Oh good heavens, what have I done? I'd just like to apologize for this in advance. It's all angst and sadness. Don't read if you're already depressed.
I think this last episode of TFP pushed my Knock Out angst over the edge.
Warnings: AUish, character death, angst...LOTS OF ANGST. Slash
"Knock Out talk"
He lay against the rocky surface. The thought of scratches on his finish from the sharp edged rocks lurked for a brief moment in the back of his mind before dissolving completely.
It didn't matter anymore.
It felt like everything had changed for the worse so quickly. Just a few weeks ago the thought of laying on this dusty rocky surface would have disgusted him. He would have thrown a fit over the very idea.
But everything had been different weeks ago.
Missions had been relatively successful. He'd spent his time in med bay doing repairs here and there. Then off to the lab to run up work on the synthetic energon formula. His free time spent gallivanting along Earth's highways, looking for underground races or any takers who felt they were up to it on the open road when the law enforcement of this planet was no where to be seen.
And when that hadn't interested him, he spent time in the company of the only other individual he actually liked, actually cared about.
But that was all gone now.
Breakdown was gone.
And with him, everything.
When had Breakdown become everything? At what point in time had Breakdown's presence become so paramount in his life that his absence left Knock Out...lacking?
Knock Out's missions? Failures.
His work? Half assed.
His research? He'd become distracted to the point he'd made stupidly simply mistakes.
And Megatron's punishments...had become a constant.
Knock Out left.
Over a week ago now.
He'd had little idea of what he was going to do other than place distance between himself and the Nemesis. He simply ran. Refusing to answer any hails from first Soundwave, then Dreadwing, then Megatron. And Megatron's hadn't really been a message to call him back, simply a warning that when found he would pay for his desertion.
But Knock Out didn't plan on being around long enough to be found. From the Nemesis he'd taken with him only a few things; a single cube of energon, he wouldn't be needing more; the formula for synthetic energon; he had every intention of seeing it fall into enemy hands; and an unused polishing cloth that had been given to him as a gift.
A gift from Breakdown long, long ago. He'd never used it. Lied and said he had but he hadn't. It was by far a low quality product compared to what he generally used and he hadn't been about to touch his perfect self with an inferior quality polishing cloth. But he'd kept it, tucked it safely away in his subspace where it would always be near him, safe from destruction or loss. Kept it because he knew the pains Breakdown had to have gone through to obtain it, spending what every little credits he'd had. That and it had been a selfless gift on Breakdown's part.
Knock Out was use to exchanges. You did not give something unless you expected something in return. But Breakdown had given with no expectations of getting anything in return. Given for the sole purpose of making Knock Out happy. No ulterior motive was in play.
It gave a worthless piece of polishing cloth value.
Value that had increased over the vorns he'd shared with Breakdown.
Was worth more now than...anything he could name.
It was sooo stupidly sentimental.
The patter of rain on the ground then against his plating drew him from his thoughts, fingers tightening around the treasured fabric.
There was no energon left to consume. He'd begun weakening a few days ago and now he couldn't even walk. Life was draining from him with every passing minute, with every erratic spark pulse, every slowed beat of his fuel pump, every drop of energon that burned away to power what few critical systems remained online.
And he hadn't even been able to find the Autobots to give them the completed formula.
A smile actually split across his face as he looked heavenward through the rain at the twist of darkened clouds, a dry rattling laugh bubbling out.
Mission failed again.
Why change status quo now, right?
Depleted, system errors and shut downs scrolling through his vision, broader lining on deactivation, he didn't hear the large mech walk up to him. Didn't even notice him till the whine of a charging blaster reached his audials and a bright flare of a weapon's muzzle was shoved in his face.
He fought to focus, looking up past the gun to it's owner.
Weak dry laughter spilled forth again.
Oh, oh, Primus, this was all soooo fitting.
He'd taken Breakdown from Bulkhead back when, setting into motion actions that ended in the disbanding of the Wreckers by councils orders. And now Bulkhead could finally exact his revenge, finally kill the mech who'd seduced his proverbial 'brother' and turned him into a Decepticon.
It was all so...perfect.
Just one shot to reunite the medic with his partner once more.
They'd surely search him after he was dead, at least he hoped they would. Then they'd find the formula. Test it as they wished to verify and then beat the ever loving slag out of Megatron.
His intakes strained as he smiled up at the Autobot. "Go ahead. Shoot."
Bulkhead glared down at him, a sneer pulling at his upper lip.
Blackness edged his vision.
Come on, Bulkhead. Shoot already.
"It's for a good cause. One less 'Con."
His body started to go numb as his senor relays shut down. His processor swam, dizziness making focusing hard.
"Won't...take much. One s-shot. Consider i-it…energy…cons-servation."
Intakes struggled, though he didn't fight it. His helm falling back completely against the rocks, baring his throat to the enemy. Easy target.
It was weird, the thought of dying didn't upset him but the knowledge he could no longer feel the polishing cloth against his fingers made him sad.
"You…get to…kill a 'Con…with minimal effort….and I…" Knock Out smiled, optics flickering out "I…..get to see Breakdown again."
And suddenly, everything fell away.
Knock Out had no idea if Bulkhead did finally shoot. He didn't hear it, couldn't see it, and was so numb he very well might not have felt it.
All he was aware of was a black void raising up to meet him.
And he fell willingly into its yawning expanse.
Awareness came slowly.
He weakly cracked his optics to see a warm white light seep into his vision. It wasn't sharp or over powering, just pleasant.
As was whatever he was laying back on. He could feel himself sprawled out on whatever softness cushioned him. He closed his optics and just floated on the sensations. It was delightful. An enriched peacefulness. Completely relaxing.
His fingers curled inward, brushing against his palm.
Knock Out tensed.
Fingers flexing again, meeting air instead of soft cloth.
His peace shattered.
No…no, no, no. He couldn't believe he'd lost it.
Knock Out struggled, working to summon the strength to open his optics and sit up when blunt fingertips traced along his wrist then along his palm, uncurling his fingers. He stilled as the hand covered his, thick fingers lacing between thin sharp ones, large palm eclipsing his smaller one.
The polishing cloth was forgotten at the slide of plating against his, warm and real. A large hand coming to rest carefully against his rib struts, stroking lovingly downward, following the curve of his waist, thumb tracing the lines of his abdominal plating.
Knock Out gasped.
So achingly familiar.
Relief robbed him of any strength he'd found.
A soft breath passed over him, tickling the sensors on his neck, up to play across his lips before his mouth was claimed in a firm but gentle kiss. He cracked his optics open again, seeing a blurry mix of blue, sliver, and redish-orange.
His optics drooped closed at the playful flick of a glossa against his lips. His mouth opened, welcoming the familiar sweet invasion. Relishing the taste he'd feared lost forever.
He wanted to wrap his arms around that large frame, feel the plating warm and smooth beneath his fingers and palms. But his arms remained weak and almost unresponsive. The kiss deepened, the hand against his waist slipping under him, thick fingers splayed, caressing up his back, wringing a distressed whimper from his throat.
Shhhhhh. It's alright, Knock Out.
That voice...not spoken aloud but in his mind. A warm shiver ran through Knock Out's frame at the welcomed invasiveness. What he wouldn't give to hear that voice again and again.
A thick arm slid under his shoulders, hand coming to cradle the back of his helm, lifting him slightly into the kiss as his partner's larger frame seemed to press in and curl around him protectively. His every movement, his every touch reassuring.
I've got you.
The kiss broke. Lips brushing along his jaw before dipping down to press shiver inducing kisses against his neck, all the while Breakdown pressed them together. The hand pressed against his back stroked down. Fingers playing along the red grooved lines of his back. Caressing the flare of a hip to stroke down a lean thigh.
Knock Out sighed. "Breakdown."
Knock Out trembled, the prickling sensation of fluid gathering, spilling out from behind closed optics as Breakdown's lips abandoned his throat to brush tantalizingly against the corner of his mouth. "I missed you."
He would never have said that before but here…it felt alright, he could say it here.
Lips closed over his again. Their warmth and pressure a soothing balm that rippled through him, easing the emotional ache, restoring peace of mind.
I know. You don't have to say it. I know.
He was lain back. Large hands moving over him in reassuring caresses. Over his chest plate, his abdomen, across hips, down his thighs, up over the swell of his shoulders, down his arms, to his wrists, his hands. Knock Out relaxed, content to let Breakdown do as he pleased. And Breakdown had never disappointed. He knew what Knock Out liked, what he wanted, and always gave so willingly.
Knock Out drank in the tender touch, that carefulness Breakdown had always shown him. He luxuriated in this closeness, this intimately that had been ripped from him far too suddenly, far too soon.
It took a bit of effort but Knock Out was finally able to lift his hands to weakly grasp the thick armor plating of Breakdown's upper arms. He smiled as Breakdown eased from the kiss, his arms wrapping around him, hugging him close once more, cheeks pressing together as Breakdown nuzzled the side of his helm.
Knock Out hummed happily. "We can stay like this forever."
No. Not yet.
The smile melted off Knock Out's face. "I'm-I'm dead. I died. I -"
No. You didn't die, Knock Out.
His lips trembled as he fought for composure, fingers clinging tighter as he grasping at what he believed to be, wanted to be true so this would never ever come to an end. "Bulkhead...shot me? Left me for dead?"
No. He saved you.
"That idiot...all he had to do was shoot or walk away."
He felt Breakdown's lips pull into a smile.
That's not their way.
"I don't want to go back."
Return to that mess? Return to all the pain and anger and war, the bickering and fighting, the plotting and scheming, sneaking and backstabbing...and for what? What were they gaining? None of it made any sense right now.
"I don't want to go back." He repeated, clinging tighter.
You have to. You can't remain here. There's more for you to do yet.
Despair tried to seep in but Breakdown's arms tightened, holding him closer, actually managing to somehow push it back through comfort alone.
"Do I have to go now?" His voice meek with resignation.
Breakdown smiled against him again, a hand coming up to gently caress over his helm in a wholly soothing motion.
Not just yet but soon.
Lips slid against his cheek, venturing up to cover his mouth, indulging once more in a deep consuming kiss.
Don't worry, Knock Out. I'll be waiting right here for you, when you come back.
...I'm sorry? :(
I hope I didn't totally depress any one (though I'm sure I did). I'm actually kinda mad at myself for writing this. I said I wouldn't write a KO/BD "oh no you're dead! Boo Hoo!" story aaaaaaaaaaaand look what I did. *sigh* I WILL get around to writing some nice fluffy KO/BD…some day.
Reading and reviewing is always loved.