Disclaimer: No, I still don't own Transformers.

Warnings: None for this chapter, but there will be slash, and smut of the sticky, P&P and spark variety.

Notes: Have wanted to write First Aid and Hook for ages. Although they are not an easy combination.

I don't ascribe to the view that the Protectobots were made on Earth - this is, I suggest, a fandom assumption, there is nothing in canon. Hence in this series, whilst Blades and Strreetwise are young, First Aid, Hotspot and Groove are all older and experienced. First Aid has lived for a few eons - and was Hook's intern in surgery before the war at Kaon General Hospital. That is where this is set.

There will be a later story about these two soon, beginning when the Protectobots get to Earth. This is background to that. It is told by First Aid, and the other Constructicons do soon feature, although not in this chapter.

My thanks to Ultharkitty for awesome beta 3 3

~Hook and First Aid: The Early Years~

Chapter 1

The first time I ever met Hook, our differences were hopelessly apparent, my attraction to him pitiful, and he laughed at me. Hardly a combination of circumstances which would lead, ultimately, to the most tranquil union in the universe. Which it was not.

On the contrary, it was a turbulent one, wracked not only by problems from within, but circumstances beyond our control or forged before we met. Yet I do not regret it; for whilst I abhor full scale war, differences and conflicts between lovers are healthy; a challenge which ultimately tests and crystallizes our values. Through both conflict and love there is growth, and both of these I had with him in plenty.

Now, in these post Unicron days as we rebuild Cybertron, things are not as they once were, and we can never again be together. But they have left a fondness in their wake, a pinpoint of togetherness which will never be destroyed. For I say of him more than any other, that without the events which transpired, I would not be the person I am now; and whilst we indeed will never be together, we will never truly be apart.

Of later events on earth, others will tell the story, as it has many component parts and a wealth of players other than myself and Hook. But for the first part – the early times – I will do the telling. As these belong to me – and him – alone.

…

It was some time before the war; and I had finally - finally - made it as a surgical intern.

Of course, I would never be a great surgeon. I lacked the technical precision which the geniuses of surgery possess. My strength was, I already knew, even then, in curing disease; in healing the sick, and - at that time - in psychiatry.

In this field, I already held a doctorate; and whilst I was not to be without value in the world of surgery, it was to be in making mechs better afterwards, preventing problems and ensuring their recovery. Heroic incisions and fusions which alone would save their lives were, ultimately, to be the domain of others.

This, as I say, I knew, even then. But surgery was, I had continually preached, a vital part of being a medic. And that day, as I stood over the unconscious form at Kaon General Hospital, and a host of jagged wounds, mangled circuitry and broken energon conduits stared up at me; as I checked the stasis monitor and instrument trolley, I was convinced that with the right guidance, I could make it.

Well – at least sufficiently that should I operate alone as the 'all rounder' I wanted to be, I would be more than capable of conducting this part of my practise unaided.

For this was not just any internship. Oh no. I had managed to gain one with Hook. And, at that time, in my view, there was no better surgeon.

Everyone would not have agreed. Some would have argued that Ratchet and Wheeljack were every bit as talented. This may have been an approval thing - for Hook was a known radical. Coldly scientific, he pushed the envelope, trying new techniques, believing that the odd sacrifice would lead to greater knowledge.

But this, I thought, was immaterial. For sheer innovative surgical technique, for daring methods of repair and cure that none would have thought of and performing them with the utmost precision, no mech – in my view – has ever even come close to Hook. And this was what I wished to learn.

So there I stood, waiting for the great mech, as he doused himself under the sterilizer, and then the drier, trying to keep under control my circuits, which fairly fritzed in anticipation.

An anticipation which, I told myself, only arose from excitement at his professional abilities, of his brilliant mind, and the prospect of my own future career. It was, of course, nothing to do with his tall lean form and striking angular features. Nor with his cybercat like movements, or his beautiful hands with the long, clever surgeons' fingers.

Indeed, as he entered the room and strode across to the table, all gleaming green metal and lanky attractiveness, I suppressed the sudden tingling in my circuits and deepest erogenous points with the fiercest determination. And I sternly stilled the fluttering in my spark and any other reasons why I might have sought this internship other than the strict career angle, as I prepared to absorb the teachings of the Great Master.

…

He was examining the hole in the patient's chest with silent intensity, and I could not keep my optics from the beautifully crafted surgeons' fingers which ghosted through circuitry. Those fingers can fix anything! As my inner arousals betrayed me, as interface relays shifted and changed gears, I could feel my resolutions being shot down. One by one.

"Your name?"

They were the first words he ever spoke to me – the first in the operating room after nearly three breems - and I nearly jumped out of my frame. His voice was so smooth, so cultured! Especially for one who had beginnings in the worst suburbs of Kaon.

And now I felt foolish, and certain I was coming across like a besotted mechelescent. I kept my hands – hitherto redundant in this procedure - clasped to my chest and swallowed hard, determined to present the most professional image I could muster and hoping, beyond all hope, that the heat I could feel building inside would not become obvious across the table.

"I'm - First Aid!" I managed.

Hook's fingers probed deeper into the wound. He picked up a handful of circuitry, which he proceeded to examine. "Oh yes," he mused. "A scholar of psychiatry I believe! Tell me, First Aid, why are you here?"

I went cold inside. The way he said this, it sounded like a problem. Although it shouldn't be! I knew that here was a mech who believed that the body was a machine, a vehicle to be fixed just as any other. But surely this did not mean he begrudged other disciplines. And it had not been he who interviewed me for this position, he must - surely - have seen my credentials.

"To be – a fine surgeon!" I answered, honestly.

He was silent again. I watched as he sifted through the tangle of wires and nodes - an immensely complex tangle from an equally immensely complex part of the mech's anatomy - as though every component was completely familiar. "You hale from rather different avenues," he said. "And you would have heard of my reputation. Are you sure my methods are in keeping with your philosophies?"

As though wishing to test this, he found a thicker looking wire which was evidently the main attachment for the rest. There was a loud crack as he snapped it with his bare hands; and then, hauling the tangle out, he tossed it on a tray to one side.

And now, my spark froze. To have that amount of chest circuitry removed in one go! And so – brutally! It did indeed send cold tendrils over my sensor net. I shuddered. "Is that – necessary?" I asked nervously.

He looked at me sharply. "Why?" he asked. "What else would you have me do? Stick it back in and pretend it was all right, then watch as the mech short circuits when he comes online?"

"Of course not!" I said, annoyed, now, that he thought I was really that stupid. "I would perhaps – remove a little less, though. For the time being. And then I would be talking to the patient, and ascertaining whether he could cope with the removal of such a large volume of his internals. I would at least seek his consent before I continued!"

"And if he said no? But it would save his life?"

"Well then – I guess …."

"Yes?"

"I would proceed! But only if there were no doubt in my mind!"

Hook picked up the circuitry from the tray "Believe me most of this …" he, said, regarding me coldly, "is shot to pieces. There is no doubt that its replacement - with something which, I might add, will be a great deal simpler – will keep him online."

"Now, First aid," he continued, "would you not think it better to attend to this now, rather than ask him questions later which are not going to make any difference and by which time it may be too late?"

He had a point. And, I could barely hide my disappointment. He was testing me. And I was certain I had just failed. I had exposed myself as limited in thinking, and not capable of exploring the broader issues. I had just, right then, assumed the mindset of his critics. I hadn't even considered thinking outside the square.

He was going through the other holes in the mech, pulling out bits here and there, clamping the odd leaking conduit. More circuitry joined the rest on the tray. He smiled, and his lower lip twitched. "I hate unnecessary components," he said dismissively.

Well, that was that! And he had not done wrong - only asserted his domain, and proved my inability to think through an ethical dilemma. The fact that he had done it in such a short space of time and shot me down so completely was, in fact, admirable. And why would I not just say "I'm sorry, this has been a mistake," and walk out of there? There were other surgeons. With whom I need not clash within the very first breems that I met them.

And that is, perhaps, as it should have been. But no, I couldn't do it, could I? And why?

Because he was so damnably smug about it! It was as though he was delighting in having a point proved that here was yet another gawking idiot who couldn't hack the odd tough decision. It was because yes, in this instance, he was right, but there would be other times, I was sure, where he would not be!

Even here – I had only his word that the circuitry removal was necessary. What if it wasn't, and this was some perverse desire to poke fun – as I had also heard he was apt to do.

And his directness only added to his infuriating attractiveness. He was infuriating. Period! And I was damned if he was getting the better of me.

I have to admit that warnings flashed, and my logic circuits insisted that a swift departure would be the easier path. But a fierce and stronger determination raged inside. I had come here for a reason, with a purpose, and I would fulfil that purpose. He would teach me! Later, when I was more knowledgeable, I would decide for myself. And if it happened to differ from his view then I would tell him what I thought!

He had paused. I found myself looking straight into that angular and so very, very striking, good looking face. Things deep within me burned again. And resist it though I tried, it was indisputably the other reason why I could not forgo this now.

But I managed to look straight at him. "I don't have any experience in surgery!" I said. "But I am here to learn. I admire your work, and I promise to give you my full co-operation. All I ask is that if I disagree and there is a basis for that disagreement then you will hear me out and we will discuss it as civilized medics!"

He glared at me, fiercely. And I quailed inside, for then I knew for sure that this was 'it' – as this just was not how an intern was with Hook. No - he was about to throw me out. My career as a surgeon had lasted all of four breems.

Well at least I would go out with the last word!

But Hook shrugged, returning to the patient's innards. I tensed, but did not look away. And then – unbelievably - he laughed.

It was an amazing transformation! He suddenly sparkled with a strangely irresistible mirth. It haunts me still. No doubt because from him, this is a rarity, and one which you never expect.

"Well First Aid, I have to say, I like your spirit," he said. "None of the sycophantic idiots from Iacon who come here would have stood up to me in half such a way. And you are right to question. Indeed, there may be times when this would be too radical. I only hope I can teach you enough that we can use our judgement together." He smiled. "You pass the test!"

And even though it irked me that I had been put on the spot so readily, that I had been made to feel foolish and indignant, that he had set me up to test my character - the sense of relief was enormous.

And I was filled with an even greater admiration – for he was, perhaps, not as cold and callous as they painted, but far more reasoned. And better still, we were different, and we knew this, but already we had agreed to work it out. Was that not what I believed in, always, as a fundamental in life?

He gave me a smile. It was thin, but his optics glinted. "Get yourself a laser scalpel," he said. "Let's see if we can translate psychiatry to surgery."

As I picked up the instrument, my circuits melted. How lucky was I? Of course, differences invariably give rise to conflict. And this little tiff over the table on that first day was bound not to be the last but – oh yes, we would work it all out.

How wrong – oh how very wrong – I was. In all of that.

...

TBC