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The blueprints in front of him were starting to blur together again, Scrapper realized as he sat at his desk, and the energon he had originally brought in with him before heading into his personal office was cold too.
He didn’t feel too compelled to heat it up though as he stared at it from the corner of his visor, and the steam that used to waft from it was long gone.
He was too busy trying to think about making shanix for him and his crew again. Their funds were getting low again and he was almost positive that they didn’t know about it which was fine as long as they didn’t get into fights or think about anything stupid to try and alleviate their soon to be dire situation.
But if they did then Hook probably would’ve come up with some plan to scavenge the frames of deceased mechs on Cybertron to sell them for parts then drag Scavenger and Mixmaster directly into his well-meaning albeit morally questionable plan while the rest of them grumbled and followed him in order to make sure no one died.
However, he didn’t have too long to dwell on those thoughts when his optics started to ache again, the pain almost impossible to bear again.
It had started earlier while he was out with his gestalt. Scavenger was sitting next to Long Haul and humming about something while showing off his latest digging excavation, Bonecrusher was arguing with Mixmaster about something stupid again, and Hook was tuning the both of them while he read his data pad.
Hook seemed to pick up on his stress as it leaked through their bond and his EM field, but he had managed to shrug off his concerned servos, waving it off as another passing episode of pain for him. He was used to it now. He was fine.
But he knew Hook wouldn’t accept his dismissal without proof or an explosive fight, so he reigned his EM field and stared at him in silence until he did—though it still looked like Hook knew he was only trying placate him, suspected him of it.
Scrapper could tell from how the corners of Hook’s lips pulled and the sheen of his visor when he stared at him and crossed his legs, no doubt scrutinizing and chewing him out in his head for pretending like things were fine when they clearly weren’t.
But perhaps for the sake of keeping the peace in the room and between the six of them. Hook swallowed his words and stormed off with a wordless huff, but not a silent exit.
His pedes stomped across the floor, catching the rest of their gestalt off guard, their heads snapping in Hook’s direction and then at him and his agitated frame.
Scavenger was the first to move, his frame slowly drifting into Scrapper’s sight, clearly stuck between rushing after Hook to ask him what was wrong or approach him with the same reason. He twisted his servos together and squeaked when their gaze finally met.
Long Haul and Bonecrusher were concerned as well as they watched Scavenger’s tail wilt and hit the floor. Mixmaster stared at where Hook had gone.
"Everything's fine," he had said, trying and ease the tension, but maybe that was mere simple wishing on his part.
Scrapper could tell they weren't satisfied with his answer through their bond alone, disappointed and worried EM fields aside.
Scrapper grunted as something warm made its way across his shoulder and as he turned his head back to see who it was, he realized it was Scavenger trying to check on him.
“Are you okay?” Scavenger asked. He pulled a seat next to Scrapper and rubbed his cheek against his forearm in silence. “Hook’s been grumbling and making a fuss in Mixmaster’s lab all day…”
“I’ve had better days,” Scrapper admitted quietly, reaching out to touch Scavenger. The feeling of his lover’s head and chin against his servo was almost if not more than enough to make him feel decent again. “Better ones than today.”
“Mm…” Scavenger said, glancing down at the blueprints. The comments Scrapper had scribbled down were worse than usual, and although his leader’s handwriting had never been the cleanest it wasn’t the worst and could usually still be read, but not today. “Did you take your medicine yet?”
“I forgot,” Scrapper said, sighing. “Don’t tell, Hook. He’ll yell at me.”
“Only if you remember to take it,” Scavenger said, lifting his head from the blueprints. “You have to drink all of it, remember?”
“I do. Don’t you worry your sweet little head.”
“If you say so.”
Slowly, Scrapper reached for the cube across the table, wincing when he realized how cold it was against his servos and the bitter stench of whatever concoction Hook and Mixmaster had whipped up for Scrapper to drink had wafted into his nose.
“It stinks. I know. That’s why I tend to forget about it these days,” Scrapper said, taking it from Scavenger. He blinked noticing how awkward Scavenger was now. Scavenger was standing in front of him, the chair he was sitting in earlier pushed and knocked down on the grounds, EM field leaking all sorts of worries again.
With a grunt, Scrapper pushed himself out further from the desk and widened his arms, hoping Scavenger would take his hint, grateful when he finally did.
Scavenger dove into his lap almost immediately, tail swishing loudly against the floor as buried his faceplate into the crook of Scrapper’s neck, lips tickling it.
Scrapper removed his mouth guard and brought the cube of bitter medicine to his lips, forcing it down his throat, cursing whoever decided it was good for his health to drink such disgusting herbal sludge every day.
Scavenger was looking at him now again through his visor, probably to make sure he had finished his medicine, not left a single drop behind.
That or he was thinking all sorts of things again in his head—things he shouldn’t concern himself with anymore—like if they were anything he could do to reverse the situation that was happening before him, what had caused it.
But what did Scrapper know, he thought. He was the fool who got caught by a human and blinded with acid, shot with his own weapon in some construction lot before his gestalt found him and freaked out over his injuries—panicked over whether he was scrap or not.
Hook never let him forget how lucky he was to be able to keep his at least some vision intact given the lack of materials they had whenever he tried to push himself to stay up another late night. Then Long Haul would throw him over his shoulders when that didn’t work. They never did like recharging someone missing since his near death experience rippled through them all.
Maybe he’d never admit it out loud, but Scrapper thought it would’ve been better to just have lost his vision entirely than to keep only some of it.
Drawing blueprints were never the same and his depth perception had taken a major nose dive; it’d also taken him forever to get Scavenger and Long Haul off his aft about not needing someone to guide him around their current hideout because of how much work it still needed on it. The world as he knew it had changed around him and it wouldn’t change for him—he had to.
Sometimes he was jealous of the world inside of Scavenger’s head. He was jealous of his perseverance and belief that things would get better—eventually for him and his vision.
Didn’t have the spark to tell him how bad everything really was for him when he pried for information or that there was still flecks of anger that burned in his spark whenever he was reminded of what happened. That sometimes he still woke up from having nightmares about it.
His gestalt knew better than to bother him about what had happened when he first woke up and realized how sensitive his optics were to light now.
They had all felt the damage as it ripped through his faceplate, the pain he felt rolling around on the ground before realizing that it was over. What it felt like to come back and realize that something important to him was only partially taken.
“Alright,” Scrapper said, setting down the empty cube. “All done.”
“That’s good,” Scavenger mumbled softly, wrapping his arms around Scrapper’s neck. He stared at him and pouted. “But you still look like you’re in pain. Should I call Hook to come in and look at ya?"
“I’ll be fine. Don’t get him involved. He’s already mad at me as it is…” Scrapper managed before Scavenger cupped his cheeks and stared at him. “Really, I mean it.”
“You have to tell us when you’re in pain, Scrapper. It’s not good if you hide it,” Scavenger said faintly. He twisted his neck to look at the blueprints on the table again and reached out to touch Scrapper’s servo, slowly he molded his servo over it and frowned. “We’re a gestalt…”
“I know.”
“Then why can’t you tell us when you’re in pain?”
“I don’t want you guys to coddle me…about my injuries” Scrapper confessed, swallowing his fuel.
He could still taste the lingering remnants of the medicine on his glossa. He removed his visor and stared at Scavenger directly, still unable to fully make out of his faceplate like he used too. He only had the memories of his power bank to carry the rest of his vision.
“We’re not though,” Scavenger said sweetly. “Not trying to at least. We just worry you’re going to really hurt yourself again and not say anything.”
“I know and I really appreciate all you guys have done for me,” Scrapper said.
To his relief, Scavenger didn’t press him any further about it. Instead, he reached forward and touched his faceplate, digits trailing where the acid had marred and burned into his optics, dripped and continued to sear into him until they hit his neck and shoulders.
There wasn’t much Hook could do about the scaring, but he had offered to try something when they got more materials, however, he had denied it. They always more important things that could’ve used those. He wasn’t that interested in keeping his looks up like Hook was.
Scrapper returned Scavenger’s touch by pressing his servo against him. Quietly, he wiped the coolant that leaked from the corner of Scavenger’s optics with his thumb and pressed his lips against it when he was done.
“I love you,” Scavenger said, blushing.
“And I you,” Scrapper said in return, kissing him.
He wasn’t the most romantic mech nor was he the best at expressing himself as openly when it came to returning his gestalt’s affection. No one in his gestalt was really good at opening up or saying anything, but Scavenger was tracks better compared to them. At least, he tried and was cute doing it.
He could feel Scavenger’s hips rock against him as their kiss deepened, a slow and grinding motion that distracted the both of them from everything.
“Good boy. That’s it. Keep going,” Scrapper murmured softly, the words slipping out of his mouth faster than he could comprehend was possible. He usually saved those kinds of words for Hook and his ego.
Scavenger shuddered and whimpered against his lips, tilting his helm, trying to make more out of their sudden kiss. Deepen it. No matter how many times he'd kissed Scrapper before, it always felt like it was still the first time.
He could feel his lips get bitten into and taste the faint bitter medicine that Scrapper had drunk before their kiss. Although, the taste made him uneasy, he pushed through it in favor of having more of Scrapper. Feeling rewarded when his hips were dug into and dents were made from Scrapper’s servos digging into him as he continued to roll his hips.
By the time their kiss had ended, Scavenger was pressing his nose into the crook of Scrapper’s neck again, the sound of his labored breathing in the air.
Eventually, a comfortable silence built between them. Scrapper was working on his blueprints again, feeling slightly energized from Scavenger sitting in his lap and recharging.
Although Scrapper was still annoyed by the disgusting medication he had forgotten to drink when warm that lingered in his mouth, he continued to busy himself with how to earn him and his crew another way of putting fuel in their tanks.
It was the least he owed them after all, Scrapper reasoned, they didn’t have to waste their time and resources trying to fix him, but they did, and he was grateful for it. He rubbed the top of Scavenger’s head and kissed it.