This was supposed to be posted for Christmas but I spent the holidays without internet and with my family. Neither of which were remotely interesting, besides the fact that I got to write a few fics in a notebook and even started on the next part to this. So, I suppose that good things do come out of boredom, right?

In other news, this chapter comes with some warnings. Just a few. The first part holds what appears to be fade-out-robot-sex? It isn't even the pairing listed, but Dreadwing/Starscream. There's also asshole drones, which is going to turn into an everyday warning for this fic pretty soon. And Knock Out lacks creativity, maybe. Depends on how you look at it. I'm also making up information on this verse's Insecticons as I go along. No hard feelings?

Other than that, enjoy! Not too many chapters left. I would love to continue writing this until the end of time, but if the Autobots don't do something soon, we're all going to die of old age.

.o.o.o.o.

The forest was oddly silent, even the wildlife seemed to be hiding from the massive alien, as the seeker stood in the meeting location. He could feel his spark pulsing wildly in his chest, twisting and turning and flickering with more emotions than he cared to even admit to himself. There was guilt for betraying the Decepticons and his departed brother, because he was now meeting the enemy, and a twinge of nervousness for actually doing this unarmed for the most part. He'd brought a bomb, just in case the Starscream lived up to his new reputation.

But there was something else to that sense of anxiety. He had not seen Starscream in so long. He couldn't help but wonder how much the Vosian royalty had changed, or if he would even remember what had conspired between the two of them in the beginning of the war. If Dreadwing himself would end up falling back into an old song and dance with the other seeker, who prided in the fact that he could have any of the troops once upon a time. There was a tug at his spark with these thoughts; could his betrayal of Megatron run that deep?

As the skies turned orange and red, with hints of others, the sound of a ground bridge brought him out of his thoughts. He half turned, expected to see Autobots or even his own team, but instead there was Starscream. Those wide crimson optics swept over blue and gold plating then focused on the stack of energon cubes sitting next to Dreadwing. There was a smirk that pulled at the slender seeker's lips and he took a step forward, lingering just out of Dreadwing's reach.

"So you did bring it," he mused, helm tilting to one side lazily. "I thought you would have decided against it, probably goes against your beloved honored."

Dreadwing stiffened, "you used to have honor as well, Starscream," he replied. "Now I wish to receive the cure and leave."

"Oh, well, that's too bad." Starscream actually snickered when Dreadwing took a step back, reaching for the weapon that had been left behind. He added, rolling his optics slightly, "calm down. I merely desire assistance moving the cubes. Besides, the cure was left behind, in case you failed to follow through with our little agreement."

Dreadwing had to admit that Starscream's idea was somewhat brilliant. However, he also had a sinking feeling in his spark that it wasn't the reason that he came without the cure. Starscream knew Dreadwing's code of honor would not allow him to go back on his word, so that only left one other reason. One that both made his spark rejoice and curl in disgust. Strange, how much power that seeker still had over him, especially since Dreadwing leaned down and picked up the stack wordlessly.

Pleased by this, Starscream led him through the bridge and into a room that Dreadwing did not recognize. "Just placing them down by the control panel over there," Starscream told him, heading through a doorway but somehow remaining in range to still speak. Not that it was ever really that difficult for the seeker. "Don't touch anything," he called, nearly purring, "I just need to grab – ah-ha! Here it is."

Starscream entered the room again, this time carrying a vial. "I can hardly believe though that you would go through all this trouble for vermin," he added, smirking at Dreadwing, "so tell me, who is it that is truly infected? Who is it that revs your engine so much that you would risk your beloved honor for?"

"It is for an Insecticon, but you are right, I'm not doing it for that beast," Dreadwing muttered, not truly believe that he was saying this and to Starscream no less. "The medic has been behaving strangely. I believe if I can bring him this cure, things will be better... be the way they were."

"Oh, how noble of you, Dreading," Starscream responded, not sounding the slightest bit impressed with the other. "However, I cannot believe you've replaced me with a ground-pounder."

Realization flashed across Dreadwing's face, "Starscream," he murmured, "it's not like that."

"Oh," the younger seeker perked up instantly. "So he is not the one in your sights?"

"No," he said slowly, "my spark belongs to another." He couldn't believe what he was saying.

"Tell me, who does your spark belong to," the silver seeker inquired as he approached, then ran a talon along Dreadwing's cockpit.

"You," he answer automatically, repressing a shiver. It had always been Starscream. Since Vos.

"Good. It will make this so much easier..."

Before he could even question what the seeker meant, Dreadwing was pushed up against the closest wall. Started, he hadn't expected the smaller frame to possess such strength, but should have known; Starscream did not survive this long from just running away. None of that mattered though, as sharp talons skated over his plating and wings. He lifted his helm back and suppressed a moan, and the younger took advantaged of his exposed neck cables.

Sharp, unforgiving metallic teeth sank into the sensitive cables. Dreadwing arched as both pain and pleasure raced through his sensory net, and he placed his large servos on almost feminine hips. He could feel them sway under his touch, plating grinding against plating and another flare of delight raged through his sensors. There was another explosion when delicate but deadly claws slipped under blue armor, tweaking the wires that ran underneath.

"Star-"

"Don't," he snarled and sank his teeth into the cables once again, earning a small growling moan from his lover.

Dreadwing went to speak again, despite all the torment that the younger seeker was putting him through, but it was unlikely he could say a word. Especially when the sleek flier wrapped his legs around the blue warrior's waist, grinding their pelvis regions and rumbling a growl through his chest. It was in that moment that any honor and nobility was thrown out the figurative window, and a more savage reaction came forth. They ripped and tore at one another, dark cries and snarls echoed; just like Dreadwing had always envisioned it.

.o.

Tossing the datapad down, Knock Out rubbed his helm and vented heavily. There was nothing that he could read and the drone had proven to be worthless within less than a joor when he could do nothing more than pick out certain words. None of those words had been anything useful in the slightest, mostly things about the weapon that Knock Out had learned from the data report that he had found first. So, here he was, back at the beginning again.

He dropped his servo at his side once again and turned, abandoning both the datapad and the laboratory in general, and exited the room. He didn't even bother to make sure the door was locked, it wasn't like the drones didn't know how to get past that, as they had done so once before that he knew of. He vented heavily and shook his helm, trying to escape the thought of the agonizing death that the insecticon was to go through. But the lingering question remained: why did he care?

He didn't know and he wasn't sure if he wanted to. All he knew was that he suddenly cared about a patient, other than Breakdown, and he didn't like it. It had been bad enough that he cared for Breakdown, since Decepticons only cared about one thing and that was their selves, but now there was this... this beast! It was cruel, he decided as he began down the hall towards his med-bay, and Primus had one sick sense of humor. Taking away the one being in the universe that Knock Out felt anything for, then trying to replace it with a primitive creature.

"Knock Out," a familiar, all too familiar really, voice called out.

The medic stopped dead and half turned, glancing in the direction of the footsteps that followed. "Dreadwing," he murmured, watching the massive blue form approach. He half expected Dreadwing to come looking for him, especially after what had happened, but when he got a crystal clear view of the mech, there was no hiding his surprise. "What the Pit happened to you?"

The seeker's frame was dented here and there, mostly his torso and shoulders. He limped slightly and his hip joint seemed to be either popped out or the wiring tore. Vicious scratches, from sharp talons, littered his normally polished blue armor and there had been a somewhat awkward crack in his cockpit glass. It appeared that either he had one Pit of a good night or one horrifying one.

"Don't worry about it," he remarked, a warning growl layering over his obvious pain. He ignored the look that the medic shot his way, some hybrid concern and amusement with an ounce of annoyance, and opened his subspace. He pulled out a vial of glowing green liquid and held it out to him, adding, "the cure."

"The cure," Knock Out questioned, surprised. He took the vial and blinked, staring at it then glancing back to Dreadwing. "How did you even..."

"Don't ask," he snapped then his expression twisted with a grimace. "You only have a few joors left to treat it. Don't waste them."

Knock Out gave a startled noise and almost said thank you, but Dreadwing had already disappeared around the corner. He frowned and glanced back down to the cure, studying it for a moment. Dreadwing was no scientist. He could never had created what was necessary, especially without the laboratory that the medic had been in but he hadn't. That only left one option.

Starscream, he realized as he dimmed his optics. Of course, there was no other besides the creator of the weapon that could perform such acts on such short notice. However, he was a traitor and there were orders to capture him if seen. Dreadwing went against that, possibly, for him. Ended up injured to get him a cure that was ever so important, and after everything the medic had done to him. Blaming him for Breakdown, vicious words, and often times incredibly cruel treatment even for Knock Out.

"You only have a few joors left to treat it. Don't waste them."

Clutching the vial like an organic would a cross, the medic vented heavily then turned. He didn't have more than a few hours at most, according to Dreadwing, and he couldn't let that go to waste. He quickly fled his current position and advanced towards the med-bay, where his patient waited ever-so-patiently for him in stasis lock. Well, not that he had much choice.

.o.

Hardshell strolled down the hall to meet with Megatron for an update that he truly didn't care about. Apparently, they had found what was wrong with the little underling but would not give him much more over the communication link. So here he was, making his way to the control center where Megatron and Soundwave waited.

"I don't know about this...!"

The Insecticon stopped and listened, lingering just at the edge of the corner and out of sight. He knew that voice, vaguely. It belonged to that drone that often times had been seen with the crimson medic. A skittish little vehicon that seemed to understand the fact that his kind were far weaker than Hardshell's, and this prompted him to just stay out of their way for the most part.

"Listen, those scrap-eaters won't know anything," another voice growled in annoyance.

"You-you shouldn't call them that," the familiar voice replied. "They're Insecticons."

This caught Hardshell's attention. He tensed up at the thought that drones were mocking them behind their back. Especially when the drones were hardly winning any battles, according to Megatron. They were nothing more than a waste of energon.

"320, quit sucking up to Knock Out," a new voice snapped, "they're just Pit-bound scavengers."

Hardshell growled lowly.

"I'm—listen, we shouldn't have hurt that one. If they find out-"

There. They had admitted that they were the ones to shoot the underling.

"They're not going to find out. If they do, I'll make sure that you pay for it, 320."

"but—"

Hardshell jerked out from his hiding spot, ready to attack but found he could not. There, at the end of the hall was Soundwave. The officer was walking up down the hall and had apparently been the reason that the trio had stopped speaking among themselves. However, even though he knew he could take them out before Soundwave could reach him, Hardshell found it difficult to figure out which ones were having the little chat. All along the hall were clusters of drones, all looking exactly alike and working on the ship's repairs.

He growled lowly and turned his sights to Soundwave, who stopped walking and seemed to be staring at him. They shared a look before the Insecticon approached, no words were needed to know what the officer wanted. Then the pair headed down the hall and towards the control room in utter silence. But Hardshell promised himself, he would remember those voices and if they ever spoke again, he would kill them with his bare servos. Not for his underling, but for the fact that filthy little drones would never be higher on the food chain than he.

.o.

Plunging the needle into the Insecticon's main fuel line located on his throat, the medic injected the cure into his fuel lines. He pulled out the needle and patched the tiny puncture wound with a swift movement. Then, he discarded the tool on a small tray and made his way over to the computer system located in his med-bay.

He pressed a few buttons swiftly and brought up the file, which had located a series of numbers for the patient's designation. This wasn't in the slightest bit rare, as it normally happened with the Vehicons that he worked on or scrapped, but he'd expected to see a name for this mech. Especially since he was pulled from working on the ship to repair it.

He frowned and with a keystroke later, he pulled up the complete file on the patient. The medic that had worked with Megatron before him often kept complete files on his patients, even the drones, out of habit. He was thankful for this as he scanned over the various symbols that lined the screen. His frown only grew at what he read, then had to reread to make sure that he understood it completely.

"Despite being a clone of the Insecticon Kickback, KB-239812 seems to have his processor fixed on Hardshell's group," he read aloud, even chancing a glance at the Insecticon. "So, you're a clone without a true name. We'll have to fix that." He glanced back at the screen and skated his optics over the information, learning that his little pet had often times visited the medic with various wounds.

It was clear to Knock Out in that moment why that was. Hives were never truly fond of outsiders, even within their own race, and since this clone wasn't Hardshell's, the others would often attack it and isolate it. It didn't take a genius to figure this out. No matter how many alternations that the former medic did, probably extremely painful at that, he wouldn't be accepted. And since he had the energy signatures of the other hive, his own probably wouldn't even accept him back.

There was no way he could make that better. He could barely perform repairs, lacking both actual training and experience, and outer repairs were completely different than mental ones. So, he tapped the keyboard in thought and frowned deeply. "Scavenger," he said suddenly, then glanced back at the Insecticon. "No, no. I knew a Scavenger once and he was an utter pain in the aft. You are one as well, but let's give you a chance." He fell back into silent thought, then after a few moments, he smirked.

"I've got it," he announced and leaned over the keypad. He quickly typed in the symbols needed then leaned back, hitting save and watching as both the file he made and the one the former medic had change to his decision. There was a sense of pride in naming this beast and he would never be able to place why, so he did what he did best. He turned sharply and gathered the buffering tool, marching over to the stasis locked insecticon. He turned on the buffer and held it over the damaged torso of his patient.

"Well, we might as well not just stand around and do nothing as the cure does its thing," he added as he brought the tool down, to begin to work on shining and smoothing the armor. He hummed cheerfully, "How about we get you cleaned up, Outbreak?" Yes, how fitting of the Insecticon that managed to become infected with a disease that Starscream created, and give Megatron one Pit of a scare. Besides, Knock Out decided, it had an interesting ring to it.