied to his berth.