Waking up in the enemy medbay was never a pleasant exeperience. For one reason, it meant you were deep in enemy territory, and for another…well it was never a good thing to wake up in a medbay, enemy or not. Swindle adjusted his optics to the new light. The usual Autobot-orange walls told him quite clearly where he lay. It was dimmer in here than out on the battlefield, but after emerging from a pool dark unconsciousness, even the small soft light beams stabbed his optical sensors like a knife.

He sensed movement somewhere near his head and glanced over as a blurry red and white figure came into his line of vision. Once he managed to focus on him, Swindle recognized the Autobot: it was their medic, First Aid, the one he had encountered before not all that long ago. The pacifist, he remembered.

Of course, only irony would lock him in the same room, in this position, with the gentle Autobot. Primus had a strange sense of humor.

The medic was doing something to his right leg, which hurt like the Pit. All of him hurt, but his leg felt like it was on fire. It must have been crushed in the falling debris from that explosion. He didn't remember much of what happened after hearing the bang, but it was enough to knock him into stasis lock. His arm cannon was missing. No doubt he would have been disarmed, but then again hopefully his favorite weapon hadn't been another victim of the battle.

First Aid didn't seem to notice that he was awake. The medic was too focused on his leg. Swindle peered at him as best he could without moving his head. First Aid had definitely been on the battlefield as well. His body was dented and scratched, with scorch marks appearing here and there. He had lost his face mask, revealing his blue optics and young features.

"First Aid!" Another Protectobot appeared, Blades, if Swindle remembered correctly. He came and stood next to the medic. "You need to get yourself patched up. Worry about him later!"

First Aid seemed to ignore him, as he only continued working on Swindle's leg. "I'm not going anywhere until he stops bleeding energon from this main fuel line."

"He's the enemy First Aid! You should have left him buried under those rocks."

"Please, Blades," First Aid responded with a hint of a small growl in his voice, "I need to concentrate."

The copter glared at the Decepticon in contempt before turning to leave First Aid to his work. "It's not as if he'd do the same for you..."

Swindle listened to the whole exchange in silence, staring blankly at the ceiling. He felt the medic's hands stop their movement over his leg as First Aid let out a sigh. "There...," he said quietly to himself.

It was then Swindle decided the Protectobot wasn't being bothered enough. "He's probably right you know," the Combaticon said weakly. His vocalizer was still strained from the fight. He saw First Aid's head jerk slightly out of the corner of his optic.

"You've come out of stasis," the medic said. "That's a good sign." The last part was said mostly to himself as he made his way over to a monitoring station near Swindle's head. He gazed over the readouts. "At least you're not leaking energon anymore."

"What am I doing here, First Aid?"

The Protectobot turned his blue optics on Swindle, looking tired and defeated. "I was searching for a comrade underneath all that rubble. I was able to locate him, but I found you as well."

"So why aren't you helping him?"

"I already did. His wasn't nearly as damaged as you." First Aid frowned. "His injuries weren't life threatening."

"Is that why you brought me here? So you could save me, the enemy?"

First Aid turned to the screen again. At first, Swindle thought he wasn't going to answer, but then he heard a reply just above a whisper.

"I couldn't just leave you there. Not while you were still alive."

Swindle gazed at him. "My people would have come for me, you know."

First Aid looked at him grimly. "But by then it would have been too late."

"That bad, huh?" Swindle grinned, trying to lighten the depressing mood. First Aid didn't respond. Instead he seemed to be staring at nothing, his optics locked onto some invisible spot on the floor. Swindle frowned. Without his face mask, First Aid couldn't hide his emotions so easily. Of course Swindle could read him just fine if he had it on (he did have four brothers who constantly wore their own masks), but it was First Aid's optics that intrigued him.

Their color seemed to be bright and dull at the same time. Full of life, but remarkably sad. Swindle had dealt with plenty of sad, gloomy people looking to satisfy themselves with the material things that he could provide them, but this one raised the unhappy meter just a bit higher. The medic's profit came from helping those around him, and what did he get in return for it? Fix someone up so they can go shoot at somebody else again and keep the war going. Swindle almost felt bad for taunting him on their first meeting. Almost.

Swindle raised his arm slowly, painfully. There was an unpleasant gritty feeling in the space between his nose and an optic. He removed the shield glasses covering his optics, scratching at the dirt that had gathered underneath. First Aid was watching him closely.

"Be careful," the medic advised. "Don't move around too much or-"

First Aid paused mid-sentence, and Swindle glanced at him curiously. "What?" Swindle asked.

First Aid was studying Swindle's face with interest. "Your optics are purple," he said softly. "That's a rare color."

"Yeah," Swindle replied off-hand. "Kinda runs in my family. Blast Off's got 'em too."

"They're nice," First Aid commented, and then he smiled at him.

Swindle could have sworn he felt something jerk deep within his chest right then. He tried to hide the flinch that went across his face but unfortunately for him, First Aid was trained to notice such things.

"Are you alright?"

Swindle gazed away at the opposite wall, turning his head to hide the grimace on his features. "I'm fine," he muttered. It took every bit of willpower and strength he had left to keep his body from twitching when First Aid reached out to touch him on the shoulder.

"Get some rest then," the medic said gently. "You're safe here. No one will harm you on my watch."

Swindle heard him turn to leave. Then, the word slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it. "Thanks."

First Aid stopped at the door, glancing back at the Combaticon. Swindle sensed the Autobot staring at him, and he turned his head to meet First Aid's optics with his own. First Aid was smiling again. Though this time, it was much fuller, and the Protectobot looked genuinely happy. Swindle held his gaze, and just for a few seconds did First Aid's optics glow with a pure crystalline blue that held not a trace of sorrow or remorse of any kind.

"Please," he said with that cheerful shine still somewhat in his eyes, "Don't try to move. Your repair systems are still trying to fix everything. I'll return shortly."

He left. Swindle watched him go, disappearing out the door. Out of instinct and even just to spite the Autobot, Swindle tried sitting up. Bad idea! Every circuit within him screamed in protest when he attempted to move. His leg felt like it was on fire. Swindle fell back on the berth, his internal alarms threatening him with stasis lock and silently cursing whoever invented things that could explode. At least he knew he wasn't going anywhere for awhile. That most likely explains why I'm not strapped down. They know I can't move.

With nothing else to do, Swindle glared angrily at the orange ceiling. Slag.

I've gotten myself addicted to this pairing. 8D

More to come!