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There are a lot of things one becomes accustomed to, over the course of a long life spent at war. And for one such as Scorponok, who had seen and done more than most on either side of the conflict, very little remained in creation that could phase him. Which made his work easy; no room for surprise at what his inventions brought to him in turns of results, just an exasperated sigh at the worst of it and a recording of whatever he found.
With this creating a sort of disinterest in the monotony of his work, he did take some degree of pleasure in his partnership with Flame, even if he was an Autobot. Ex-Autobot. Whatever spending extended time in an Autobot prison made someone who took strange glee in experiments that could be considered "horrific" by most others. At the very least, he shook things up from time to time, even if that in its own way took a shape of the familiar.
But sometimes, the unexpected happens. Sometimes, the unexpected takes the form of a particularly well done piece or research, or some new but somehow delightful mannerism from Flame, which resulted in a jolt of something close to joy to the spark. Sometimes it resulted in the opposite, either an explosive frustration or exhausted anger. This was not one of those times.
He had been working in the lab he shared with Flame in complete silence, only broken by the occasional comment regarding tweaks to their work and the white noise of tools that faded into the back of his mind. A pattern they had fallen into long ago, when they first started working together, but one that could not be considered uncomfortable. Scorponok had, perhaps foolishly he would later think, prepared for another day of more of the same. But the careful, familiar monotony was shattered by a clatter of Flame's instruments as they fell to the floor, accompanied by a sharp cry of pain that tore from his throat like it was dragged out on hooks.
Scorponok dropped his own tools, whirling around to face him and trying to tamp down the flare of worry in his chest. He was greeted with the image of Flame bracing himself against his work station, shoulders trembling from the effort of keeping him upright as his knees buckled under his weight. A noxious, yellow-green smoke drifted through the air, originating for his head, which he had bowed low. His back took on dramatic arch, so tense as he doubled in on himself that Scorponok was sure the circuitry holding together would snap under the pressure, and he let out a low, keening cry. It sounded like he were unable to get the energy for anything louder- more like air passing through his vents than anything else.
Hands scrambled at the table for purchase as his legs finally gave way, and Flame hit the floor with a resounding thud. Scorponok could not help but flinch at the noise, and the worry became too much for him to tuck away under a veneer of calm. His mind began to spin through the possible whats and whys and a "how do I stop this" that was a little more frantic than he would ever admit to himself, much less anyone else. And he was so frozen to the spot, held in place by shock at what he was seeing. But then Flame curled even further in on himself, hands clutching the back of his head to pull himself into an even tighter ball, as if he were trying to protect his spark from an outside force, and howled. And that was like every ounce of energy in him, not channeled into guarding his spark, was used to produce a single sound of absolute agony.
In the time that would follow, Scorponok would not admit that he reacted out of concern, but in the moment he could not deny the truth of that. Chilled through every inch of his frame, Scorponok stepped forward, to drop to the ground beside Flame, one hand stretched out with the slightest hesitation, to place it against Flame's back. But he paused just shy of contact, unsure if the touch would cause him more harm than good. There was a moment of stillness, where Flame's fans came alive to cool an overheating, panicked body, and it was then that Scorponok took hold of his shoulders to gently ease him back so he rested against his lap, to avoid injury should he collapse further.
The scientist in Scorponok felt the need to ask questions, as he watched Flame twist and contort in his arms, joints tensed enough to snap. A soft but firm, "What's wrong," managed to find its way past his lips, but Flame wasn't even looking at him. It wasn't likely he was able to respond, if he had heard him at all.
So they sat, with Scorponok wishing he could do something more. He ruled out any experiment on the fly, at the moment. Any examination may kill him, and the logical part of him - trying to speak over the emotional part that dripped with desperate worry - said that he would be foolish to dispose of a useful ally. He clung to that, even as everything else lingered.
And just as suddenly as it had started, the episode passed. Flame's body relaxed, slow and methodical as if the action itself pained him, and his systems steadily clicked as things returned to something close to normal. There was a low rumble of an engine, what could have been a comfort purr that Scorponok resisted the urge to match. It was a matter of dignity, for both of them. After a moment, he reached up with shaking hands to rub away the black ichor that had leaked from his eyes and nose and left stains on his chin and cheeks. He coughed once, dispelling a single cloud of smoke that had lingered in his throat, then turned his attention to Scorponok.
"The hell was that?" he asked, voice a quiet rasp as strength made a gradual return to him, not bothering to question how he found himself in Scorponok's lap.
"I have no idea," was the response.
He helped Flame into a sitting position. Flame planted his hands on his knees and gave his lowered head a slow shake. A flash of fear that Flame might empty his tank right there shot through Scorponok, but it was soon shuffled out of his mind as something of little importance. Flame straightened his back, and turned his gaze to Scorponok. There was a ghost of a smile teasing at his mouth.
"Do you think some experiments are in order?" he asked.
"...Are you sure you want to?" There was genuine surprise in Scorponok's voice that he could not scrub out.
Flame shrugged, climbing to his feet. When he stumbled, legs still weak, all Scorponok had to do was reach up from his seated position and press a stabilizing hand against his elbow.
"I felt like I was dying," Flame said, with a sort of glib tone that implied that nothing at all had happened. He waved a hand. "That calls for some investigation, I think. And besides, I've done worse."
Scorponok, still pressing against Flame's elbow, moved to stand beside him. He looked down, towering as he was, and said, "If you insist."
But he couldn't help the smile that spread across his face at the return of the familiar.