He onlined his optics, feeling the weight of exhaustion pin him to the medical berth. Off to the side, Scope could hear Ratchet argue with another medic. It was something about him—something about his defect. They wanted to fix him, but the possibility of complications was too high.

While they were distracted, Scope forced himself into a seated position and began to remove the wires attached to his chest. Unfortunately, one of the machines started to scream. Ratchet returned to his patient and turned off the instrument. "What do you think you're doing!?" He got the younger mech to lie back before reattaching the machines. "You're not going anywhere until I've given you a clean bill of health."

"What are you going to do, Ratchet?"

"What are you talking about?"

"My defect…"

The medic's expression softened. "We'll take care of you, kid… Don't worry."

"What will happen?"

"Well, I'm going to try and replace your ventilation system."

Scope shifted uncomfortably. "Will it hurt?"

"You won't feel a thing."

"What are the chances of me surviving the operation?"

Ratchet sighed. "60 percent."

"It's still pretty high," the younger mech said with a smile.

"Not high enough, for my liking."

He watched as the medic stepped away from the berth, nearly whimpering; he didn't want to be alone. "Ratchet, where is my mother?"

The red and white mech glanced over his shoulder. "I'll call her in," he said before proceeding into another room.

Moonracer knew what happened, but the old CMO wouldn't allow her anywhere near Scope until he was stable. As soon as she got the call, the femme was in the medbay and at her son's side. "I don't want it," he said. Moonracer simply nuzzled his helm, stroking his larger hand. "It needs to happen… It needs to happen or you'll collapse one day, and those pills won't be able to help."

"Will you stay here, while they do it?"

"Of course…"

"Does Perceptor know?"

Moonracer averted her gaze. "No… He doesn't know. He isn't going to know."

"The operation will happen tomorrow. I want to see him tonight."

The sharpshooter nodded. "Alright… If that's what you want," she said. "He isn't going to be happy." Scope sat up and glared at his mother. "He's never happy! Primus, the guy doesn't even—why do I bother with him?!" Moonracer looked between him and the machines now beeping in alarm. "Scope, calm down."

"No, fuck Perceptor. He can go to Hell, that sorry son-of-a-bitch!"

"Scope!"

Ratchet rushed over to the berth and forced the mech onto his back. "That's enough, kid. Your body can't take that kind of stress, right now." Scope offlined his optics and willed himself to push his anger aside. Moonracer stroked his cheek and then the scars along his neck. "Perceptor really has an influence on him," said the medic. "He has a lot of rage built up."

"Should I call him, now?"

"I think so… He's sedated."

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

Perceptor had been sitting next to the berth, for hours, his head propped up as he watched the youth sleep, sporting a bored expression; but Perceptor wasn't bored, at all. In fact, the sniper was worried.

"I heard the commotion earlier." Drift made his way towards the berth. "He's definitely mad at you," he added. Perceptor glanced to the swordsman: "Thank you, for stating the obvious." He moved one of the cords away from Scope's face as if admiring his features. "You could always make it up to him," Drift offered.

"How?"

"Heh, you're the scientist."

Perceptor scoffed. "I wasn't cut out for this."

Drift stepped aside as the mech stood to leave the medbay. There was so much tension in Autobot HQ—no wonder Scope kept leaving. He returned his attention to the sedated BMW. They would attempt to fix his defect, something he knew the guy didn't want; and the outcome wouldn't be pretty.