Workbench
9
Waking from surgery. White walls and the beeping of standard monitoring devices.
All is well, then. Valve and left shoulder ooze with disinfectant and welding additives. Internal feedback and frame memory hint at an experienced but slightly superficial surgeon. Sensors blocked with a timed coding. Two more breems, and all blocks would dissolve. Signature in medical code unfamiliar.
New Master coming. New Master looks troubled, but determined. Why? Surgery went well! There were few things he was sure about, but translating a frame feedback was so simple.
New Master asking how he feels. Hand-sign of 'perfect'.
New Master holding a simplified flowchart of the positive feedback loop. Flowchart clearly done by same mech as surgery. Best guess: Stranger Doctor.
Synchronizing chrono with New Master. Master's Brother enters, holds servo. Nice mech.
New Master kind, but not nice. New Master keeps distance. New Master asks if brother can substitute for interfacing.
Master's Brother gentle. Touch feels good. New Master prefers not to touch.
No correct answer.
10
Shine was sitting quietly as his co-molded tried to explain the situation to their new companion. In his experience, interfacing right after a traumatic surgery was a bad idea. Normally, the point would be to prove to the mech that not all valve-interfaces hurt. In fact, several victims had asked him to be their first partner after Decepticon (or rarely, Autobot) imprisonment, exactly because they knew he would restore their trust in their own pleasure-organs. But that always happened orns, sometimes weeks after the last repairs, to give their frames time to properly heal.
Now, however, time was a luxury they could not afford. He only hoped the positive feedback would override all the scraping of welds, itches of replaced sensor wires, and discomfort of still-echoing heat detections.
Their mech, the new-found medic, looked much better in his original colors. Back on Arduria, they didn't even take time to properly clean him up… Shine felt a little bad for this, too.
But the white and red medic looked happy. He was in good hands and he knew it. Where might he have been during the war? Somewhere with the Autobots, that was blatantly obvious. But Autobots weren't typical loners. So where were the others? Did this mech have any surviving squad-mates at all? Who could tell without identifying him, in the first place?
The wait was over. The mech's sensor blocks dissolved and deleted themselves. His co-molded asked again how the unidentified medic felt.
Well, that was a telltale look at Leader's crotch. Shine hid his grimace, although his emotions were certainly clear to Leader through their bond.
Flatline had asked them to alert him in case of a medical emergency, then had locked himself away with raw materials for a blue visor. The way he had offered to select a faceplate as well had hinted that he might have already identified his colleague, but kept the finders in the dark. If so, he must have a reason.
Shine only hoped Flatline was already trying to locate the poor mech's surviving friends, if he had any.
"So, medic. Do you remember anything before the Autobots were driven from Cybertron?" Leader carefully asked.
The mostly white mech carefully touched his owner's servo with a finger. He might have been staying out of the loop as long as he could. Perhaps because he didn't want anyone to interface with him, or perhaps because he didn't want to rush Leader down. Or maybe he was trying to stay in control of his own frame, now that he was free of his abuser. If so, Shine knew such resistance was futile.
The medic pointed at random points, then looked back at his owner, curious if he understood the reply.
"Here and there?"
Nod.
"Do you remember your faction?"
The medic pointed at the left side of his bright red chestplate, from where paint had been scraped off, probably vorns ago. Then he pointed at the white armor of his left shin. An entire panel was missing here.
"Do you remember the mechs you served with?"
The reply was 'small'. The mech pointed at his own white arm and a red elbow joint, then at his own head.
Shine noticed he was clearly lubricating at this point. Leader didn't yet move.
"Do you remember if you had an active slave coding before the 'Cons captured you?"
Again, the reply was pointing at panels and head. And an unmistakable moan as his valve cover opened, soaking the medical berth with his lube.
"One last question. Do you remember your own voice, your own talking?"
The mech froze, then slowly hanged his head. His valve, still open, stopped its inviting small movements. He released the silver servo his fingers had been holding, and slowly pulled away to the farther side of the berth.
Leader reached out for him, and pulled him closer. The shining grey spike cover was retracted, and the mech, now driven by his own desire, took one step closer to the berth. His hands grabbed a bright-red thigh, and soon he pulled an unresisting medic onto himself.
"Come, I will make it good for you. This is a positive feedback loop, remember. Let me unlock your memories…"
Shine watched with growing worry as the medic's body language turned from enthusiastic to controlled, then from the expression of sadness (grief?) to plain surrender.
"I want you to remember who you are…" Leader whispered to his red and white property, who then, suddenly, seemed to have found his voice.
"NOOOOOO!"