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Starscream had limited options, but not limited funds. Darkmount was proving to be a wellspring of cyber matter and technology, one that many would pay for, no questions asked, in order to rebuild Cybertron. He didn’t ask himself about the potential damage of fusing bits and pieces of Unicron to Cybertron, he didn’t care anymore. All he wanted was a system modification so large he could finally defeat Megatron. A mod so he could match and exceed that foul scraps output. It consumed him, that overbearing want …no, need to kill his former master. He felt little else. He’d been out of feeling anything but hatred and bloodlust for so long, that when he finally did feel anything it hit him like a pylon.
It was hard to find a medic that didn’t have an extensive history with him. Even harder to find someone willing to accept payment; no questions asked, no questions answered. Those that did answer his call were subpar.
Except her.
Sheabee Prime was a wartime mech turned peaceful, roaming the stars like a nomad, fixing up wayward Cybertronians regardless of faction. When he arrived at her makeshift medbay he sneered.
“I doubt you could fix a fuse box in this dump.”
Sheabee smiled and it wasn’t strained or tired. It was the knowing smile of a mother looking at a Lost Boy complaining about their meager meal, “I suppose you’re right.”
But she could. Sheabee waited patiently for Starscream to outline his grandiose plans for modifications.
“Normally,” she told him in a lilting tone. Not belittling but comforting and soft, “I’d say you can only pick two things: cheap, fast, and good. But in this case, I think I need a little bit more than credits. I need a few supplies as well. Is that alright?”
Starscream frowned, he didn’t like the way she spoke to him. It wasn’t rude but it was remanence of a lot of condescending “niceness” that he’d experienced.
“What supplies?”
The grounder made a soft hum in her vocalizer and Starscream felt it was magic, he relaxed slightly, “I’ll make up a list. If you can’t get them all, I can make do but I don’t peg you as the sort that makes do.”
It was the start of their odd relationship.
Sheabee Prime began all of their seasons the same way, with a gentle introduction of what they were going to do that day. Always in a soft and gentle tone of explaining exactly which part of the procedure was next. Starscream always managed to suffer through it.
Until she got to his wings.
Even with the sensory dampeners, his wings would be sensitive. Unless he was completely knocked out he would feel it, something the medic warned him about. No matter how calm and serene this supposed Prime was, he didn’t trust being out while she operated.
“Take one last look,” she chirped happily, smiling at him.
Again, it was a strange kindness she presented. Throughout the process of modding his armor, Sheabee had mentioned that his original form was probably strong enough for whatever purpose. She’d mentioned that the war was over so there was not as much of a need for study builds. Such flattery didn’t change his mind.
The dampers started to take effect and Starscream lost the minute control over his wings that helped him hone into field changes. He lost the gentle, reassuring em from the Prime that he was used to during these procedures.
Sheabee hummed softly, setting up her equipment in the small camp. Starscream had learned that the medic made good use of her space, everything was in reach, everything was well kept and clean and most importantly she didn’t need anyone else in the room to service his needs.
Starscream was itching to begin, the sooner this was over the sooner he could scan an alt mode and not look like a 3D jigsaw puzzle.
At first, he felt nothing, the suppressors did their jobs. But once she started sanding away his paint, something…new started to happen.
“Are you sure the suppressors are engaged?” Starscream huffed out airily.
Sheabee blinked owlishly at him, once again he cursed inwardly for her similarities to something much stronger than he could ever be.
“Yes, do you feel pain.”
“It’s just a pressure.”
“That’s normal.”
Starscream hated the way her vocalizations remained so soothing. A pressure on a seeker's wings might not sound like much but with the feelings he had locked up deep inside for this grounder, it might as well be torture.
Sheabee palmed his wing and he was glad for the suppressor keeping his wing from quivering. Primus this was bad. It wasn’t only that her frame made him reminisce about someone he admired. She was almost an improvement. She didn’t fret or boss him around, she seemed almost unfettered by the war and the lessons learned there
The seeker thought frantically, couldn’t medics scan this sort of thing? Was his frame heating up too much, could she notice the way he couldn’t stop shaking.
“Are you sure you don’t need another suppressor?”
Starscream grit his denta before harshly barking out, “No.”
Sheabee flinched at his unkind tone and the way he barked out the order. She’d thought their time together had been rather pleasant. She ignored the murmurs that he was a killing machine but she had never seen this level of tension on him before. With nothing else to do, she focused on her work.
He twitched again, making her flinch. Starscream wasn’t a bad patient while she was fitting him with mods. She always liked the way he watched her, with a bit of unease but flickering up to meet her gaze.
“Starscream, are you alright?”
Her question was so soft and so ignorant of the sensations he was experiencing that he gave her a heated glare.
Sheabee’s shoulders drew up as her medical systems alerted her to the change in her patient. No wonder he was so uncomfortable, she had to admit it was a wonder that he managed to maintain a professional stance let alone hide his…growing feelings.
But the procedure had already started, her medical systems pointed out, and he can’t exactly pin you on a berth with his wings like this.
Sheabee bit her bottom lip, matching his gaze. Her spark fluttered like a schoolgirl.
“It’ll be over soon,” she promised, unconventionally.
Starscream hoped so but once those dexterous servos touched his wings again, he hoped not.