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First Aid Gets Wrecked

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First Aid was almost never late for work.  ‘Almost’ being the operative word.  He was usually a very meticulous mech when it came to keeping himself in check, primarily because Pharma didn’t tolerate nonsense in his facility.  The head medic was quite the fuss-budget when it came to keeping things completely in order, and that included little to no patience for tardiness.

Which was why the young medic was practically beside himself with panic when he woke up after a long night of going through witness reports of Wreckers activity over the past few meta-cycles.  It was increasingly easy over time to sort out what was a legitimate account and those that were just seeking attention from the community of fans gathered across the cyber-net.  Most people thought of the Wreckers as a reckless force of violent sociopaths, but those like First Aid knew better.  They were doing the hard jobs, the ones no one else wanted to do.

At any rate, he had stayed up a lot later than he’d intended and ended up crashing hard.  He awoke to find himself a full cycle late.  He had to get to Delphi medical clinic quickly, preferably before Pharma realized he wasn’t already there.  It didn’t take long to get to the facility, as the living quarters were relatively nearby, but First Aid still hurried as fast as his wheels could carry him.

Ambulon was waiting for him inside the front office of the clinic.  He wasn’t looking at the younger mech, but upon hearing his arrival decided to inform him, “You’re late.”

“I know!  I’m so sorry, I stayed up far too late last night,” the red and white medic vented, regulating his systems after the quick drive.  “Does Pharma…?”

“If he knows you weren’t already here, I wasn’t the one who told him.  He’s been holed up in his office for the last few cycles.”

“Thank you, Ambulon,” First Aid ex-vented in relief, walking over and leaning over the desk.  “Any new patients I need to look at?”

“Actually, yes.  There’s a patient in room A-21.  Just arrived last night when you were off.  He’s not in too bad of shape, but had a bit of a crash-land by the mines.  The miners brought him in and Pharma insisted we should at least keep him for the day to make sure he didn’t sustain anything that wouldn’t show up immediately.  He’s not a happy camper in there, so be careful.”  Ambulon held a file out to First Aid.

“Alright, I’ll check on him to make sure he’s comfortable,” the younger mech nodded to the former Decepticon, taking the file and hurrying off.  He would usually look at it before going to see a patient, but he wanted to look like he’d been busy all day there in case Pharma was out of his office.  He didn’t like lying to his boss, but he was also already skating on thin ice ever since his evaluation which deemed him ‘obsessive compulsive.’

First Aid reached the necessary room and vented in, opening the door.  The unhappy patients were the ones no one wanted to deal with.  They were impatient and always blamed the medics for any little thing that was going wrong, no matter how little control they had over it.

“Hello,” he greeted in his friendliest voice, finally glancing at the chart he’d been given so he’d be able to address the patient by name.  “How are you feeling today, Impac…”  The young medic didn’t even finish the name before his optics widened, shooting up to the disgruntled mech sitting on the repair berth.

Sure enough, the much larger and incredibly intimidating form of Impactor was before him.  More specifically, was glaring at him.

First Aid made what was probably the most undignified sound he’d ever managed before covering his faceplate with the file he was carrying.  “E-excuse me for a moment!” he squeaked, exiting the room as quickly as he’d arrived and sliding the door shut behind him.

‘Oh, Primus…’ he thought desperately, opening the chart back up as if he could have somehow mistaken the incredibly distinct and recognizable form of the leader of the Wreckers.  Of all of the ruthless warriors and soldiers in their faction, Impactor was the one he’d always looked up to the most.  He was unwaveringly strong in his convictions and judgement.  It helped that he had a ruggedly handsome charm to him, despite the intensity of his glare.  ‘Impactor is in my clinic.  In that room, right in front of me.  Primus, Primus, Primus…’  He shook his helm quickly, trying to dispel his excitement.  ‘No, I’m a medic, and he’s my patient.  Get ahold of yourself, First Aid!  Be professional.  He’s no different from all the other patients I have to take care of.’  He vented in deeply and pushed the button to reopen the door.

He could do this.




Impactor couldn’t believe his rotten luck.  First he apparently flew too close to Decepticon territory, which was an embarrassingly rookie mistake resulting him getting shot out of the sky over this backwater mining planet. Worse - Messatine of all places. He would have been happier to never have been there again.   Then, despite the fact that he was just fine no matter what the medics at this insane clinic thought, they wouldn’t let him leave.  And now the new medic, who was far too friendly when he opened that door for his taste anyway, was a fanbot.

Oh, he could have easily mistaken those signs of how he reacted for fear.  But he’d met enough Wreckers fans to know one when he saw it.  That wasn’t fear, it was excitement.  Or maybe a bit of both, that happened a lot as well.

Impactor hated Wreckers fanbots.  The last thing the universe needed was people idolizing his group of suicidal psychopaths.  They weren’t heroes, just a bunch of mechs who liked killing things and got the dirty jobs done.  No one should look up to them.

Least of all Impactor himself.

The door reopened and the smaller red and white mech came back, looking a bit calmer than when he left.  “Sorry about that,” he apologized pleasantly.  He was trying valiantly to come off as if that had never happened, and mostly succeeding except for the practically vibrating servos clutching the chart in his hands.  “I got a call from the front desk I had to take.  Now, let me take a look at you to make sure you’re right as rain.”

“I’m fine,” Impactor growled back for what felt like the millionth time since he crashed.  He wasn’t just trying to escape, though it would be nice.  He didn’t like or trust either of the other medics here.  They both stank of ‘Con in different ways.  The fact that there only seemed to be the three medics working this entire facility didn’t help.

“I’m sure, but as the medic assigned to you I still need to check you over.  You were in quite the crash, it’s a miracle nothing awful happened to you.”  He approached the berth, putting the chart on the table next to it.  He grew tenser the closer he was, which only frustrated Impactor more.  He didn’t have time for this.

“If I let you look me over one more time, can I go when you find out nothing is wrong with me?” the Wrecker asked as calmly as possible.  Unlike the other two, this medic looked and felt genuine.  Despite his bad taste in heroes, he deserved at least a small chance.

“Yes!”  The amount of enthusiasm in that one word almost made Impactor regret even asking.  The medic caught himself, though, and quickly reeled himself back in.  “I mean, of course.  If you’re completely healthy there’s no reason we can keep you here.  However, I’ll have to draw some energon and run a test on it to make sure everything’s clean.”

Impactor grunted but didn’t deny him, leaning against the back of the berth and offering an arm.  He didn’t look at the younger mech as he pulled out and prepped a needle, looking for an open energon line.  The Wrecker didn’t even react to the feeling of being pricked with it, huffing in annoyance again.  This was ridiculous, but there was no reason to cause undue trouble if he could avoid it.  Especially if he didn’t want an audial-full from Springer about how they’re only supposed to be hostile towards enemies.

After a few kliks, Impactor decided to at least ask, “You gonna tell me your name if you’re gonna work on me?”

The younger mech seemed startled, looking up at him from where he was now bending over the berth to check over Impactor’s elbow joints.  He’d been making sure they weren’t stiff or limited in their range of motion after the crash.  “Oh, First Aid.  I’m sorry, it completely slipped my processor.”  He returned to his work, nimble servos working into seams and gaps in the armor and deftly checking for inconsistencies.

“You know who I am, obviously,” Impactor stated, watching him now.  The much smaller mech was showing a good amount of professionalism despite his obvious giddiness at who he was working on.

“I… yes.  You’re Impactor, leader of the Wreckers.  You have the highest fatality rate, are notoriously opposed to other ‘bots getting too close to you, and coined the phrase Wreck and Rule.  You don’t like cameras or the media in general, have destroyed more copies of Megatron’s manifesto than anyone else on record, and despite rumors the harpoon we confiscated from you isn’t the original but has been replaced three times.”  First Aid glanced back up at him again, looking embarrassed.  “You already guessed I have a fascination with your team before this, I assume.  Also, I’m sorry we had to confiscate and disarm your weapons.  We really can’t have someone so heavily armed inside of our facility.”

Impactor stared at him for a moment longer before his helm hit the wall behind him.  Great, he was one of those fans.  The ones who defined the word ‘obsession.’  At least he seemed to be aware of how weird he sounded.  “S’fine, First Aid,” he replied.  He really did understand the confiscation, just didn’t mean he had to like it.

There was a sudden change in First Aid’s EM field, as if a switch was flipped.  His entire body went rigid, servos halting on Impactor’s midsection.  The digits felt hot against his plating, a tremor running through him as the entire chassis leaning over the repair berth shivered.

It happened so quickly Impactor barely registered what exactly it was.  But all of the sudden the medic before him wasn’t just small and pure.  The servos, the wide blue visor, his thin frame… even his scent was becoming swiftly irresistible.



It was around the time that all of these sensations leaked across his own frame and settled in his interface array, spike pressurizing inside its protective shell and demanding release, that he realized what exactly was happening.  Now the question was becoming what to do about it.  Though his own body was answering the question, as resisting the tiny, suddenly delicious red and white frame before him was eliminating itself as an option.




‘Oh, no…’ First Aid’s processor was reeling as he felt the rush of need hit him absurdly quickly.  ‘Not now… why now?!  My heat cycle isn’t due for another deca-cycle at the soonest!  Why is it kicking in now?!’

He didn’t even look at Impactor, who he was close to the point of actually touching, thus undoubtedly could feel the heat cycle’s powerful aura in his EM field.  This was humiliating.  Impactor was one of his heroes and here he was having a spontaneous heat reaction to him simply saying the medic’s name.

‘I shouldn’t just be standing here like an idiot, I need to leave before my heat makes me do something even worst!’

First Aid finally managed to push himself off of the Wrecker.  His systems seemed to scream at him not to run, to turn back around to Impactor and let him relieve his now aching valve.  “I… I’m so sorry!” he quickly apologized, though he knew it was ridiculous at this point.  “I don’t know… this isn’t…”  He couldn’t seem to think of something that could accurately vocalize how horrified he was at himself at the moment, so he finally settled on, “I have to go!”

The red and white medic retreated quickly, wanting nothing more than to be able to find an empty room to relieve himself in.  He could feel his leaking valve leaving a pool of lubricant inside of his valve panel, and the feeling was only exacerbating his heat.  Before he could get more than a few steps away from the berth, though, he was halted by large servos grabbing onto his upper arm.  He made a surprised noise, turning quickly to find Impactor looming over him.  It should have been frightening, but instead the intimidating sight was… exciting.  He was exerting a field of dominant heat that meshed perfectly with his.

‘No way…’

Impactor was responding to his heat.  He was asserting his authority as a dominant mech with interest in satisfying First Aid’s currently out of control mating protocols.

First Aid was torn.  On one hand, he was Impactor’s current practicing medic.  He had a duty of professionality to uphold, a trust that would be completely breached and destroyed if he went through with his urges.  On the other hand, it was Impactor, the leader of the Wreckers.  Large and handsome in such a rough, dangerous sort of way.  Even with his missing hand it was clear that he was a force to be reckoned with, capable without his weapons of still wreaking havoc on mechs twice his size.

But First Aid wasn’t twice his size.  It was generous to say he was two-thirds.  And he’d never felt more helpless yet safe than standing there in front of the much more powerful mech who hadn’t said a word, but his EM field and optics were speaking volumes.

And then Impactor spoke, and First Aid knew that his conscience as a medic stood no chance against the mating protocols his heat cycle had activated in full force.  “Where do you think you’re going?”

“N… nowhere,” the medic finally gave in, turning once more to face the Wrecker and raising the hand that was free of the arm he held to rest on Impactor’s chestplate.  “I’m… I’m exactly where I want to be.”

Impactor’s lip curled upwards in what was likely the closest thing to a grin he would ever manage, and he pulled the much smaller medic fully against him.  “That’s what I thought,” he said as he leaned down, dentae nibbling on an energon line in First Aid’s neck.

“Oh…!” was all First Aid could manage as he all but melted into the powerful arms that forcibly pulled him back to the berth.  The sensation of the gentle yet stinging bite on his line travelled down his spine, down to his valve.

Impactor pulled him back towards the berth until he nearly bumped it.  He then surprised First Aid by grabbing him by the wrist and twisting him around.  He shoved the young medic onto the berth front-first, chuckling darkly at the yelp he received.  “Come on, doctor.  You’re a fan, right?  You didn’t think I was gonna be gentle, did you?” he teased, climbing on behind him.

“I… I don’t know…” First Aid admitted, not daring to move from the spot.  His mating protocols were completely in control at this point, identifying Impactor as the one who was in control of him now.  It was scary and exciting all at once.

Impactor pressed his chassis against First Aid’s back, the heat radiating from both of them mixing and intensifying each other.  “You sound nervous.  Almost like this is your first time,” he muttered into First Aid’s audial receptor.  He nipped down his helm and neck, biting into the plating of the red and white medic’s shoulder.

The sensation sent another wave of pleasure through the younger mech, who whined loudly.  “It is…” he managed, trying not to sound embarrassed.  He’d never had time for physical relations, between his obsessive hobbies and his job.  This was something completely new to him.

Impactor only paused for a moment.  He then continued to nip and bite down the back of First Aid’s shoulders, to his spine.  “That right?  Better make this something you’ll remember, then.  I want you to think of it whenever you touch yourself.”

“I can already guarantee… ah… that I couldn’t forget this if I wanted…” First Aid vented heavily as Impactor continued his trail.




The Wrecker lifted First Aid’s hips with his left hand, elevating them to present the cute little red aft to himself.  He then pushed down on the space between the medic’s shoulders with his right arm, forcing him to lay with his hips being the only thing not touching the cold berth.  “Stay.”  The one barked word was answered with a light whimper and a tremble.  He ran his hand across the smooth metal of the medic’s aft, appreciating the dips and curves hidden there.  Another tremble.

After a few more moments of this, Impactor dipped his servos lower to the panel still covering First Aid’s valve.  As to be expected, it was the most effected by his heat.  He radiated like a furnace, begging for attention.  He was only too happy to oblige it, demanding, “Open your panel, First Aid.”

The medic didn’t hesitate for even a moment, the sound of his name being used by the Wrecker likely spurring his need even further.  His valve panel clicked open, revealing a swollen, pure white valve.  The older mech himself could feel the uncomfortable tightness of his spike pressurizing against its casing, but he ignored it for now.  He wanted to make sure First Aid’s first time interfacing made him never want anyone else.  “Impactor…” the red and white mech whined, hand covering his faceplate in embarrassment.  He at least was in control enough to realize how far this was going.

“You’ve got a pretty little valve, doctor,” Impactor said, running two servos across the soft lips appreciatively.  Lubricant was already running liberally from them, coating his fingers and running down First Aid’s thighs.  The younger mech moaned and whined at the treatment, aft swaying minutely as he tried to hold still.  This was quite the heat cycle.  “I’ve barely touched it and you’re ready to go already.  You sure you’ve never been fragged before?”

First Aid shook his helm quickly, looking even more self-conscious.  “N-never…” he vented out, the servos that weren’t covering his face gripping the edge of the berth.

“I’m a little torn,” Impactor grunted.  He moved his servos up to First Aid’s exterior node, giving it a pinch.  He felt satisfaction at the yelp of pain and pleasure he received.  “On one hand, that seems like a waste.  This isn’t something that should be hidden from the universe.  You’re a treasure that should be appreciated.”  He rubbed the nub roughly, drinking in the cries of ecstasy he elicited.  More lubricant dripped into the open palm of his hand.  “On the other…” he lifted his handless arm, glancing at it and shrugging.  “In a manner of speaking.”  He returned it to First Aid’s backstrut, holding him in place while he tortured the medic with pleasure.  “It’s probably just your heat cycle, but I feel like I’d kill anyone who so much as looked like they wanted to touch you.”

“Ah… ah…!” First Aid couldn’t seem to articulate a response, pressing his hips down so he could feel more from the hand mech-handling his exterior node.

After a bit more of the rough treatment, Impactor relinquished his hold on it.  First Aid responded with a particularly loud whine, reaching between his legs with his own hand.  “No!” Impactor chastised, grabbing the hand and forcing it back up next to the medic’s faceplate.  “Did I say you could touch yourself now?”


“No,” he repeated, sounding like a sire scolding his youngling.  “You will do as I say.  You are mine, and you’ll behave accordingly.  Understood?”

“Y… yes, Impactor,” the medic whimpered.  It wasn’t a fearful one, but rather filled with need.  He was getting off on being ordered by the Wrecker.

“Good.”  Impactor rewarded the smaller mech by leaning down and biting into his aft, just hard enough to leave dentae-marks.  He heard First Aid vent loudly at the feeling, squirming under his handless arm’s hold.  “I told you to keep still,” he growled, slapping the aft.

“I-I’m trying!” First Aid replied urgently.  “I just… I need you to frag me right now!”

“Well, how do I say no when you say it so… desperately?” Impactor teased, moving himself up so he was once again looming over the prone mech.  He kept him in the position he’d put him in, faceplate down and aft up, while he released his own spike with a light groan.  It felt like torture, not being able to pressurize it fully.  Now that it was out, every thought and focus was on fragging that hot little valve as hard as he could.




First Aid’s visor was huge as he looked over his shoulderplate at the proportionately large cabled spike behind him.  He knew Impactor was going to be big, but… Primus.  Fear was now welling up a bit looking at it, wondering if something like that could really fit inside of him.  He wouldn’t deny him, as even without his mating protocols screaming at him that he needed this, he wanted to be fragged by Impactor more than anything.

“Please…” he managed, shaking his aft as temptingly as he could manage at the older mech.

“You couldn’t be more revved up if you tried, could you?” Impactor said, putting his hand back on First Aid’s hip to hold it still.  He shifted himself so his spike moved between the medic’s red legs, causing the younger to shiver in anticipation.  Instead of shoving it inside the aching valve, though, he sandwiched it between the soft, swollen lips.  It ran across his exterior node and stuck out between the front of First Aid’s legs as if it were the medic’s instead.  “Not yet, though.  I wanna make sure you’re ready for this.”

“Stop teasing me…” First Aid begged, rubbing his valve back and forth on the huge appendage.

Impactor let out a groan and stopped the hips again.  He then started thrusting his own hips as if he were fragging the medic, humping his spike across the overstimulated valve.  He thrust hard, jarring the smaller mech with a loud clank every time their hips connected.

First Aid cried out, clawing at the berth as his exterior node was once again roughly handled, the cords of Impactor’s spike grinding against it with each thrust.  “Oh!  Oh!  Ah!  Unh!”  He couldn’t even think through the haze he was being put into as his faceplate was ground into the berth.  If there was nothing else he was learning from this experience, it was that he definitely loved it rough.

Impactor relieved his face of the metal berth, though, as he reached down with his good hand and grabbed First Aid’s chestplate, hauling him up so he was practically sitting in the Wrecker’s lap while the spike continued to grind along his aching valve.  It was covering the breeding organ in a thick coat of lubricant as he was bounced by the hard thrusts behind him.  Impactor vented heavily into his audial receptor.

The red and white mech was about to complain that this was going to make him overload without even getting fragged when Impactor looped his hand and the stub where his harpoon usually was under his knees.  He lifted the much smaller mech until the tip of his spike was at his valve entrance.  First Aid barely had time to register what that meant before he was brought down on it, feeling the huge organ finally not only penetrate but completely fill him in one thrust of Impactor’s hips.

“Oh, Primus!” the medic couldn’t stop himself from shouting as desire filled every node of his valve, and every part of his being.  He was more than sure if he wasn’t currently deliriously deep in a heat cycle at the moment, having his virgin valve completely stuffed with such a large spike would have hurt like the Pit.  But all he felt at that moment was ecstasy.




Impactor paused after having shoved his whole spike inside the hot, wet, virgin confines of First Aid’s valve.  It wasn’t really for the medic’s benefit, as the younger mech was currently making sounds that indicated he felt nothing but pure, unadulterated joy from the feeling of finally having his mating protocol acknowledged.  It was more for himself, as it’d been an extremely long time since he last fragged anyone this tight.  It was nothing but wonderful heat and pressure on his spike, making it ache in more ways than one.  He knew how he wanted to do this.  And judging by First Aid’s responses to his treatment, he wanted it this way as well.

“Hands,” he managed to grunt out, leaning forward.  It shifted their balance, causing the unprepared medic to yelp again.

“H… huh…?” the medic asked in dazed confusion.

Hands.  Wall.  Now.”

After a moment First Aid seemed to catch onto what he was saying.  He leaned his whole chassis forward, placing his hands on the wall at the head of the berth.  One of his knees returned to resting on the berth, with Impactor holding the other leg in his good hand as he pulled back.  He slid his spike out until just the tip remained, eliciting a groan from the red and white medic.  He placed the stub of his other arm on First Aid’s hip and braced himself.  He then thrust hard back into the medic’s hot valve.

“Ooooh!” First Aid cried out, bracing his arms so his faceplate wouldn’t meet the wall from the hard rut.  “Do that again!”

Impactor’s lip component quirked up and he got to work pistoning his spike repeatedly into the wet confines of the sweet medic he took the virginity from.  He thrust wildly, venting heavily and grunting with every impact of their hips.  The Wrecker watched in satisfaction as his spike disappeared over and over inside of the young medic, driving him completely mad with pleasure.  He probably wouldn’t even tell if Impactor was grinding his ceiling node, his heat cycle was overwhelming him so.

“Oh!  Oh!  Yes!  Yes!  Please!  Harder!  Harder!  Frag, yes!  Impactor, hardeeeer!” First Aid wasn’t a quiet lover.  He cried, screamed, pleaded, and vented heavily.  If anyone passed the room there was no doubt they’d figure out what was going on in seconds.  Not that either cared much at the moment.

The medic’s elbows finally buckled, and quick reflexes gained from countless battles saved him from face-planting the wall.  Impactor’s hand let go of his leg, catching his shoulderplate and pulling him back.  It had the added bonus that it managed to find the ‘harder’ that First Aid had been begging for, as he let out a particularly joyful scream at the sensation.

That drove Impactor towards the brink, holding him like that and rutting into the medic in short, uncontrolled thrusts.  His logic told him to pull out as he reached the edge of his overload.  The heat radiating from the sweet medic objected to the idea.

“Please, Impactor!” First Aid cried desperately.  One of his hands, now free from the wall, was covering the one gripping his shoulder.  The other had found its way to his exterior node, rubbing it in time with the thrusting spike inside his valve.  “Overload… overload inside of me!  I want… I need it!”

That was the sound that broke the last of Impactor’s self-control.  He growled loudly as he pulled First Aid back against him, burying his spike completely inside.  He bit into the medic’s shoulderplate once more, harder than ever as he felt his overload crash into him.  Transfluid rushed from the tip of his spike, shooting a hot, sticky load into the red and white medic’s gestation chamber.  He felt more than heard First Aid’s own overload, lubricant spilling out of his valve and around Impactor’s spike.

Impactor caught himself from slumping over, coming down from the high of their frag.  He was still holding First Aid, who was venting heavily.  “You alright?” he asked.

The medic nodded lightly.  “I’m… I’m okay…” he said weakly.  “Just… tired…”

“I don’t doubt it.  That wasn’t something most ‘bots do in their first time.”

“Can I… is it okay to just… recharge…?” First Aid asked, leaning back against him.  “I think I need to…”

“Yeah, go ahead.  You’ll be fine,” Impactor answered, depressurizing his spike and replacing the panel.  The smaller mech didn’t even have the energy to follow suit before he was deep in recharge.  That must’ve been completely exhausting for him.

The Wrecker laid First Aid down on the berth, searching the tables nearby for something to at least clean all the fluid off of it and him.  He found a few rags and got to work, wiping down the berth, then First Aid, and finally himself.  He couldn’t close up the medic’s modesty, but he’d do what he could.

After all, as much as he felt like an afthole for it, he couldn’t stay.  Not only because this was his chance to escape this Pit-hole they called a medical facility, but also because he’d just literally fragged up.  He should have pulled out.  On a heat cycle there was nothing less than a 100% chance of knocking the ‘bot in question up if the one doing the knocking overloaded in their gestation chamber.  He felt like slag leaving him here knowing that without any talk about what to do about it, but this wasn’t something he could deal with.

Wreckers didn’t make very good sires.




Ambulon was starting to get worried.  First Aid had gone to check up on that Wrecker they’d taken in after his crash a while ago.  It didn’t take this long to do a quick check-up on someone they were mostly holding until they could get in contact with the Autobots and let them decide what to do with.

He reached Room A-21 and knocked on the door.  He didn’t receive a response, and that was even more worrying.  If the patient was at least there he should have responded.  “Impactor?  Are you alright?” he called.  “Is First Aid with you?”

Again, no response.  Ambulon felt a shock of dread and pressed the button to slide the door open.

First Aid lying on the bed, with Impactor nowhere to be found, caused his spark to nearly shut down on its own.  He rushed over.  “First Aid!  Are you okay?  What happened?!” he called, putting a hand on the younger medic’s arm.  He was hit immediately with two lingering after-effects in his EM field.  The hot remains of a heat cycle, and the fuzzy tingle of a fully-realized interface.

Oh, no.

While he was lying on his side, Ambulon wasn’t able to see in passing the state of First Aid’s panels.  The former Decepticon wasn’t going to check on it while he was recharging, and especially not with the door wide open.  The first order of business was closing it.  When Ambulon returned to the berth he pulled up a chair and waited.

Almost a cycle later, First Aid finally started waking up.  His visor lit up and he sat up, groggy.  “Ow…” he moaned, putting a hand to his helm.  “Oh… everything hurts…”

“Considering what I think happened, that doesn’t give me confidence,” Ambulon replied.  He didn’t mean to sound condescending, but sometimes the Decepticon in him liked to remind him it existed.

First Aid’s helm whipped around to stare at him in shock.  He then yelped, looking down between his legs and closing them tight.  There was a click of his valve panel closing, though the evidence of what happened was already dripped onto the berth.  “I… I…” he stuttered, unable to look back at Ambulon now.

“I didn’t look, I promise.  But I guess that settles it,” the older mech ex-vented, leaning forward.  He looked at First Aid grimly.  “You interfaced with a patient, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t… I mean, it just suddenly happened,” the red and white medic struggled to explain himself.  He looked so embarrassed and ashamed that it was hard to stay cross at him.  “I was checking up on Impactor, and then my heat cycle just suddenly… happened!”  He repeated the last word as if it explained anything.

“Your heat cycle isn’t due for…”

“Another deca-cycle!  I know!  I don’t know what happened.  We were talking, and he said my name, and…”  First Aid trailed off as a dawning realization hit him.  “Wait… where did he…?”

“Not here,” Ambulon answered.  “My guess is when he was done taking advantage of you he cut and ran.”  He didn’t even hide how angry he was at Impactor for this.  It wasn’t any of his business, fragging an innocent mech when he was hit with an unexpected ill-timed heat cycle.

“That’s not what happened!” First Aid surprised him by insisting.  “He didn’t take advantage of me, he… he responded!  His protocols responded to my heat!”

“Whatever happened, it’s done.  He isn’t here.  Shows how much he cared.”

“That’s not… it’s not it…”  First Aid trailed off, looking at the floor.  Obviously he was having a hard time convincing himself of it.  “Why would he just… go?”

“Did he overload inside you?” Ambulon asked bluntly.

First Aid’s visor widened and he looked away, embarrassed.  At first he wasn’t sure the younger medic was going to answer.  Finally, though, he nodded lightly.  “Yeah…”  The way he said it, with uncertainty and maybe a little fear, told Ambulon that he knew the implications.

“You’re with spark,” the painted mech said.  He didn’t want to confirm that fact, it was irrefutable.  Unless First Aid or Impactor were incapable (both of which he knew wasn’t true, as he had both their medical records now), it was a complete certainty on a heat cycle.  He wanted to make sure First Aid truly knew what this meant.

“…Yes…”  First Aid covered his faceplate with a hand, bringing his knees to his chestplate and wrapping the other arm around them.

Ambulon softened.  First Aid was obviously extremely upset.  He didn’t blame him.  So he stood up and sat on the berth next to him.  “It’s going to be okay,” he assured the younger mech, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“What’s Pharma going to say?” First Aid asked, whimpering.

Ambulon hadn’t thought of that.  Nothing good, he knew.  “We’ll… just have to cross that bridge when we reach it.  He’ll understand when we tell him it wasn’t your fault.”

“What… what if he orders me to terminate it?”

That was certainly within the realm of possibilities.  They were the only three medics in Delphi.  Losing only one to Creator Leave would be a huge blow.  “He can’t make you do it,” Ambulon reminded him.  “Unless you want to?”

First Aid thought for a moment, staring into space.  Finally, he answered, “No.  I want to keep it.  It’s not just my sparkling, it’s Impactor’s.”

“He left while you were recharging,” Ambulon reminded him testily.  “Fragged you and ran.”

“He’ll be back,” First Aid told him without hesitation.

“And if he isn’t?”

“He will.  You’ll see.”