Author's Notes: Wow, 7 reviews for the first chapter? Thank you so much! After this chapter so many of you tried to guess where this story is going. Sadly, no one guessed correctly. I think once you read this chapter however the plot will start to make sense. I don't have an ending in mind for this fic yet, but the scenario was too good of an opportunity to pass up. Also, I know there are other Decepticon medics in other continuities, but I'm going to keep things strictly G1 cartoon this time. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter of "Hook's Apprentice" and please favorite, follow, and review :)


Chapter 2

Clockwork

Hook measured the dosage carefully for Scavenger's medicine. The medbay was quiet for once since the other four Constructicons were off building a new temporary fortress for Megatron to use for his latest doomsday weapon, which they would also have to build. Hook sometimes wondered what Megatron did before he and his gestalt brothers arrived on earth. They probably had to rely on Soundwave and his cassette brats to build things, and pit knows what those buildings must've looked like!

It had been four days since the attack on the Autobots and six days since Scavenger contracted the rust infection in his tank. He was finally starting to get well, but Hook kept him in the medbay just to ensure Scavenger would take his medicine as well as keep away from the filth inhabiting his room.

"Hook! I lost the TV remote in the crack of my berth handles again!" Scavenger shouted from behind the curtain.

"For the hundredth time, the handles pull out," Hook replied before pulling back the curtain to see how Scavenger was doing.

Scavenger was still lying on his chassis on the berth. With his shovel tail up in a sling to prevent pressure on his tank and right arm digging in between the crack of his medberth in search of the remote, he looked like quite a sight. Kind of like a scorpion being held up by its tail with a set of tweezers.

"Ready to take your medicine, Rusty?" Hook teased.

"Shove it in my backhoe," Scavenger groused as he barely wiggled in an attempt to situate his helm, "Why am I still taking the slagging medicine? It tastes like rusted barf."

"So did the energon that put you in here, but you didn't complain about that," Hook retorted with an amused smirk.

Scavenger groaned as Hook came closer to help him with the medicine. Scavenger obediently tilted his helm so Hook could tip the cup of liquid tank disinfectant to his mouth components. He swallowed and grimaced at the taste, and Hook smiled at how immature his combiner brother was acting. Even after all these vorns Scavenger could still be such a sparkling. It was a comfort to Hook to know some things never changed.

"When I get well, I better not see any of my stuff gone," Scavenger warned Hook, though his warning wasn't very threatening with his tail hanging over his helm like a guillotine.

"Don't worry, you won't," Hook replied in resignation, "It's not like I've had time to throw away any of your junk anyway. This is the first day of the earth week where no one had intruded in my medbay with an injury. It took forever to fix those lugnuts after the Autobot battle, and then Dirge got his helm stuck in the wall after a fight with Brawl. Why was I even called for that? Dirge doesn't need a medic, he needs a psychiatrist and a lawyer."

Before Scavenger could reply to his brother's latest tirade there was a swoosh indicating the doors opened, and Hook sighed knowing it was going to be someone else that needed his expertise. Typical.

Hook entered the room to see three of the Stunticons in the medbay. Motormaster and Wildrider were loudly arguing about something while Breakdown cowered in the corner trying to avoid the inevitable punches that would follow their screaming match. It would've been sad if they were anybody else, but from Megatron's latest failed combiner experiment it was expected.

"What do you clowns want?" Hook asked impatiently as he put a hand on his hip and tapped his pede.

"My chronometer's busted!" Motormaster bellowed, "Wildrider rammed into me in his alt mode and my helm banged into the wall! Now I can't tell what time it is!"

"Who cares? You don't have anywhere to go," Wildrider sneered, "Besides, you missed the point. Because you were in my way Drag Strip won our race, and now I'll never hear the end of it!"

"You'll never hear again if you don't shut up and get outta my face, slag pile!" Motormaster snapped at Wildrider, "Now get out! You'll just make whatever this is worse."

"But you're letting Breakdown stay!" Wildrider argued.

"Breakdown didn't try to kill me a few minutes ago!" Motormaster boomed, "I said get out now!"

"You actually said now get out," Wildrider corrected him.

"Rarargh!" Motormaster screamed incoherently as his servos formed claws in frustration.

Wildrider got the message (finally) and ran from the medbay. Hook could do nothing but watch the idiotic display. Once Wildrider was gone, Hook felt he could finally do something about Motormaster's blasted chronometer. He didn't want to fix it since it wasn't vital, but since Megatron built the Stunticons he insisted they be given the best care possible. Some would call it caring, but Hook just called it vanity.

"Alright Motormaster, sit on the berth and I'll X-Ray your helm," Hook instructed.

"X-Ray? You mean like that Godzilla monster on TV?" Breakdown asked nervously, "Won't that just make Motormaster bigger and scarier?"

"Hey, I like the sound of that," Motormaster smiled approvingly.

Hook sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose cone in exasperation.

"No, it won't," Hook explained as if he were speaking to sparklings, "That wasn't an X-Ray, that was radiation, and radiation doesn't actually have that effect on the organic body anyway. Also, and I can't stress this enough, you're not organics!"

"Yeesh, what crawled up your tailpipe and died?" Motormaster huffed, "Will this X-rated thing fix my fragging head clock or not?"

"No, the X-Ray is for examining your helm," Hook growled, beginning to lose patience with his patient, "Now stop talking so I can get a clear picture!"

Hook then activated the X-Ray and the half circle apparatus spun around Motormaster's helm with a loud whirring noise. Motormaster didn't move, but Breakdown carefully approached the device to stare at it. If Breakdown touched that thing and broke it Hook swore in his mind he would sever the Stunticon's vocalizer and never repair it again. Then no one would have to hear Breakdown complain ever again. After all, who else would be around to fix him?

The machine pinged a moment later to indicate it was finished, and Hook displayed the X-Ray on his computer. He examined the damaged area carefully on the screen, but then felt someone venting down his neck cables. He turned his helm slightly to see who was invading his personal space, only to see Breakdown staring at the screen nervously.

"What are you doing?" Hook asked.

"Aaahh!" Breakdown screamed and clutched his chassis at being startled by Hook, "I-I-I-I'm sorry, sir. I just...you can take p-pictures of our insides w-whenever you want?"

"Oh, brother," Hook muttered to himself, but then in a normal tone of voice said, "Not whenever I want. The patient has to be in the room with me and has to hold still so I can scan him. Now, get out of my way so I can figure out how to most efficiently repair your slagging gestalt leader."

"How does it work?" Breakdown asked.

"How does what work?" Hook replied impatiently.

"The X-Ray machine," Breakdown clarified, "Is it complicated?"

"Yes," Hook replied flatly, in no mood to deal with the younger mech's questions.

"Will the surgery be complicated?" Breakdown inquired.

"With you crowding me? Yes," Hook snapped, tired of trying to be subtle with the Stunticon.

"I just ask because Motormaster is in a hurry, and if he gets upset I'm the closest available target," Breakdown explained sheepishly, "I get tired of getting beat up is all. If I could leave the room though, that would be great."

"Why haven't you left already?" Hook asked rudely.

"Because if Motormaster goes in attack mode I can't let him attack you," Breakdown explained, "You're our only medic. We need you."

"Well, I..." Hook didn't know quite what to say to that. He had been rude and churlish with the young 'Con, but as it turned out Breakdown was there for his protection. He felt like a heel, but he didn't know exactly what to say, so he said, "...Well, you're the first one to acknowledge my contributions in quite some time. It's amazing how quickly most mechs forget how I saved their lives once they've recovered."

"Have you ever killed anyone that made you mad?" Breakdown asked curiously, "I mean, they're pretty much helpless in your medbay, completely in your power. I know I wouldn't wanna be in here after making you mad."

"Hey Doc! My chronometer!?" Motormaster shouted petulantly from his berth.

Breakdown went over to talk to Motormaster while Hook read the X-Ray and determined the best point of entry into Motormaster's thick skull. Breakdown's words about not wanting to make Hook angry made the Constructicon realize something. He had only repaired Breakdown twice since the newer 'Con came online, and both times he was passed out cold. After being repaired Breakdown would leave without saying a word to anyone, as if he were being pursued by someone in the medbay. He never volunteered himself to be repaired, even though he was regularly beaten by his brothers.

Hook went over to Motormaster and sedated him. He began the simple task of fixing the broken chronometer, aware the entire time that Breakdown was watching his every move. The paranoid Stunticon was likely trying to ensure his brother wouldn't be subjected to anything devious or have a spy camera installed in his helm or something. Hook had so many patients to tend to that he never realized Breakdown was receiving an utter lack of medical care due to his own paranoid delusions about being watched or everyone being against him. That could become a liability down the road, which would only make Menasor's performance worse than it already was.

"Hey, Doc?" Breakdown addressed Hook while the Constructicon was reconnecting wires in Motormaster's helm, "Is that motherboard supposed to be flashing?"

"No, and it will stop once I reattach these wires and use this stylus to reset the chronometer's time," Hook replied as he continued to work.

"That tiny black hole is the reset, right?" Breakdown asked as he leaned in to watch.

"Very astute, Breakdown," Hook commented sincerely.

"Really?" Breakdown asked, surprised anyone would compliment him on something, "So wait, does that mean those tiny green and red buttons are the joor and breem buttons?"

"Yes, actually," Hook replied; mildly impressed, "Can you locate the vorn button?"

"Um...The blue one?" Breakdown asked uncertainly.

"Correct," Hook replied, and Breakdown beamed, "So now you know how the chronometer works. Can you locate the processor in Motormaster's helm?"

"Wait, you mean he has one?" Breakdown joked, and Hook laughed heartily, "Seriously though, that entire area you're working around is the processor."

"That's correct," Hook replied, "I'm surprised you figured that out."

"I bought a data pad from Swindle that discusses the processor and the different ways it can malfunction," Breakdown explained, "I, um, I wanted to, um..."

"Wanted to what?" Hook asked curiously as he set Motormaster's helm for every time zone on earth at once.

"Well sir, everyone says my brothers and I are crazy," Breakdown explained, "I thought, I dunno, that if I knew how our processors worked I could fix us. Turns out though that the data pad wasn't even that helpful. Apparently none of our malfunctions even exist on Cybertron. On Cybertron they talk about untreated damage, but not about creation defects. I especially wish I could help Wildrider and Dead End. Wildrider doesn't even live in reality half the time, and I'm pretty sure Dead End might kill himself someday just to see what it feels like. They scare me. Everything scares me, but I feel like if I could control some of the problems in my life, on this ship, that maybe I would be okay."

Hook continued to work, but he listened intently. An idea was forming in his processor as Breakdown bemoaned his problems, but Hook feared this was an idea that could backfire. Breakdown wasn't exactly a stable mech by anyone's definition, but he also posed the least danger of his brothers to Hook's safety. He was also a fast learner with an enthusiasm for safety and the internal workings of the processor. Breakdown was young and impressionable, with no reliable role models in his life. He could be perfect for Hook's needs.

"I know how it feels to not have control over your life," Hook told Breakdown, "We Constructicons have seen a lot of the darker sides of Cybertronian existence. One thing we do to keep ourselves occupied and sane is to build. For myself however, building inanimate objects is not enough. I needed a job that I felt I could truly master."

"What job was that?" Breakdown asked obliviously, and then noticed that flat stare Hook was giving him through his red visor, "Ah! Don't look at me like that! I don't know what I said but I'm sorry! Don't kill me!"

"Breakdown, control yourself!" Hook snapped, and Breakdown whimpered, "What I meant was that I became a medic to have a job that required precision and speed. In this medbay I am the master, and everyone from the lowliest drone to Megatron himself must listen to me. The life of a medic is a difficult one, but it is also one of the safest jobs on the ship. My life takes priority because I not only help to form Devastator, but I also am the only one capable of pulling the gravely wounded from the brink of death."

"Wow, that sounds amazing," Breakdown replied wistfully.

"Do you want that kind of power, Breakdown?" Hook asked intently.

Breakdown gasped, caught off guard by Hook's suddenly question.

"Um, uh, yeah. Sure. I guess so," Breakdown stammered, "But I'm not a medic."

"Not yet," Hook replied conspiratorially, "But you could be the next best thing. My apprentice."

"What's a printis?" Breakdown asked in confusion.

"An apprentice is someone who trains under a skilled professional to perform jobs for them, all in the hopes of someday doing the same job as their boss," Hook explained, "As my apprentice you would learn the ways of a medic from me, and in exchange you would assist me around the medbay, gaining valuable life experience and knowledge along the way."

"You want me to work for you?" Breakdown asked incredulously, "But we're from different combiners. We never hang out together. Besides, I'm stupid. Why would you want a stupid printis when you could have a Constructicon work for you?"

"We won't do it!" Scavenger shouted from behind his curtained-off room, "Medic work is boring!"

"You stare at rocks and ancient garbage all day!" Hook shouted back at his obstinate brother, "Honestly Breakdown, that's why I don't work with them. They don't understand the finesse and talent required to be a medic. If I taught one of my combiner kin, they wouldn't appreciate it or absorb it properly. I see something in you. You have a curiosity and willingness to learn that is sadly lacking in the modern Decepticon. So, what do you say? Do you want to learn the skills of a medic?"

Breakdown couldn't respond at first. He just stared at Hook, wondering if this was some sort of cruel joke that Motormaster had put Hook up to. Good things didn't happen to Breakdown, and other mechs didn't want to work with Breakdown. He had been yelled at so many times for screwing up a mission, freezing at a critical moment, or just mispronouncing a word. Then again, if Hook was serious it could change everything. Breakdown could be safe, he could contribute to the Decepticon cause, and maybe even someday help his brothers.

Smiling, Breakdown held out his servo for the human custom of shaking hands on a deal, and said "I'll do it."