Title comes from "the body keeps the score." We know how I am with one-shots... Anyway. Slightly sadder story here.

Starscream had never thought of himself as a traitor, certainly not to the Decepticon cause. He preferred the term "pragmatist." He had followed Megatron willingly, and loyally, right up to the point that Megatron had lost his way and, with it, the lives of countless soldiers. Each battle plan was less and less meticulous; each strategy, increasingly erratic. There was only so much the Seeker could do to prevent Megatron's sloppiness from undermining their cause before it became necessary to overthrow him. The old tyrant's time of usefulness had long since passed. And if his faction were to win this war, Starscream would have to be the one to lead them to victory.

It was then that Starscream decided to go on a mission of a distinctly personal nature. A mission to learn the inner workings of Teletraan One and the secrets of Autobot intelligence. If he mastered it, that would surely turn the tides in favor of the Decepticon cause and legitimize his efforts to build alliances in his own parallel Decepticon command, safe beneath "Lord" Megatron's nose.

With that singular goal in mind, the Decepticon second-in-command had set out to do what he did best: scheme his way into the good graces of the right mechs at the right times. In this case, that happened to be the graces of Optimus Prime. A pushover and a fool. But a powerful one that could not be underestimated. Starscream had to be sure the Autobot leader suspected absolutely nothing.

In that spirit, he had gone to Megatron first. After all, one must always keep one's friend close, and one's enemies closer. And Megatron was the true enemy of the Decepticons, even if Starscream seemed to be the only one to see it.

The Seeker had to make his defection look good, so he had secured Megatron's buy-in and blessing. It was a short-term trade-off for a long-term gain. A public confrontation and an (admittedly) painful blast from Megatron's ion cannon had made Starscream's credibility as a traitor impeccable. He had "fled" to the Autobot base, playing up his wounds, throwing himself on the Autobot's mercy as he begged for refuge. The Autobots bought his act, hook, line, and sinker. Not that he was surprised.

They took him to the med-bay first, repairing the superficial wounds inflicted by Megatron's cannon, and then they sent him to the cell block. Optimus interviewed him. As did several others; Hound; Wheeljack, Perceptor, Ironhide…It was easy enough to lie to all of them. He simply had to vent his true and righteous rage at Megatron's incompetence, deflecting their questions with grandiose emotions. All was going according to plan, the Seeker was in control of the situation. Or so he thought. And then came Skyfire. Starscream had not spoken to the mech since the larger mech's defection to the Autobots and the Decepticon could not help but feel a twinge of personal betrayal that gnawed at him. The Seeker gave his rote answers, but nonetheless, he felt the shiver in his voice, the hesitation that he hadn't felt with the others.

It was easy to lie to your enemies. It was harder to lie to a traitor. Still. Somehow, Starscream managed it.

The Autobots left him in the cell for days. Bringing him energon rations. Interrogating him for the most useless intelligence that the Seeker could pretend was important. It was, in some ways, a rather nice little vacation. The Autobots kept him in lock up, his wings and wrists cuffed at all times. But even so, it was preferable to Megatron's unpredictable explosions of anger. Starscream felt more strongly than ever that it was time to resign his post as the Decepticon's whipping boy. All he had to do was watch and observe, eventually, the Autobots would trust him, eventually, they would slip up, and when they did, he would download Teletraan One's secret and make a break for the skies. There, he would be safe. Only Skyfire would be fast enough to catch him, and truth be told, Starscream would welcome the chance for a one-on-one rematch to take vengeance for the shuttle's betrayals.

Yes, indeed, his plan had been coming along quite nicely. All it needed was a little time.

Days came and went. Rations were brought but fewer questions were asked. Starscream was pleased to see that the Autobots were beginning to lower their guard. Soon, he was given supervised freedom to leave the cell for short walks–escorted and cuffed, of course. During these walks, he mapped out the base, counting the steps between the cell and the command center, and identifying escape routes. All the while, Starscream played the perfect victim. Only Skyfire remained wary of him, shooting him indecipherable glances behind guarded optics. Whatever those glances contained, Starscream found them uncomfortable and caught himself averting his gaze to avoid that of his former friend.

Days turned to weeks. Weeks turned into months. The time was drawing close for Starscream to make his escape. He had learned all that he had needed to learn and had managed to plant a bug in Teletraan One's console that had downloaded all of its knowledge for Decepticon command. Starscream was still cuffed. Still supervised. But the Autobots had given him free run of the base throughout the day, letting him join them in their mess halls, and study with them in their laboratory. The cells and cuffs were hardly a problem, with Teletraan One's information, he could reprogram them himself to escape. The only real barrier was the constant guard and supervision of the Autobots themselves. He just needed a bit more foolhardy trust to be able to break free, retrieve the spyware with Teletraan's copied data, and effectuate a clean exit.

Soon enough, that trust came in the form of an unexpected encounter. Late one night, the Seeker had been relaxing in his cell, making the best of the final few days of his unconventional holiday when a large shadow entered the doorway.

"Skyfire…" The Seeker greeted with false cheerfulness. "...to what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from so old and dear a friend?"

Skyfire ignored his greeting. He paused upon entering, looking down on the smaller flyer with an inscrutable expression, his emotions hidden behind a mask. The shuttle's gaze seemed to rest on the cuffs wrapped tightly around Starscream's wings; cuffs that had not left since they had been put on months prior.

"Your wings must hurt." Skyfire said simply, staring down at him.

Starscream allowed himself a moment of unguarded confusion. They did, in fact, hurt, but what difference would that make to Skyfire?

"I suppose they've seen better days, but they're still faster than yours." Starscream retorted with a sudden defensive sarcasm.

Skyfire merely rolled his optics with a sigh, before turning as if to leave.

"Come with me, Starscream." He commanded, gesturing toward the med-bay. "I am taking you to Wheeljack, we're getting those cuffs taken off of you."

A sense of pride swelled inside Starscream's spark, puffing out his chest as he graciously accepted the offer. This was his chance! His intelligence on the Autobot's most powerful weapon was complete and the moment of escape was at servo. None of the other Autobots were around, all of them were safely in recharge. Skyfire was to be his only guard and neither Skyfire nor Wheeljack were savvy enough to overpower him. Obediently, Starscream followed the giant Autobot to the med-bay, where it seemed Wheeljack was already waiting with tools in servo.

Starscream had to admit, having the cuffs removed flooded his circuits with relief. His wings twitched and fluttered, stretching themselves as Wheeljack unclipped the last of the magnetic clamps. Skyfire looked upon the scene before him with an expression that Starscream just knew contained a hidden fondness. It seemed the Seeker had managed to charm the traitor after all.

Starscream was already plotting how he would take out the two Autobots. He was debating whether to shoot Skyfire or Wheeljack first, but, before he could make an attempt to exercise his newfound freedom, Starscream's thoughts were interrupted by a loud gasp from behind his back.

In an instant, Starscream spun his head around, his gaze meeting that of Wheeljack's widened optics, the mechanic's expression twisted in shock.

"Your wings…what…who…who did this, Starscream?"

Starscream stared back at him in confusion, a puzzled expression passing over his visage. His wings felt like they always did, what in the name of Primus were they talking about?

"Skyfire, come here…" Wheeljack called. As Skyfire approached, the shuttle's sudden shift toward concern tugged painfully on something at the bottom of Starscream's spark. Even so, the Seeker did not ponder it too closely, he was too busy puzzling over the strange behavior of the two blasted Autobots.

Wheeljack's voice came from behind him again, a hushed question to Skyfire in reference to something the Seeker could not see: "The cuffs wouldn't do that to his wings, would they?"

"What on earth are you both gawking at?!" Starscream demanded as Skyfire made a strangled sound behind him. "Isn't anyone going to tell me anything?!"

"These marks on your wings…" Skyfire said lowly. "...this didn't happen in battle, did it? This is pure savagery." Any flyer knew just how painful damage to the wings could be.

It was then that comprehension dawned on the Decepticon. Megatron knew what to do to inflict maximum pain with minimal effort, and, during the course of their many "disagreements," Megatron had often taken point-blank shots at Starscream's back, seized the Seeker by the wings, and bashed him into walls. Of course, Starscream had never seen them himself, but now that he thought about it, even if it was purely cosmetic, he supposed those beatings would leave traces, now wouldn't they?

This should have been an ideal moment to play on the foolish Autobots and their sympathy, or to open fire on them when they were both distracted. But somehow Starscream forgot to seize the opportunity.

"What of it? I'm a warrior. Warriors have scars." Starscream retorted hoarsely.

A moment later, he stiffened, feeling a large thumb and a forefinger glide over the welts on his wing struts.

"Does this hurt?" Skyfire's voice asked. Starscream heard the words but he did not understand them. Instead, his mind went blank, tremors of sensation shooting through the circuits in his back. They were wings, of course, they bloody hurt! They were delicate and sensitive and so painfully breakable, (and, by the Pit, stop touching them!)

"Starscream?"

He did not want to answer. Did not want his former friend to know the humiliating truth. And so, instead of answering, the Seeker stared at the wall in front of him. It was a pale gray color, its edges lined in grays and blues. Upon the floor were several unidentifiable panels. They looked like the lines of cities, how they looked whenever he flew over them. It really was a very delicate color of grey…

After a moment, Wheeljack cleared his throat awkwardly, "It doesn't really matter how it happened," it was obvious that Wheeljack had more tact than Skyfire, "…why don't I just see if I can repair some of this. How does that sound, Starscream?"

"Do what you like." The Seeker bit out. He was still busy staring at the pretty gray paneling.

After a moment, Wheeljack directed him to stretch out on the table. Starscream laid down in numb obedience, his mind felt distant, far away, and hollow. He didn't know why. He couldn't explain it. Neither could he compel himself to reengage. As Wheeljack readied his repair tools, Skyfire continued to hover over him, looming in the corner of his optic with a look that Starscream did not want to see.

He flinched as Wheeljack started trying to buff away at the damage. "You can't be jerking like that, Starscream." The mechanic warned, trying once more to touch the tool to the Seeker's back. It wasn't that it hurt precisely, but his circuits shivered reflexively, fighting the urge to flee. His spark leapt with primal fear, a blend of shame and anger bubbling inside him like lava.

He curled his servos around the edge of the table, grinding his denta as Wheeljack returned to buffing his wingstruts. Why did he want so badly just to scream?

Skyfire looked down at him and made optic contact, his optics scanning Starscream's face, concern flashing in his optics as he glanced between where Wheeljack was working and the distress that Starscream was embarrassed to admit must have been plain across his faceplates. After a moment, the shuttle stepped closer, crouching down to optic-level with the Seeker.

"Hey 'screamer…." Skyfire said softly, so softly that only the Seeker could hear it over the roar of the buffing machine. Starscream stiffened imperceptibly at the old nickname, he hadn't been called that since…well, since Skyfire.

"...you're doing great. Just a few more minutes."

The Decepticon bristled, shooting a glower at the shuttle. "Shut up." He snarled, though he immediately regretted it; this was a time for lulling them into a false sense of security, not provoking their anger. Still. Skyfire had chafed at his dignity; he did not need to be talked to like a sparkling over something so trivial. This…reaction…was just an oddity, a fluke. Maybe there was something wrong with his circuits.

Fortunately, Skyfire did not react to Starscream's harshness with anything more than a pitying glance. Which, for Starscream's pride, was almost worse. Instead, Skyfire offered an outstretched servo, his palm dwarfing Starscream's.

"If you don't want my words, then you are welcome to take my servo."

The Seeker ground his denta as Wheeljack ran over a particularly tender spot.

"No…thank you…I'm fine." He insisted with false civility, his palms clenching around the edge of the table.

"Suit yourself." Skyfire said quietly. There was disappointment there. And Starscream felt a sudden surge of yet another strange unpleasant feeling wash over him.

By the time Wheeljack finished, the Seeker was utterly exhausted. His systems having whirred in overdrive throughout the entirety of the process, inexplicably taxed by the seemingly simple care of the Autobot mechanic. Although he regretted the missed opportunity, Starscream knew as soon as he stood on his quivering peds that there would be no escaping that evening. His energy for a fight was all but drained.

That night, as Skyfire led him back to his cell, Starscream told himself he was still in control. He would betray the Autobots. He would take what he needed and leave them broken, just as he always had.

But as the cell door closed behind him, he felt the weight of his wings, still tender from Wheeljack's repairs. He felt the pressure of Skyfire's gaze, the emptiness of a life lived without trust, without anyone to catch him when he fell. For a moment, the thought flickered in his mind:

What if I stayed?

Then he crushed it, burying it deep in the hollow where his spark had once burned brightly. Control. That was what mattered. And control meant leaving before the cracks in his armor grew any wider.

Soon. He would leave soon.

Just… not tonight.

Later that evening, as Starscream lay on the narrow berth in his cell, his optics dim and unfocused, his wings ached with a strange, hollow soreness, one that lingered not from the damage itself but from the unwanted attention they'd drawn. It was intolerable. Not the pain—it was nothing compared to what Megatron had dealt him countless times—but the exposure.

The humiliation.

They had seen him. Not the polished, unassailable Starscream he worked so hard to present to the world, but the fractured one, the one he buried under snarling retorts and lofty proclamations of superiority. And worst of all, Skyfire had seen him.

Skyfire.

The Seeker's servos tightened into fists at his sides, and he let out a soft growl, glaring at the dim ceiling of the cell. He wished the blasted mech would stay out of his affairs. He'd wished it since the day Skyfire had chosen the Autobots over him, casting Starscream as the villain, the "traitor," while sanctimoniously pretending to be better. Yet… Skyfire's optics during Wheeljack's repairs had held no judgment, only concern.

That was worse.

Starscream shifted, trying to escape the weight of his thoughts, but the berth was unyielding beneath him, as cold and hard as the Decepticon warship's floors. Now, lying there, he regretted his pride.

His pride.

It had carried him this far, hadn't it? Through war, through failures, through Megatron's wrath. Starscream had survived on pride alone, clutching it like a lifeline, the one thing that couldn't be stripped from him. But tonight, it felt fragile, as though Skyfire's gentle optics had cracked it like thin ice underfoot.

His wings twitched involuntarily, and his servos moved to clasp at the joints where the welts had been smoothed away. The pain was gone, but his sensor nodes still buzzed from the memory of Wheeljack's tools and Skyfire's light touch. The sensation burned in his mind, uncomfortable and unwelcome.

"Pit take them both," he muttered. His voice was hoarse, barely audible in the stillness of the cell.

As much as he hated the Autobots, Starscream couldn't hate them for trying to help. He hated himself instead—hated the part of him that almost wanted to trust it. It was foolish, childish. Trusting others got you hurt, betrayed, discarded. He had learned that lesson early, and thoroughly.

And yet…

His optics flickered as he remembered Skyfire's outstretched servo. It had hovered there, unthreatening, steady, like the days before the war when they had flown together, laughed together, built their dreams in the clouds. For the smallest moment, it had looked like something he could reach for.

But Starscream hadn't taken it.

He curled tighter on the berth, his frame tense, his spark heavy with shame and frustration. How pathetic would he have looked, clasping Skyfire's servo like some pitiful sparkling? He'd wanted to. That was the worst part. Some hidden, desperate part of him had screamed to take it, to accept the comfort offered without question or cost.

But he hadn't. He couldn't.

Because trust was a currency he could no longer afford to spend.

He let out a shuddering vent, willing himself to shake off the weakness clawing at him. Starscream's purpose was clear. This was a mission. A ruse. He was a Decepticon. He was better than this.

And yet, lying alone in the quiet dark, the berth felt even colder than before, and the memory of Skyfire's servo lingered in his mind like an echo he couldn't silence.

Starscream ground his denta, burying his face in his servos as he growled under his vents. "Pathetic," he spat, as though saying it aloud could banish the thoughts. But the word rang hollow, leaving behind only the gnawing emptiness of his solitude.

Somewhere, in a far corner of his spark, buried under layers of defiance and pride, Starscream wished—just for a fleeting, shameful moment—that the outstretched servo had felt like something he could take.

You know how I am with one-shots. Who knows where this will go. For right now, yeah, Starscream betrays them.