Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers or anything associated with it.

Title: Bedside Manner
Rating: T
Universe: G1
Pairing: Cyclonus/Galvatron
Word Count: 1022

It's been..years since I've added anything to this, and to whomever reads this – my apologies! College is constantly keeping me busy and last summer I had to be somewhere full time, but I finally have a free summer!

My writing style might have changed over the years, and I'm thinking about revising the previous chapters however, I'll probably leave them as is. Also I'm going to try and keep the chapters shorter.

Cyclonus rested against the wall in silence, his arms crossed as he glowered at Hook. The Decepticon's excuse for a medic was operating on Galvatron's legs, removing the burnt husks of metal and circuitry that were once the foundation of fearless leader's propulsion system. Galvatron was in stasis lock, eyes dim and black as he laid still on the repair berth.

"How long will he be in stasis?" Cyclonus asked as Hook dropped four more dead flight cylinders on to the adjacent surgical table.

"Hard to say." was Hook's callous reply, his distaste for Cyclonus dripping in every word. "I've put him on an Energon drip, but we barely have enough for that. You know we're running low!"

"I'll find Energon to replace it – do what you need to do, Decepticon. I will worry about the logistics and repercussions." The Jet snapped, and Hook huffed, nodding.

Cyclonus stood up straight, walking over to the berth where Galvatron lay and turned to Hook.

"Leave us."

The constructicon did so gladly, the door hissing shut behind him. Swindle had been their previous medic, but he had pulled one of Galvatron's servo joins too painfully during an operation and three shots later had given up the job. The current term of 'medic' was now more accurately anyone brave enough to tinker with Galvatron's insides with minimal expertise.

The Decepticons were in a sad state, and it shamed Cyclonus that he noted the irony of having a sliding door in a dome that had its top blown off. Any Decepticon could simply fly in, yet they still chose the mediocrity of walking through the door. The Jet transformer looked up at the stars as he set a hand on the medical berth, gazing warily upwards in to space. Galvatron, Scourge and himself weren't true Decepticons, they weren't like the others. They were Unicron's children; progeny of the world eater himself and images created from his mind. Why did they have to suffer the company of the common Decepticons – because of a common hatred?

Cyclonus hung his head in anger, the allure of the stars was not for him. Nor for Scourge or mighty Galvatron. Even though they were no longer trueDecepticons, they were still subject to Unicron's orders and some partial will from their former lives. Their creator's death meant nothing, his want for the destruction of the Autobots and the Matrix was firm and adamant in their processors and sparks no matter what other temptations of freedom or proclivities were present.

The Jet was not one to pity himself or his own situation, but now and then he'd allow himself an internal period of selfish mourning. No one else was around, and damn the Allspark if Cyclonus wasn't allowed to mope for a few minutes while Galvatron was under.

The chilling sound of an entire system starting back up made Cyclonus move away from the berth quickly, turning around and standing ramrod straight. Galvatron mumbled incoherently, trying to sit up but Cyclonus was quickly at his side, hands on his shoulders.

"Calm yourself, mighty Galvatron." He said - voice raspy and low as he eased Galvatron back down on to the berth. He knew the other mech hated being immobilized, and hated repairs even more - but this particular situation didn't have room for compromising. "Hook is doing everything he can to improve your current condition…"

Galvatron looked at him, eyes narrowing in anticipation for Cyclonus to finish his sentence.

"…however milord, because of the unique properties of your lost propulsion system it will…take some time."

The following groan that came from Galvatron would normally have been an angry scream followed by several shots from his cannon, but the mech simply didn't have the energy to be angry. Cyclonus knew this, and for once in his relatively short time being alive – decided to take advantage of that fact for his own personal gain. But personal gain for Cyclonus was more along the lines of being closer to Galvatron than anyone else rather than take Galvatron's power.

He gently put his hand on Galvatron's shoulder, his superior looking up at him with a somber expression of exhaustion. The inability to have a tantrum sent Galvatron down a separate path of morbid depression – at least in private.

"I will take care of everything in your stead, Lord Galvatron – and when you are recovered the Decepticons will be ready to receive their rightful leader once again."

Galvatron's optics flickered for a moment before he inclined his head in a long slow nod that only lasted a few seconds before he rolled to his side, a position more comfortable because of his anatomy and began to voluntarily enter stasis.

Cyclonus removed his hand from Galvatron's shoulder, letting it fall back to his side. He digested what had just happened as he looked down at his leader's prone form. It warmed his spark to know that Galvatron trusted him – him – to look after the Decepticons in his stead. In the fiercest battles and the quietest of nights, Cyclonus would hold that with him in silence and be at peace.

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