Chapter Text
The Next Morning
Ambulon came online in an unfamiliar room.
His processor jolted to life with a host of frantic questions. Where was he? Where were his gestalt mates? What was happening to him? Wild scenarios raced through his mind, each more horrific than the next. Every mechanism in his body froze. Gotta come up with a strategy. Gotta escape. When will this be over? Oh please…
His sensors scrambled to take in his surroundings. There was something heavy wrapped around his chest. Restraints? Fuel pump hammering, he powered up his optics and glanced down.
It was an arm. A white arm. With blue hands, and a stupid wing and vent attached to the shoulder.
"Aww, what?" Ambulon grumbled but relaxed a little. He wasn't in an experimental Decepticon lab, but…ugh. Pharma's berth. Again.
Memory files from the previous day booted. Nanites. Emotional breakdowns. The thwarted theft. Pharma's revelation of his little plot to protect Ambulon. Another night of pleasurable pleading. And then falling into recharge together. Ambulon winced, silently berating himself.
At least they hadn’t shared sparks.
The last memory file executed, reminding him that actually yes, they had shared sparks. He'd opened his chest plate and given himself to Pharma in exchange for the overload of his life. Damn. How many boundaries were left at this point? Well, um, at least we haven't spent more than four nights in a row together. Or killed each other in a murder-suicide spat. Or become Conjunx Endura. We don't even like each other. Right?
Ambulon knew he was reaching. Not that he cared, because he wasn't going to make this spark-sharing thing a habit. For real. That was a promise.
Another thing he needed to stop doing was ruminating when he should be running. This is what always landed him in Pharma's berth in the first place. No more sneaking and plotting. If he wanted to get out of this room, he had to seize the moment and brutally squash the part of him that loved being in Pharma's arms.
Or liked. That was a better word. He liked being held by Pharma. He certainly didn't love it.
So without another thought, giving no regard to how much noise he made or how delicately he did or didn't extricate himself from Pharma's grasp, Ambulon slipped off the berth and dashed out the door. Not his most dignified moment, but the whoosh of the door panels shutting behind him was like a sweet trumpet of success.
Ambulon stood in the hall and pumped his fist in the air. "Aha, yes!" A chance to relax in private and take a real shower. Maybe there was a Primus, after all.
"Ambulon? What are you doing?"
Or maybe not. Ambulon turned to see First Aid.
The little bot cocked his head, no doubt questioning Ambulon's victory pose.
"Oh, um, you know." Ambulon casually dropped his fist and rubbed his helm, as if that were the reason for raising his hand up in the first place. "Just…dropping off some reports." Yuck. That sounded really lame even to his audiodials.
"Dropping off some reports? I see." If First Aid didn't believe him, he had the decency to not let it show. "We've got about two hours until the shift starts. What are you up to now?"
"Shower. Energon. Maybe look at today’s charts." Ambulon remained polite, though he was dying to edge away. Great. Morning small talk with First Aid. Another thing to escape from.
"Please tell me you're gonna repaint yourself before the shift."
"Oh." Ambulon looked down at himself. He was an absolute mess. His white paint was cracked and chipped almost everywhere, exposing a network of blue and purple patches. His entire midsection was a huge swath of purple. And he had blue paint streaks between his legs. Pretty Pharma blue, which was way more embarrassing than his old paint showing through. "Yeah, um, I should probably do that too."
"Probably? Try definitely. I can help you. C'mon, I haven't showered either." He took Ambulon's arm. "We can hit the wash racks together."
Aw, frag. Showering next to First Aid was the last thing he wanted to do. Ambulon shrugged off the smaller bot's grip and stepped back. "It's okay. Um, really. I'll get to it."
"Will you?" First Aid crossed his arms over his chest. "Ambulon, no offense, but you can't hit the ward today looking like this. It's totally suspicious. What if Tarn stops by again? What if the DJD see you?"
"I really don't need any help," Ambulon mumbled.
"It’ll go way faster," said First Aid. "I'm a really good painter, and it's hard to paint yourself." He took Ambulon's arm again, much gentler this time. "You know, it's okay to ask for help sometimes. Anyway, you kinda saved the day yesterday. You don't have to think about it as help, think about it as me paying you back for detoxing me."
Ambulon wanted nothing more than to shove nurse away and deal with it himself, but he could practically feel First Aid's smile behind the mask. Beaming at him with a gentle kindness that promised both logic and the chance to keep his self-respect. And though he opened his mouth to tell First Aid to frag off, instead he found himself formulating the words, "Yeah, fine. Let's make this quick."
They walked together to the wash racks on the other end of the hall, opposite from their living quarters. It was a small room for a small staff, although the stalls were high-walled enough to protect the privacy of a bot as tall as Pharma. Should Pharma ever deign to shower in the same room as his underlings.
"Whoa," said First Aid. "What happened here?"
The wash racks looked like they always did, with the exception of the first stall. It had a thick layer of solvent still on the bottom, unable to empty due to the large patches of white paint covering the drain. There were fist-shaped dents in the wall, underneath some stained, sticky blobs that looked like energon.
Ambulon briefly wondered if there would ever be a time during his tenure with the Autobots that wouldn't be colored with humiliation. "Yeah. I, uh, had a little moment in here yesterday. Right before I realized we'd been poisoned."
First Aid laughed, a pleasant chirp with no real mockery behind it. "At least no one saw you freak out. I'm still embarrassed by what I remember."
"Don't worry about it. You were nowhere near as bad as Pharma."
"Yeah, he got pretty weird, didn't he?" First Aid moved to the stall and picked up a strip of wet paint from the drain. "Can't say I'm all that surprised though. Did you notice how much high grade he keeps in his desk?"
Shame twisted Ambulon's circuitry as he watched First Aid clean. "I can do that." He snatched the piece of floppy wet paint from First Aid's hands. "Really, I got it."
"It's no problem. There's not that much here."
"Please," said Ambulon, clutching the white paint strip to his chest and blocking First Aid from entering the stall further. He was powerless to stop the humiliated panic from slipping into his energy field. "Please don't." Please don't make me beg you not to clean up after me.
First Aid stared for a second, then backed away. "Sure. I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry just…you shouldn't…I can do it."
"Yeah. No worries." First Aid went into the adjacent stall and turned on the shower.
Ambulon quickly picked up the rest of the paint and threw it into the disposal unit on the wall, wishing that the memories of the event would disappear down the drain along with the old solvent. There wasn't much he could do about the dents in the side of the stall. He didn’t even remember punching it. Oh well, fortunately for him his boss was a detail-oriented control freak who would totally notice at some point and want an explanation.
The solvent shower itself was a blessed relief. Warm liquid sluiced between his plating, washing off all the grime and transfluid and terror and confusion of the previous day. Reminding him that, despite all his concessions, he was still alive. He could still fight for his personal missions. And life in the Autobots was not without its comforts.
Showering next to First Aid wasn't as unpleasant as Ambulon had expected. The nurse’s room, however, was another matter.
Due to a life of war and constantly shifting danger, most Cybertronians didn't keep a lot of "stuff". First Aid didn't either, but what he did have bumped the creepiness factor up to eleven. His belongings apparently consisted of Wreckers memorabilia, some datapads, and no fewer than five trillion Autobot badges. At least it seemed that way. All framed and mounted on the walls. It was downright disturbing.
Ambulon's optics darted around the room, attempting to examine his surroundings without appearing too shifty. Who pulls decorations off of dead bodies and hangs them on their walls? Isn't that what serial killers do? See, it's always the nice and quiet ones.
"Have a seat." First Aid pulled a chair into the center of the floor, completely oblivious that his living quarters looked like an Overlord trophy room without the splatters. "Lemme get my things."
Ambulon sat and drank the energon cube he had grabbed on their way back from the wash racks. Whoa. Was that a voltage variable harness on First Aid's berth? And, yikes, spark casing connectors? Knew the little freak was kinky.
First Aid returned with his supplies. He circled Ambulon. "We really don't have time to take your old paint off but-"
"Don't bother," Ambulon interrupted. "You're right. No time. Just paint over it. That'll be fine."
"Okay. I'll buff down the edges of the white a little and paint over the other colors." He ran a finger down Ambulon's side. "While I can't say I like the Decepticon connotations, your original colors are nice. I'll bet you looked good in blue and purple."
Ambulon lifted his face to stare into the smaller bot's mask. "I prefer white and red," he said.
"Yeah," said First Aid, picking up a small sander. "So do I."
First Aid went to work, buffing down the edges of the remaining white paint to create a smoother finish. He directed Ambulon in a manner most professional, guiding him with calm directions. Sit, stand, lift your right arm, put your left leg on the chair. To Ambulon's great relief, it wasn’t all that bizarre. There was a light stinging sensation across his sensor net, but it didn't hurt. It wasn't even awkward.
The process kicked up more chips and dust, and soon First Aid was finished. He handed Ambulon some dry rags. "Okay, wipe yourself down and I'll sweep up. Then we'll paint you."
Ambulon wiped himself off, flicking tiny paint chips to the floor. He felt like he should be thanking First Aid profusely, but he didn't trust himself to vocalize the words with the level of distant gratitude that he thought appropriate.
"Don't be nervous," said First Aid, misinterpreting Ambulon's social awkwardness. "I'm great at this." He lifted the spray canister of white paint in his hand, wielding it like a weapon. "Lean forward. I'm gonna start with your lower back."
First Aid's hand was warm on his lower back, touching with far less pressure than Pharma ever would. Ambulon flinched.
First Aid chuckled. "Sorry. Primus, Ambulon, I'm not gonna do anything weird. Don't be so-"
"Don't say tetchy. I hate it when people call me tetchy."
"Actually, I was gonna say touchy. Tetchy works too though." He stuck his face close to Ambulon's. "You can't tell, but I'm winking at you right now."
Ambulon pulled back, trying to put some distance between them. "Yeah yeah. Do my fragging paint."
"Okay, Doctor Tetchy. I mean Ambulon."
Despite his playfulness, First Aid was all business when he fired up the paint gun. He laid down the paint with the utmost care, like an exquisitely programmed artist. Or Pharma performing surgery. Alternating between large sweeps with the sprayer and small strokes with various sized brushes. He took his time where white met red, painstakingly working on the edges so they were sharp and crisp. He directed Ambulon when to sit and stand with simple, one word directions. The paint dried fast, allowing First Aid to put on multiple coats.
As the procedure wore on, Ambulon found himself becoming more and more relaxed. The hum of the sprayer was hypnotic. He offlined his optics, losing himself in the experience of being pampered without any expectations. It was…nice. Really nice. Something that would definitely be in his best interests not to get used to.
Just this once, maybe it was okay to accept the gesture. Ambulon let himself drift, following First Aid's instructions when they were softly spoken to him. Some of the tension in his struts unwound, and he floated in a state of slight relaxation, unfettered by thoughts of guilt or anger or uncertainty.
He wasn't sure how long it lasted. All too soon First Aid was shaking his shoulder and saying, "Ambulon? Did you fall asleep?"
"Mpph. No."
"I think I'm done. Let me get you a mirror."
There was the sound of something dragging on the floor, and Ambulon onlined his optics to see First Aid pulling a full-length mirror taller than himself from the closet. He leaned it against the wall in front of them. "Check it out."
Ambulon looked at his reflection, spark nearly twisting and shattering. The paint job was flawless, the edges were pristine, and the colors were brilliant. He did look good. He looked like a real Autobot, and that hurt more than seeing himself as a chipped, disheveled mess.
He shuttered his optics, hoping to blink away the ribbons of light and tears that threatened to form, torn between extreme gratitude and extreme regret. It was so painful to see himself like this and know it was temporary, but he felt so indebted that someone would take the time to do it. Ambulon's mouth opened and closed, unsure what to say.
"You're not saying anything. Do you hate it?"
"No, it's…amazing. I…I can't thank you enough."
First Aid snapped his fingers. "Told you I'm awesome. You look damn good, if I may say." He laughed. "If I may say that to my superior, that is. In a totally professional capacity."
A new wave of guilt washed over Ambulon. That's right, he was First Aid's superior. He had demoted the smaller bot, an action that had no bearing on First Aid's willingness to help him.
Ambulon met First Aid's gaze in the mirror. The depth of his gratitude had him mumbling the words, "I couldn't ignore it."
"What?"
"Rung's report." Ambulon turned to face First Aid directly. "I couldn't ignore it."
"Oh." First Aid looked at the floor, a rare lick of shame evident in his energy field. "I know."
"Nurse was the highest rank available. Pharma wanted me to take you down further. Truly, First Aid, I'm…I'm sorry."
"It wasn't your fault, Ambulon. I know that."
Ambulon stammered. Why was this slag always so hard? Why didn't they give you some Autobot sensitivity training when you defected? And why the hell couldn't First Aid show as much initiative with his real work as he did with his personal activities?
"On the bright side, you really do look damn good now,” said First Aid.
"For a little while, at least."
"Nah, this is a professional First Aid paint job. I even used a top coat."
"It won't last."
First Aid brushed something invisible off Ambulon's arm. "Why not?"
"It'll crack again. Nothing can permanently stay on the purple and blue underneath."
"Oh. Huh. Well, when we have some free time I'll remove the stuff underneath and we'll refinish you for real."
Ambulon shook his head, spark heavy. "You can't remove it. It won't come off."
"What are you talking about?"
"It's an experimental paint designed by Shockwave's team. The combiner experiment I was in, they wanted us to look uniform at all times. No exceptions. Right before they started our project there was a little issue with the Constructicons. Scrapper lost a bet and had to repaint himself, so for a while Devastator was wreaking havoc with one pink leg." Ambulon allowed himself a small grin. The video of Devastator rampaging through an organic planet with a hot pink limb had been legendary in the Decepticon army. More legendary was the video of Megatron's reaction. The bot who sent that file through the ranks was never heard from again.
Ambulon stopped smiling. "Megatron was not happy. After that, all gestalt bots were repainted with this experimental stuff that you can't remove, and can't paint over. That's why my finish is always chipped."
First Aid covered his mouth plate with his hand. "The Autobots couldn't do anything for you when you defected?"
"They were gonna send me to some special scientist. Perceptor, I think his name was."
"Ooo..he's a genius. And a Wrecker. He's pretty hot."
"I wouldn't know. He went on a mission somewhere, so they sent me to a bot named Brainstorm instead."
First Aid shuddered. "Brainstorm?”
"Yeah. His genius idea was to weaponize it so the energy from my spark concentrated into laser beams that shot out from the paint molecules themselves. Told me there was a forty percent chance it would work without killing me."
"Wow."
"I told him to get fragged."
"So you're stuck like this?"
"Yeah," said Ambulon. He took in his reflection, knowing how it would feel when the facade of belonging cracked all over again.
First Aid wrapped his arms around Ambulon's waist, the paint dry enough to allow for a genuine hug. "I had no idea. I'm so sorry."
Ambulon patted the smaller bot's head. "Ultimately, it's a small price to pay for being free. Thanks again for the paint job. I truly do appreciate it."
"Well, when it chips again, we'll have to repaint it again,” said First Aid.
The simple statement overwhelmed Ambulon. His throat intake closed, optics threatening again to spill over. And from the back of his logic subroutines, a tiny voice asked him if he was sure he was fragging the right coworker.
"Promise me one thing," said First Aid.
“What’s that?”
The little bot leaned closer, eager. His voice conspiratorial. "Promise me that you and your purple spike will come real hard for Pharma later. He's so much easier to work with when he's in a good mood."
With that, he doubled over in hysterics, clutching his midsection and spitting amused static.
First Aid’s laughter was so light and infectious that Ambulon found he couldn’t even get annoyed over the comment. He scowled at the nurse anyway, just so the little fragger didn't think he was going soft.
The morning shift passed in a blur of routine propex swabs and patch up jobs. A ship of exhausted Autobots had limped in, more under fueled than anything else. There was a small accident at the mines, resulting in minor injuries. Nothing First Aid and Ambulon couldn't handle with practiced ease.
In stark contrast to the eerie silence of the previous day, the ward now buzzed with the sounds of diagnostic machinery, new patients, and the occasional raucous laughter from the miners.
Ambulon wasn't surprised to see that his next patient was a mech named Dodger, a frequent Delphi visitor. If there was a mining accident, chances were that Dodger was involved. The bot had incredibly bad luck, yet he was still alive. So perhaps he had incredibly good luck. Ambulon hadn't decided.
He had decided that his own luck was pretty bad, as Dodger always ended up his patient. The miner made no effort to hide his distrust for Ambulon, and turned all visits into a surly and protracted affair.
Not that Ambulon cared. He dealt with a surly Pharma on a daily basis. Next to that, Dodger was an amateur.
Today, however, was different. He brightened as Ambulon approached the med slab, despite his lower leg hanging from the knee joint at a disturbing angle. "Hey, there he is! The terror of Delphi."
Ambulon groaned. "Please tell me you're not all calling me that."
Dodger laughed. "I dunno. We've all seen the security footage of the loading docks. Never thought I'd say it, Doc, but you can really kick some aft. And surfing a MARB over those 'Cons? Awesome!"
The compliments were too surreal. "Thanks," he said, honestly. "It's kinda my signature move."
"Well, it rocked."
Before Ambulon steered the conversation back to Dodger's broken leg, a dark voice bellowed his name so loudly, the entire ward went silent.
"Ambulon."
A chill swept through the room. For a split second, Ambulon's entire being threatened to fritz into panic. Tarn?
A glance at the entrance revealed it was not Tarn, but Pharma, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed and foot tapping. "I need to speak to you. Now. "
Ambulon excused himself from his patient and went to Pharma. The jet thrust a datapad into his hands. "What the hell is this?" asked Pharma, low and toxic.
It was the datapad Ambulon had left in Pharma's office. The one with the screen set to clearly display a test result in Pharma's medical record. Left in a place where a nosey, entitled Decepticon like Tarn could easily find it.
Leaving it there had seemed like such a good, helpful idea last night. Seeing Pharma's face set into a mask of steel rage, Ambulon started to question that decision. Regardless, no backing down now. "It looks like someone changed your record to reflect a fake test result in order to turn off one of your admirers, and then put it in a place where that admirer would surely find it."
"But chronic cobaltia!?!" Pharma shrieked. "You put an interface transmitted disease in my permanent record?"
The ward fell silent for the second time in less then ten minutes. Optics and facemasks riveted on the pair of arguing doctors. Some bots gasped. Others giggled.
Pharma huffed, grabbed Ambulon's arm, and pulled him out the door and down the hall. "But chronic cobaltia," he repeated, in a harsh whisper this time. "You put an interface transmitted disease in my permanent record?"
Ambulon threw up his arms. "Yeah, Pharma, I did. Much like Megatron, Tarn’s into jets. He’s also an overly cultured priss. He won't dare try to interface with you now. He probably won't even touch you. Lemme guess, he left right after he looked saw that, didn't he?"
"You…" Pharma's wings rattled. His turbine spun with a high-pitched whine. "You should have-"
"Told you?" Ambulon hadn't left the datapad with any thoughts of just revenge. Hell, at the time, he hadn't known that Pharma had changed his energy signature. Still, he couldn't resist the opportunity to throw Pharma's words back in his smug face. "I thought it would be safer if you didn't know. Plausibly deniability and all that."
"You…"
"Hmmm…imagine that. Not so great when someone messes with your medical history without telling you. At least yours was a records change, and not wildly invasive surgery."
Pharma looked so fragged off he was practically vibrating.
A little tendril of apprehension curled around Ambulon's spark. "I…I was trying to help you. You were really freaked out at the prospect of Tarn wanting to interface with you. Hey, I would be too." He shrugged. "You have the authority to change it if you want, of course."
There was a tiny screech of metal, the sound of a nail dragging down someone's plating. Pharma grinding his teeth. "Of course." He looked back in the direction of the ward. "Have you mixed the neurex saturate like I told you?"
"Yes."
"And cleaned all the energon leads?"
"Actually, yes we have."
Pharma loomed over him and frowned. "What about diagnostics calibration?"
Damn. Ambulon winced. "That was, um, next on our list."
A subtle satisfaction pulsed through Pharma's EM field. "See that it's done."
"Will you be on the ward today?"
"Probably not. I'm due in surgery soon. Four-way fuel pump transplant."
"So you've mentioned." Nine hundred thousand times this week.
"I'm one of the donors."
"You don't say."
Pharma stepped back, the veil of uninterested professionalism once again in place. "You’re in charge of the ward. I'll expect your report summarizing the events of the day later."
"It'll be in your inbox," said Ambulon. "I don't think I'll be dropping any reports off in person tonight, sir."
Pharma's lips pulled into his patented haughty smirk. He traced a finger down the side of Ambulon's face. "We'll see about that."
Ambulon smirked back, hoping he looked half as confident. Also hoping that the little hitch in his vents wasn't audible. Pharma's touch left a thin strip of fire in its wake.
He watched the jet stalk off, then made his way back to his duties. Back to helping and saving lives. His missions. The mechanical spine of his life's work. And when Ambulon stepped on the ward again, for a little while, everything made sense.
The End