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The Lost Light was an interesting, if not pretty standard starship. It had a nice name, but it was built like any other ship of its class.
It was the crew, however, that Ambulon found unique.
Its commander, Rodimus, was apparently a former Prime, and had an attitude and ego the size of a small planet. When Ambulon was first greeted by Rodimus and Ultra Magnus, he turned to the taller, blue mech, believing him to be the commander. Good thing Rodimus's cocky attitude made him leap forth with introductions first, and Ambulon stared at him a moment in disbelief. Well, all right, he'd seen crazier things.
Ambulon was well aware of Ultra Magnus's reputation once a name had been pinned to the mech whose face seemed permanently stuck in a scowl. He knew best to stay under the second-in-command's radar. He reminded him of Pharma, just a little. Pharma made no effort to conceal his distrust and disdain for Decepticons. Magnus, on the other hand, was either more lenient or quiet about his hatred.
The name Drift sounded familiar, but only until it was mentioned the third-in-command formerly went by Deadlock did Ambulon make a small 'o' with his mouth and nod. He heard of the name, but knew nothing of the mech. Swerve - who was very... friendly - seemed surprised by this. "Ain't all you traitors s'pose t'know one another or somethin'? Run a club for yourselves, you know?" he asked, and Ambulon just glared at him until the small Autobot slowly sidled away five silent seconds later.
The rest of the crew was no different. All unique, and insane, in their own way. Sure, there were a few Autobots who didn't seem to be suffering from some sort of processor or personality malfunction. Ratchet was nice - though Ambulon couldn't help but stare at his newly gifted blue hands every time they talked. Ratchet didn't blame him, however. Rung seemed like a proper, kind fellow - naturally, his job included being surrounded by crazies.
Speaking of which, Ambulon swore the security officer - Red... something - stalked him for at least two days straight when he joined the crew. Ambulon worried if his reputation as an ex-Decepticon would follow him on board as well, but Swerve informed him Red Alert was pretty much like this with everyone. Including himself.
However, of all the crew members to be the most neurotic, the most eccentric, the most unpredictable, it was--
The page from his door startled Ambulon from his recharge. His optics snapped online, twin beams of yellow light staring at the ceiling. He laid there on the berth a moment, wondering if he'd just - Another page. Someone was most definitely at his door. He blinked and checked his chronometer.
Almost midnight. He'd just got off duty two hours ago.
The door buzzed again. Then again. And again and again and again-- "Sigma," Ambulon cursed and drew to his feet, metal creaking. "Who is it?" he grumbled, tiredly, rubbing his optics. Once at the door, he looked up, sliding aside the shutter on the windowoh shit-- The medic recoiled as one giant, yellow optic pushed against the plexi-glass, right in his face.
"Primus Witness Believers," the optic's glow brightened against the red glass, "I'd just like to ask for a moment of your time to talk about our Creator and Great Giver, Primus."
Ambulon frowned.
Of all the crew members on this ship, no one was more crazy and wild than--
"Whirl."
Ambulon keyed open the door. As it swished aside, his look of exhausted frustration turned into fatigued surprise. The cycloptic Autobot had a gash across his right pauldron, another down the side of his face; his remaining antenna was bent backward, nearly snapped clean off. The fact he was slouching, head bowed, and arms hanging slack at his sides didn't help the fact he looked like a sad, pitiful creature left out in the rain.
"What happened to you?" Ambulon asked. He stepped aside, gesturing into his room. "Come in, come in."
"Oh, just some rough housing," Whirl answered, aloof. As he walked inside, Ambulon heard a sickly crrk and looked down, noticing the open wound on Whirl's heel. "Things got a little rough. We laughed, we slapped each others backs, we pushed each other playfully around, we told some tasteless jokes to people who apparently have no sense of humor whatsoever, we started yelling, we started throwing people and objects, you know." He shrugged, and energon leaked from his shoulder wound. "Slumber party stuff."
Ambulon frowned and shut the door. "I'm not even going to ask," he said, raising a hand. "But... Why are you here? You know where the medbay is located. I see you there at least once a day."
"I'm a smile-o-gram," Whirl said, and his optic flickered.
Ambulon furrowed his optic ridges.
"... Ratchet's busy."
"First Aid's on duty. In fact, just started his shift two joors ago."
"Mm, yeah, no."
Ambulon tilted his head. "No?"
"He kind of creeps me out," Whirl answered, waving massive hand-sheers at the medic. Ambulon sneered. "Obsessed with the Wreckers and all, whenever he's next to me, he stares at me all weird and then he makes this heaving noise like he's having a hard time cycling air, and I swear he's probably got photos of me at all angles pinned up in his quarters alongside some of my possessions and missing antenna."
Ambulon stared at him. Whirl stared back. They stared at one another.
"I'm going to win this, you know, if this is how you want to play. I can stare for joors. In fact, I do. A lot. Staring, that is."
Ambulon sighed. "Seriously, why won't you let First Aid see you?" he asked. "Is there a problem between you two?"
"It's not like I've got an issue with the geek," Whirl answered, "I just." He swished his claws at the medic again. "Wanted to see you."
Ambulon blinked. "... I'm off duty."
"Aren't you going to ask why?"
"But I'm off--"
"No, you're suppose to ask why, then tell me you're off duty and give me the poorly repainted boot."
Ambulon sighed, shoulders falling. "Okay," he said, paused, "why?"
Whirl stared at him. "Because I don't want to see First Aid."
"That isn't even--" Ambulon threw up his long gangly arms. The helicopter did as well.
"Do I need a reason to see you?"
"Yes, when I'm off duty and there's two very capable, competent doctors on duty who can see you."
"You can't see me? What, do your medical skills just cease to be when you're not on the clock? When the chronometer strikes 24 hundred joors, you become a simple, talent-less traitor?"
"That's not what I mean, and you know it."
"You're derailing here," Whirl said, and earned an annoyed look. He pointed to his damaged shoulder. "I'm wounded, and need medical treatment. You need to focus on repairing me. You're a doctor, aren't you?"
Ambulon grumbled and opened his door, pointed out into the hall. "Go," he said, firmly, "have First Aid treat your wounds. Then go do whatever it is that you do."
"Oh, I don't think that's very good advice for--"
"Go."
Whirl stared at Ambulon. Ambulon stared back. Instead of suggesting another staring contest, Whirl sighed. "Well," he inhaled, heaving, "I guess..." He paused to make an ugly noise, a wheezing hiss from his vents. "I'll just... go..." His voice was sickly and dry, and he made a show of limping slowly, and painfully for the door. "If I... if I can..." Whirl halted to double forward and force out more hacking sputters. "If I can... make it..." He swayed once, twice, placing a shaky, two-clawed hand to the door frame.
Ambulon just glared at him tiredly from nearby. As soon as Whirl was outside, he went back to the door. Whirl turned, the two facing one another. "Tell my... sparklings..." the helicopter groaned, optic dimming. "Not to... touch my... stash--"
"Goodnight, Whirl," Ambulon grumbled, the door slamming closed on his face, shutter cover snapping over the window.
Ambulon cycled a deep inhale, powering down. He crawled back onto his berth, sinking into the accommodating steel. Folded hands over his chest, offlined his optics, and counted down from ten before dozing off.
He wasn't sure just how long he had been sleeping. Though at some point in time, his recharge cycle had been interrupted by what sounded like soft humming nearby. Ambulon's audiols powered up by themselves, and the noise grew louder. Much closer now. In fact, as the medic's tired mind began to fearfully realize, it was coming right from--
Ambulon cracked his optics. Whirl was bent over the side of the bed, staring down at him, unblinking.
"Sacred Vector--!" The medic choked on his words as he flew up, nearly bashing his head against the helicopter's. He threw himself back, pinned against the wall, spark pulsing wildly in his heaving chest.
"I sang the song of your people to wake you," Whirl explained, calmly. Paused. "Well... Ex-people."
Ambulon's mind sputtered before it kickstarted the rest of his system. "Whirl!" he snarled, moving around the Autobot to stand. "What the Pit are you doing in here!? How'd you-- The door was locked!"
Whirl held up his claws. Pinched them open and closed.
"That doesn't explain anything!" Ambulon hoarsely cried. He pointed to the hacked open door. "Get-- Get out! Get out right now!"
"Rude," Whirl mumbled, "I just got here."
Ambulon shoved his hands against Whirl's back and proceeded to push him out. He managed a few inches before Whirl applied his extra weight, heels (both injured and intact) digging into the ground. Ambulon grunted and hissed as he tried, in vain, to push the helicopter out of his room. Whirl stood there, leaning back against the shoving medic, looking very much like a statue waiting to be propped up.
"This is fun. I can do this all night," Whirl said, "but as it is, I'm still injured and I think I just made the gash on my heel worse playing with you."
Ambulon blinked, and went still. He looked down; energon started to pool from Whirl's torn open heel. Whirl looked down with him. "Oops," he said. "I had an accident."
The medic calmed himself. He turned his gaze up to Whirl, who had nearly swiveled his head entirely around to look down at him. With a defeated sigh, Ambulon stepped back, letting the cycloptic 'bot stand upright again. "Sit down," the medic grumbled, pointing to his berth with one hand, rubbing the massive processor ache out of his forehead with the other.
Whirl silently took a seat on the edge of the berth. Hands in his lap like a good little boy. Fiddled his feet back and forth like an impatient good little boy. "Don't do that," Ambulon spat, and Whirl's pedes finished their little dance. The medic quickly went to his desk, picking through the few tools he kept on him. "You know, if you were in the medbay, this would--"
"But I'm not," Whirl interjected, "so hey, here we are."
Ambulon muttered something and returned to his patient's side. He knelt, quickly assessing the damage to Whirl's heel. "In some cultures, this would be romantic," Whirl noted, watching him. "In some cultures, it would also be... naughty." He paused. "Are you imagining me with an optic ridge wiggling? That's what the pause was for."
"Nicked a cable," Ambulon pressed, a little too loudly. He stood, turning his examination on Whirl's shoulder. Increased his scope of view inside. "Superficial." His optics traveled to the gash on his patient's head. "Frayed a circuit. That will have to be replaced." He glared down at Whirl. "Something I cannot do here."
"Do what you can here."
Ambulon sighed. He turned to the bent antenna. Carelessly, he snapped it forward and in place again. Whirl jumped and scowled. "Sorry," the medic said, hardly sounding apologetic, "I thought you disabled your pain receptors."
"You saucy dyna-minx."
Ambulon repressed a grin. He stepped back, arms akimbo. "All but the circuit can be repaired easy and quick in the medbay by, say, Ratchet or First Aid?" He offered, holding up a hand. "Shouldn't take them more than--"
"Aaauughhh," Whirl whined and slumped to the side. "Now I'm getting a cerebro-ache. I can't imagine why."
Ambulon snorted. "You know, you're lucky I haven't called in security to manhandle you out of here."
"I can take Red Alert. All I have to do is say his name backwards three times and he'll go running."
"You should be grateful I'm even helping you at all."
"You're all talk, no action, Exy. Show me your guns."
"'Exy'?"
"Exy as in 'ex'. As in, you're an ex-Decepticon." Whirl tilted his head. "Would you prefer a different nickname? I can call you Skippy or Trotter or Skywalk--"
"That's enough," Ambulon snapped, and his tone was stern enough to slightly dampen Whirl's rambunctious EM field. He knew he was listening seriously now. "I may have one of the most pathetic designations in the known universe, but it is still my name, and you will address me by it. Not Exy; not any sort of pun or something based on my past. It's Ambulon. Okay?"
Whirl was quiet and still for a few seconds. He shifted slightly. "Okay," he said, simply. Ambulon nodded, feeling a little less irritated than ten seconds ago. "Ambooboo."
"What did I just--!?"
"It wasn't a pun, nor was it in regards to your past as a Decepticon! You can't call penalty if I didn't break any rules!"
Ambulon glowered, thinking a moment. "'Booboo' is a pet term used by younglings in regards to wounds," he explained, so very seriously. "Wounds are repaired by medics. I am a medic. Therefore, 'booboo' would be a pun off my profession. So, yes, you did use a pun."
"Foul!"
"Overruled!"
"Unfair," Whirl grumbled, bowing his head. "For the record, it wasn't my intention to associate it with that 'booboo'. I meant it as a play off Ambulon. ... Ambulon."
Ambulon sighed for the fifth time. He had been counting. Without another word, he picked up a few of his tools. He stood before Whirl, showing him the instruments. "I'll patch you up," he said, "if you tell me why you demanded to see me, and not the other medics."
Whirl twitched again. "What does it matter, in the end?" he asked. "You wouldn't like the answer either way. You'd think it was a joke or a lie. You can't tell the difference when I'm being serious and when I'm not."
"That's not true."
"Overruled."
Ambulon shook his head. "Well, tell me what you want then," he finally caved in. "I guess anything is better than nothing."
"Is it, really?"
"Talk, or take a walk."
"Primus, the healthcare system is really falling apart," Whirl scowled. "You've got the bedside manners of a nosoron."
Ambulon stared.
"... Fine. I'll talk." Whirl pointed. "But don't go blaming me if it's not what you want to hear."
Ambulon said nothing, just gestured back. Whirl obediently laid down, giving the medic easy access to his bleeding heel. Ambulon had to kneel a little, but once comfortable, quickly went to work.
For a minute or two it was quiet.
"So, um--"
"--Start talking."
Whirl's optic flickered. He laid his head back. "Once upon a time, I got into a fight with Skids and found myself getting treated by a doctor named Ambulon. It was an adventure worthy of passing on to future generations to come. Action, adventure, drama - dare I say, romance."
"Why did you and Skids fight?"
Whirl was not expecting that. He looked aside a moment. "Like I said, I said something he didn't like, and he got mad." His head reclined downward a little. "I notice this happens a lot. For some reason."
"Did you start the fight?"
"He did. Unless you count my hand accidentally slipping across his face in something that maybe could classify as a punch. I was reaching for my cube, okay?"
Ambulon snorted.
"I know what you're thinking," Whirl continued, "that I deserved this. That 'cause I pulled the first punch, and said something mean, I deserve getting my aft handed to me. But, here's the clincher - it's not like I meant to offend him. And it's not like he didn't say somethin' that didn't tick me off." He threw up his claws. "I mean, he knows I'm insane. What sort of idiot insults someone who once got accused of trying to telepathically control frizz rats to eat through their cell wall?"
Ambulon looked up. Whirl looked down.
"To be fair, they were scientifically engineered frizz ra--"
"So." Ambulon looked back down, back to work. "You accidentally said something offensive, he said something equally offensive in return, and in your anger, you lashed out. Is that what you're saying?"
"You're forgetting the part where I kneed him in the face, but... More or less, that's right."
"Kneed him in the...?" Ambulon sighed (seventh!) and shook his head. "Let me guess: the reason you're here is because First Aid's busy patching up Skids?" He knew Ratchet was still fussing with Sureshot after he accidentally fell into an engine in a cock-off battle of vanity and fisticuffs with some smug ass thinking he had a better paint job. (Sunstreaker won.)
"It's one reason."
"Then what's the other?"
"Why did you leave the Decepticons?"
"I thought to myself, 'I'd sure love to treat obnoxious, nosy Autobots instead of obnoxious, homicidal Decepticons for a living'."
"You insult me. Who said I wasn't hom--"
"Please don't finish that sentence."
"Can I make a joke about the 'nosy' bit?"
"No."
"Damn."
Ambulon paused, switching out tools to weld the wound closed. "But you digressed," he said, inhaling. "What is the other reason you came to see me instead of First Aid?"
"Your berth is still warm and toasty."
Ambulon pushed the welder a little too hard, and Whirl flinched.
"How very Decepticon-like of you."
"You seem to really, really hate Decepticons," Ambulon noted. "And you're quite fond of reminding me how I once was one."
"Are you sayin' I hate you?" Whirl asked.
"Maybe."
"That's ridiculous," Whirl reassured, "I hate everyone. It's in my official stats."
Ambulon gave the newly patched heel a rub before standing. He gestured Whirl to sit upright. "Good. I guess. Because hating someone usually means you try to avoid them," he said.
The cycloptic 'bot sat up. "Or kill them. Especially when no one's around to see or stop me." Whirl looked to Ambulon, optic brightening. He lowered his voice, whispered menacingly, "Are you scare--"
"No."
"You're calling me nosy, you're the one who's nosy. Why do you care if I come to see you? You're a doctor. You're doing your job. You're not suppose to ask why sick or injured people come see you for treatment. Sheesh. Are you dumb?"
"I'm off duty."
"This again? Really?"
Ambulon cleaned out the shoulder wound. "You're the one going in circles, Whirl. Eventually, you're going to get dizzy."
"Stupid. That only applies if it's literal."
"One tweak of this circuit in your head wound here, and you will be. Literally."
"You're a weirdo."
Ambulon chuckled. "Uh huh."
"You're a reject. You're part of a failed experiment or somethin', I don't know the whole story. You're hated by all your former comrades. People like the DJD are out to kill you."
"I'd almost forgotten about that last bit," Ambulon said, picking away loose bits of shrapnel.
"You're an Autobot, but you don't feel like one. Not always. Sometimes you feel like an outcast. Most of the time, people make you feel like an outcast. Not even your boss liked you. Heck, Pharma tried pinning the blame for the Red Rust on you to save his own shiny buttfins."
Ambulon hummed. "That was rather distasteful, I agree."
"You can't go anywhere without someone reminding you of your Decepticon past. Even on this ship, this wonderful golden beam of starshine, there's a few of us who don't trust you. Just 'cause you were a 'Con. They think you're gonna turn on them. On us all. That you're gonna slip something rusty and nasty in our systems when you're inspecting or repairing us. Some say having you on board means we'll have the DJD on our tails soon. You worked at Delphi, pretty much smack dab in DJD territory; you were taunting them, and they're gonna get you back for it. Chase your mismatched aft down. Hit the jackpot when they find Drifty partying with us."
"Lovely," Ambulon growled, welding closed the shoulder wound.
"You can try and paint yourself up all pretty like a two-credit Paradron pleasure 'bot, but the truth is, you can never escape your past. What you've done. You can tell yourself becoming an Autobot - and an Autobot medic at that - atoned for your sins. But you know it didn't. Not all of them. I don't know why you were a Decepticon; should hate you on principle, but I guess you had your reasons. Dumb reasons, probably. But you're not a Decepticon anymore. So you're an outcast. You're a reject. You're cursed. And in your little doctor-y head, you believe some of it, too. So you can't help but feel a little paranoid that everyone is against you. That everyone thinks you're wrong somehow. You're not like Drift - none of that noble, spark searchin', 'Primus have mercy on my muddied soul' stuff. And Cyclonus - let's just forget about ugly Broody the Bunnybot. Just... You. Plain. Nothing outstanding. Boring ole Ambukins."
"Uh huh."
"So I came to you because I like you. Because you kinda remind me of me."
Ambulon stopped suddenly, hands freezing. He blinked, then looked down. Whirl was staring up at him, silent, his EM field humming calmly. The most relaxed Ambulon ever felt around the 'bot thus far.
"So, here's the fun part," Whirl said, eye flickering, "was that all a lie? Or was I telling the truth? Was it a confession, or was I just saying what you wanted to hear?" He shrugged. "Albeit maybe not worded so nicely."
Ambulon opened his mouth. His jaw clenched a second later. Vocalizer on stand-by. Whirl's stare was unblinking, as usual.
"You know my story. Well, the good parts, anyway," Whirl said. "You can't run from the scrap you've done. You can't even run from yourself. So, why even bother? You just embrace it. You just take the punches, one at a time, and you don't give a frag what people say. Sometimes you do, though. 'Cause sometimes you end up punching and kneeing them in the face and starting a bar brawl." He made a strange little noise between amusement and annoyance. "But you can't run, so you stop and you fight, and if people don't like it, slag 'em, right? You don't need to run or change for anyone. Not unless you want to, right?"
He turned his gaze to the door. "And it feels weird, don't it, when you meet someone who doesn't approach you wantin' to fight or berate you? Someone who sympathizes or maybe actually cares? I know someone like that, y'know. I'm still not sure if I like it, but I guess it doesn't make me angry. Havin' someone that has some sort of faith in me." His optic rolled back to Ambulon. "You got someone like that, Ambooboo? Someone who doesn't see you as a freak or lost cause? Maybe First Aid? Probably. You an' me - we're alike in some ways, but we definitely ain't the same. So, yeah. Probably First Aid."
Ambulon was... speechless. He looked down at the instruments in his hands. Catching the purple splotch of paint on his arm, in the middle of patchy red. He turned back to Whirl. Cycles inhaled, exhaled, the silence thick hanging above their heads.
Ambulon pointed to the remaining wound. "We'll need to patch that circuit up in the medbay," he said, softly.
"Aw," Whirl grumbled, "why not here?"
"I don't have the necessary equipment here."
"Can we steal it?"
Ambulon rolled his optics. "Why would we--" He pushed at the cycloptic 'bot's good shoulder. "Come on. Get up. We're going to the medbay, whether you like it or not."
Whirl reluctantly drew to his feet. "Yeah, yeah," he mumbled, the two heading out of the room and down the long corridor. "But." He glanced down at Ambulon, who looked back up. "Promise me you'll fix it. Not fanboy or crotchetyaft."
Ambulon's frown twitched. He slowly smiled. "If you insist," he replied.
"Hey, do you get charged for overtime?"
"No? I don't think I even get paid..."
"You want to rob Swerve's bar? I bet he's collected a nice booty of credits. Once we rob the place, we'll buy a round of the finest plain aft engex at Swerve's bar to celebrate."
"Whirl, just... shut up."