AN: This is just a one-shot I came up with after a while of pondering Crossifre. I saw a couple of others about the same thing and decided to do one of my own.

Just a mission. That's all it is. Nothing more, nothing less. Granted, it's a mission to terminate Airachnid, but it's still a mission. Why should the outcome be any different? It won't be. That's that. So why am I so worried?

I nodded to Dreadwing, acknowledging what he said. But it never really sunk in. At least, I thought it didn't.

Breakdown shoved me playfully. "I'll be back faster than you can catch a turbofox."

I glared at him, indignant that he thought I needed reassuring. "Of course you will. But I expect to be fixing you for at least a joor after you return." Remembering that he shoved me, I spared a moment to glance at my paint. It was scuffed and slightly scratched. "Right after I repair the damage you just did."

I heard a creaking sound from behind me. Dreadwing was shaking his head at my vanity, as he called it. From my standpoint, it wasn't so much vanity as it was concern with my appearance, which in of itself is not being vain.

"Just go already." I waved dismissively at Breakdown. "Not like I can stop you."

I was wrong; I could have stopped him. I should have stopped him.

Now I could barely hear Dreadwing as he finished telling me exactly what happened.

My partner… was torn… limb from limb… by that traitorous… glitch of a femme… Airachnid.

I couldn't think; the emotion had overwhelmed me too quickly.

Not anger. Not hate. Not sadness. But grief, an unbearable grief that threatened to break through in a choking sob.

"She will pay," I found myself whispering, so soft that I myself could barely hear it. "She will pay dearly for what she's done."

Whatever I feel, I cannot let anyone see. I can't; if I do, it will be seen as weakness. And a Decepticon can't have weakness.

"Knock Out?" Dreadwing's voice was anything but concerned. When I did not reply, he snapped. "Doctor, are you paying attention?"

I whipped around, forcing myself to look the First Lieutenant in the optics. "Fine," I answered in what I hoped was an even tone, "just angry about having to find a new assistant."

The look on his faceplate told me he didn't believe my answer. "Megatron hopes this will not prevent you from completing your duties as a medic." With that, he left.

I dipped my helm steeply, showing my respect – actually, lack thereof – for the new commander. He did not acknowledge that I did so.

The wrench that had been in my grasp the whole time splintered.

Cheap metal, I thought, grateful for the distraction. As I shifted aside a pile of scrap metal looking for a new one, I found a slab of hard black steel with a rough triangular shape cut out of it.

The guilt crashed down on me again. I had cut his eye patch out of this same slab of metal for him after the MECH incident. It had been my way of apologizing for not coming for him; I don't think he ever noticed.

Focusing again on my task, I tossed the slab aside, wincing as a fresh stab of pain hit me as it clattered to the ground.

Breakdown had joked around that the patch made him look scary, but I disagreed. Oh, I had laughed, but I had disagreed. It did nothing of the sort, at least not from my perspective. All it did was remind me that I hadn't been there for him when he needed me.

After all, Breakdown was always there to save my sorry chassis whenever I ticked off the wrong mech. And I was at his side during battles, sneaking up on 'bots to allow Breakdown to strike with a devastating blow. Together we were unstoppable.

But just one mistake and I had no one to protect me on the battlefield.

The first time I wasn't there cost Breakdown an optic; the second, it cost him his spark.

And to think I could have helped him; that… that just made the guilt all the worse.

We used to be unstoppable.

We had climbed to the top on his might and my skill.

But a gang of humans and a spider tore that to shreds.

Now, as I look back on all my mistakes, I remember what Breakdown told me after he left the Wreckers:

The higher you climb, the farther you have to fall.