Starscream flopped down on his berth and sighed deeply. The problem wasn't that he was tired, it was that he wasn't. He had hours and hours of dead time to fill before the night cycle. Figured that the Autobots would choose now to cease their futile attacks!
His gaze fell on a decanter of specially blended high grade sitting on his shelf. The unusually deep blue liquid was nearly opaque, but once in a while a luminous bubble would lazily ascend from its depths. No doubt Breakdown could create an amazing cocktail out of something so potent . . .
No! No, Starscream had vowed that he would never trust Knock Out again and he had to stand firm! (At least until Knock Out came crawling over to apologize.) This was not the time to unbend and visit to the chatty red mech. Starscream wasn't lonely anyway!
Just . . . Knock Out was at least interesting . Amusing. Someone to unwind with.
(There was Megatron, of course, but Starscream's private social interactions with him had always been more physical than verbal. Except when Starscream was making an excuse to avoid jamming his chest against Megatron's—Ahem, ANYWAY, Megatron was out.)
Drastic times called for drastic measures.
"I'll visit my armada," Starscream decided, swinging his legs off the berth. "Perhaps they'll prove decent company for once." He tucked the decanter into his subspace, though he doubted he would be encountering company worthy of it.
His armada consisted of about a dozen Eradicons whom Megatron had ordered painted to match Starscream as a . . . gift of sorts? Starscream wasn't sure how he felt about a bunch of lowly drones wearing his color scheme, but he had to admit there was something satisfying about knowing that he was the catalyst for such a change, be it good or bad.
Unfortunately Megatron was a grounder at sp—AHEM—was a grounder in his core, even though he now had a flight-based alt. As such, he had not selected the Eradicons for their prowess in flight.
And when Starscream had said as much and offered his personal armada some much needed constructive criticism of their frankly amateurish maneuvers, he'd discovered Megatron hadn't chosen them for their glowing personalities, either. The fact that Starscream was walking down to their quarters, of his own volition, truly spoke to his desperation for company.
The command staff on the Nemesis had assigned the Vehicons a block of space and left it up to them how to divvy it; since their numbers were constantly fluctuating (downward) it didn't make sense to get too nitpicky. (Shockwave disagreed, but Shockwave was a boob.) The click of heels against flooring slowed as Starscream approached the Vehicon barracks. He didn't visit them often, he wasn't one for slumming.
He needed a guide.
Glancing down the hall he spotted a Vehicon, a regular purple one, carrying an armful of empty energon cubes to the recycler unit set in the wall.
"You there," Starscream called, striding importantly towards him.
The drone looked up, promptly dropped the cubes, and checked over his shoulder to see if Starscream was addressing someone else. "M-me?" he finally squeaked.
"Yes," Starscream said. "Where—"
"Air Commander Starscream, sir!" The drone threw a salute, but any semblance of professionalism was ruined by the way he bounced on his pedes. "How can I help you, sir? Please, tell me! Your wish is my command!"
"Er—" As much as Starscream enjoyed respect (and certainly deserved more of it) he was taken aback by the Vehicon's feverish, devoted stare. "Wonderful. Now . . . where might I find my armada?"
The word rolled off Starscream's glossa with particular relish, so he was annoyed when the drone cocked his head in puzzlement.
"Your what?"
"My armada! My ARMADA! The elite Eradicons?" Starscream tapped his thin silver arm. "Who have been honored with my colors?"
"Oh, them!" The Vehicon's expression brightened, or at least his visor brightened which probably amounted to the same thing. "Sure, sure, I know where they are. Follow me!"
"Wonderful," Starscream muttered, already second-guessing his decision to fratenize with the lower ranks. But if all the Vehicons were this sycophantic, it would be worth it.
Five minutes later, Starscream was glowering across the table at five silver jets who were fidgeting and avoiding his optics.
Starscream cleared his vocalizer and tried again. "So, do any of you have hobbies? Buffing? Collecting scented wax?"
The Eradicons shook their heads. One of them stared longingly at the door. Starscream's lip began to curl but before he could offer them advice for self-improvement like how to behave in the presence of a superior officer, the door burst open and in came the purple Vehicon, physically dragging a silver Eradicon by the arm.
"Found another one!" the purple one chirped. "Look, Tailwind, it's Commander Starscream!"
"Go to hell, Steve," Tailwind growled as he was wrestled into a chair.
"I'll go find the rest, sir!" Steve said, ignoring Tailwind's ire.
"No, no, that's not necessary . . ." Starscream wished he had remained ignorant of the fact that the silver Eradicons had to be tricked, cajoled, or manhandled into his presence. It was humiliating. "We, er, don't want the room to feel overcrowded."
"Of course not, sir! You're so smart, sir!" Steve clasped his skinny fingers together as he stared raptly at Starscream. Under other circumstances, Starscream might have puffed his armor with pride. But the six Eradicons glaring at Steve put a damper on things.
"Well!" Starscream said at last, when it became clear that this "Steve" wasn't going to read the room and fragging leave. "This calls for a celebration!" He yanked the decanter out of his subspace before anyone could ask what "this" was. He pursed his lips in faux consternation. "Oh dear, but we don't have any glasses."
"Ooo! Ooo! I'll get some, sir!" Steve was practically vibrating with excitement. "I'll be right back with eight glasses—"
"Seven will do," Starscream said. There was no point in sharing his precious high-grade with a Vehicon who already liked him. "Thank you, Steve. So kind."
Steve was the president of the Starscream Fan Club, and as such he was allowed to press his audial to the door and eavesdrop, while the other twenty members awaited his reports with bated breath. At first Starscream and the silver Eradicons had done little more than exchange brief, awkward remarks, but they had loosened up as they continued drinking and had become more personable and boisterous as the evening continued, exchanging half-heard stories and anecdotes to fits of laughter.
"They're having a great time," Steve reported. "And to think I made that happen."
"Hey, I carried some of the glasses," Rickets said.
"Me too," said Wrench.
"Shhh!" Steve held a finger up to his faceplate. "He's saying something!"
The other Vehicons leaned closer. "What?" Contrail asked breathlessly.
"He's telling a story about sparks. His spark? Something about—not where you'd expect? Everyone's laughing, I can't hear exactly what he's—" Steve fell silent, his optic band narrowed in concentration. When he straightened and turned away from the door, it was glowing bright with admiration. "Air Commander Starscream," he said, "is a genius."
Starscream's meeting with the Eradicons had been surprisingly tolerable, even if he was nursing a hangover the next day. Still, he was a little peeved that he had wasted rare, difficult to distill high-grade on them. It wasn't meant to be swilled straight! Breakdown could have made mixed it into something truly remarkable. And as enjoyable as it was hearing about the Vehicons' trials and tribulations, they lacked the wit of Knock Out.
Perhaps it was time to unbend. No doubt Knock Out was sufficiently contrite now that he'd been deprived of Starscream's company for almost a week.
Starscream selected a new decanter of high-grade (magenta this time, a blend with a bit of a kick) and headed down to the med bay. To his surprise, the doors were closed and the red light set above it was on, an indication that Knock Out was currently in a surgery. Starscream huffed in annoyance as he eyed the closed door.
"Hmph. How inconsiderate."
With a put-upon sigh, he slipped the decanter in his sub-space and headed for the bridge. There he suffered a long and arduous work-day, during which Soundwave asked him to double-check the ship's maintenance schedule. When he was finally free of his torment, he headed back to the med-bay.
The doors were still closed and the light was still on.
"Really?" Starscream put his hands on his hips. "Still? The lazy thing is probably canoodling with Breakdown—"
"With me? What's 'noodling'?"
Looking to the side, Starscream discovered Breakdown, who was carrying a (plain) cube of energon and looking confused.
"Ah, Breakdown. There you are." Starscream at once pasted on a smile. "Not that I don't admire your partner's dedication to his profession, but surely he could use a break? I brought something a bit more high class than the energon you're holding, and—" He broke off as Breakdown cast his eyes towards the floor, guilt written all over his big orange face. "What's wrong?"
Breakdown heaved a sigh so deep it made his chassis vibrate. "One of my friends asked for something kinda big and I should've said no but it meant a lot to him, so I asked Knock Out and he finally said yes, but it turns out it was more than one friend and now he's mad at me and he's been working so long and he won't stop, he just glares at me, so all I can do is try to keep him fueled, and—"
"What in Primus' name are you babbling about?" It was time to get to the bottom of this. Optics narrowing, Starscream turned towards the med-bay door and typed in his override code.
He couldn't have said what he expected. But it certainly hadn't been about a dozen Vehicons overflowing from the "waiting room" set in the corner. With only two chairs available, most were sitting on the floor or the end table, chatting or idly scrolling through datapads.
Of more immediate note, eight Vehicons were lying in recovery berths in the central part of the room. They too were chatting, unperturbed, despite the fact that they were lying face-down in the medical bay.
What's going on? There haven't been any Autobot attacks, Starscream thought in confusion.
At the back of the med bay was the surgery theater, separated from the rest of the room by a white curtain through which he could make out a familiar shadow moving around a table of sorts.
"Starscream, no," Breakdown said in a frantic whisper. "He's gonna be mad!"
"Breakdown, please," Starscream said firmly, holding up a servo. "I am handling this."
As soon as he spoke, he drew the Vehicons' attention.
"It's Commander Starscream!" gasped a Vehicon on a berth, who sounded suspiciously like Steve.
As one, the Vehicons broke into applause. What would normally be cause for preening and strutting only filled Starscream with trepidation as he moved through their midst. The Vehicons in bed had bandages, he noted distractedly, across their . . . lower halves.
"Commander Starscream, you changed my life!"
"No one but you could have come up with a strategy like this, Commander Starscream!"
"Thank you, Commander Starscream! Thank you!"
"Wonderful, yes, as you were." Starscream gnawed on his lip, his raised hand hesitating before twitching the curtain back in one swift motion.
Knock Out raised his head, staring at Starscream with tired, pixelating optical rings. His beautiful paint was marred with flecks of long-congealed energon and his delicate hands were wrist deep in a Vehicon's internals. He'd gone in through the back to reach the chest cavity, but seemed to have lost the will to continue now that Starscream was there. Possibly because the next part of the surgery involved the curved plating further down the drone's body, already prised open in preparation of, err . . .
"Knock Out." Starscream cleared his throat as the medic expressionlessly held his gaze. "I didn't mean for—"
Knock Out's optics narrowed. "Get out."
"But it was a simple misunderstan—"
"Get OUT!" Knock Out howled, ripping the spark chamber out of the Vehicon and lobbing it so hard that it made Starscream's head rock back upon impact.
"You really must speak to your partner," Starscream said to Breakdown as he scurried past him into the hall. "Horrible manners."
But his tone was more shaken than scolding. The last glimpse he caught, before the med bay doors closed, was of Knock Out wearily picking the spark chamber off the floor and placing it, with an expression of despair, into the Vehicon's aft.