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Desiderium.
The word in which you long for something that can never be; whether you had lost it or it was simply never there to begin with.
This word in the human language stuck with the doctor as he paced quietly along the floors of the newly built Cybertron, one in which his love, his sparkmate, had never returned to. He had never gotten to see the beautiful lights of their home illuminate once more, he never got to see the new residents and sparklings file in as the once war-torn planet reverted back to its former glory. He never got to see the end of the war, nor the end of what was such a beautiful beginning.
Breakdown had never returned home; at least, not in the way in which Knockout would have hoped.
His sparkmate was long gone by now, his body rusting in wastelands further than the doctor’s deep red optics could reach from his lone balcony. Nothing was perfect, there were still fights, people terrified for their lives, and the rogue decepticons that refused to bow down to their new leaders, their seemingly perfect overlords. The caste system had been eradicated, but that did not fix the problem of privilege, most bots believed what stood before still stood now and the new sparklings were confused, almost frightened of their elders, but there was not much to stop them from such injustice and prejudice.
He had to admit, he still wasn’t quite convinced he was going to stay; while this was his dream, their dream, it felt almost wrong without his love laid next to him. The sound of his horrifying snoring had kept the medic up some nights, but it was better than the quiet that settled next to him now in his berth made for one. His sweet whispers and their petty arguments were always missed, and the way he used to wrap his digits around his waist, dragging them up and down his finish to send him off to sleep.
Most nights the bot couldn’t sleep at all.
His pedes came to a quick stop as he heard someone approach his home, the echoing sound of someone up too late to be a simple visitor, yet he knew they weren’t from this area. They sounded heavy and a little clumsy, yet they sounded so familiar; he couldn’t put a name to the sound, however, before a loud knock rang out through his home. One would say it might be loud enough to wake the neighbours as he felt the sound ring through his processors, making him visibly cringe.
Who on Earth could be calling on him so late? And for what exactly?
As he awkwardly shuffled his way to the door he could hear the angry exhale and mumbling of a robot he knew all too well, and opening the door revealed just exactly who was at his berth this late at night.
After so many years of being the only autobot medic available on call, Ratchet had grown a habit of bringing in any medic or doctor he could, regardless of questionable practices. While the war had struggled on, more people outside of their ranks fought for the freedom they already had, and with that, came an influx of medical emergencies and some questionable practices. But it was all needed, and right now, regrettably, so was Knockout.
While the doctor would prefer to relax on a night like this, one glance of the other medic’s sour face left a bad taste; he never looked this serious, and that was saying something since he always seemed to be pissed at one mech in particular. However, he also seemed like he was in quite the hurry.
“Well good evening, doctor. This is a bit late to be on-call, is anything the matter?” The mech asked quietly, scanning over the larger frame in front of him, a small glint of anxiety weighing on him.
“In fact, there is. There’s been an influx of patients this evening that we can’t deal with by ourselves, we need all medically trained on call and on the job. You know I hate to call on you but this case… It’s strange.”
That caught Knockout’s attention; he knew that the other didn’t want anything to do with him after the war, that was his decision to make, but to hear Ratchet call on him so quickly, so needily, it almost made his anxiety spike. As if it wasn’t high enough already…
“What do you mean strange? You act as if every bot that isn’t from cybertron isn’t treated like a complete alien. If it’s something like a common cold or low energon I’m taking your third digit as payment.”
“Knockout, this is serious,” the medical bot snapped before grumbling and stepping back from the door to let the other out of his berth. “We’ve been having bots come back from war, but they’re not normal. They’re…”
“Oh spit it out, doc. It can’t be as bad as the husks or the energon vampires or the millions of scraplets that have infected our settlements multiple times. What is it, Ratchet?” he asked in concern before, regretfully, he got his answer.
“They’re reanimated,” the other answered calmly, not fond of being interrupted. “They aren’t full of dark energon, but were confirmed dead while in the field. Bots have testified to their passing, their spark extinguishing. Yet, they are here, and while grievously injured, the allspark did not forget about them. Some have injuries through the spark chamber that would hit it completely and they’re just… Fine. The spark is uninjured, healthy even.”
“What? Primus… Are you sure? Are you completely certain we’re not just dealing with another reanimation phase of dark energon?” Knockout asked, his voice registering as unsure as he felt the pit in his spark chamber grow, a heavy feeling pressing on it. “Alright, I’ll come with you… But this better not be a joke…”
“If I was joking I would have done this at a suitable hour of the cycle,” the other replied sternly before they started walking, the thought of Knockout's sparkmate now almost pushed to the back of his mind. The nagging was still there, but he had much larger things to worry about.
Before the doctor even reached his medical station he noticed the amount of bots that needed help, most of them either ripped apart almost limb by limb or with injuries they should not be living from, however, they seemed to converse between each other as normal and even greeted their fallen comrades like the war hadn’t happened, like they were supposed to be there. He found it so overwhelmingly odd, so worrying.
Of course, he had started to help in any way he could and with every injured bot he faced his spark grew heavier, it yearned for his fallen partner, who should have been here to help with the efforts. He should have been here to help…
While identifying the missing bots he could tell a few that hadn’t been seen for quite a long time, ones that even he conversed with and knew before the war started; the war was not kind to them, any of them, but to know the irreparable damage it did to homes, families, it hurt… While these bots were coming back, there was no guarantee they would be able to withstand their injuries, no way to tell if they were going to survive or die out once again. He didn’t even know if medical had enough energon supplies to give the survivors, nevertheless for the patients they already had.
But something didn’t sit right with him, all of these bots, they were deceased, they had families that believed they were gone for good, lost to the sands of time, so why? Why had they shown up now? Why had they shown up after the war was over and when the two great leaders had either died or ran away? Why…?
He was called out of his thoughts by a voice calling him, Ratchet once more ushering him to follow. However, this time, he seemed more elated, a small sparkle in his otherwise dull and tired optics. Had he found out what had happened or was he finally done planning his revenge and Knockout’s ultimate demise? The red mech wasn’t quite sure. Slightly happy Ratchet was nearly as scary as Ratchet standing over your dead frame, maybe even more so…
He sighed and mumbled a few apologies to the patient he was seeing to before tapping out for one of the other doctors, following the other mech to where he was ushered; they passed most of the medical wings, nearly left the building completely until the other came to a stop in front of him, nearly crashing into him before grumbling.
“Look where you’re going before… You…” It was like his voice was stolen from its source as he peered ahead to what Ratchet was looking at. He could feel his spark squeeze tighter as his optics recognised the bot sitting on one of the many stretchers lining the halls.
Sitting there was a large bot, almost quiet as a mouse. His large blue frame rusted and dented, covered in wounds a normal bot would not survive. Scars littered his frame, as well as his faceplate, in which he had lost one warm yellow optic.
No…
No it couldn’t be…
He slowly stepped around the other medic and made a slow approach, his expression hopeful yet so pained; he didn’t know what to do, his voice betrayed him, he felt like his optics were making a fool of him. He slowly reached out to the mech, the other jumping once he felt the digits lay on him.
He saw it, those softened eyes, that slight smile that made his heart flutter, the years of love and partnership not forgotten to the other… Oh God, it was him. It was really him… He felt his spark chamber practically burst as he knelt before the other, holding onto him softly, not wanting to let go.
However, before he could even make another move he was pulled into an embrace, the soft voice he missed whispering quietly in his ear.
“I’m here… I’m not going anywhere…”