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The day had already started off badly, so sure — why not progressively get worse? It wasn’t like he had things to do, or an army to command.
First, it had been menial, little things such as getting assigned to pointless tasks that were far beneath his rank—scouting out the middle of nowhere for signs of Autobot negotiations was a grunt’s job. Hardly befitting work for a trained Second in Command, if he may say so. Having to stay grounded, unable to fly, was perhaps the most demeaning aspect of it at all, no doubt intentional on Megatron’s part.
It was a game between them, a dance. The second Starscream did anything to piss him off, to the ground it was. He was Second, but nobody would be mistaken to say he was also the example, the blueprint. The picture of what to not do, for a punishment—public humiliation—soon followed.
After that, it was dealing with said disposable grunts, which was always a helmache in itself. One thing after another until it festers. They were fools, but — lacking in bulk and armor, Starscream’s always been more… dismissive than their leader. Forgettable. Easy to ward off. Strategy and quick thinking tends to only go so far when the simpletons team up, outnumbering him.
Their leader played ignorant, turning a blind eye to it all. It’s not like he trusted Starscream with any real authority away from his prying eyes. The fact his Second’s rank was always a constant struggling question of power never seemed to faze him at all. It wasn’t respect that anybody felt obligated to give, if not for fear of what Starscream could say to Megatron. Or, rather — what lies he is capable of weaving.
So, in other words, Starscream’s day was already bled dry and miserable, full of snide comments and insubordination that only gave way to compliance through the use of threats. As usual.
And, following suit, of course, Megatron would think it apt to make his day even worse. How typical.
That pesky little message was all it took to send the Seeker’s teeth gnashing, claws curling, and eyes downright murderous. Sudden calls for his presence were never a good thing, and he would be the galaxy’s biggest fool to think of this one as any different.
Everyone, for once, gives him a wide berth as he stomps his way into the central control sector, all the way into the Command Room.
The second he’s there, he’s prepared to put on a show of antics; a strut, a complaint, something deceitful spilling out of his mouth, full of dramatics — the works.
But he doesn’t get that far.
He steps into the room and almost immediately stops. Stops as all eyes turn to him at his sudden (and noisy) arrival. Two new sets of eyes are among them, tracking his movements. One curious, perhaps a bit bored; the other oddly intense and borderline unnerving. The inner ring of lenses and lights contract, an odd look crossing the face they belong to.
That’s all it takes to send Starscream’s entire mood crashing down from the small ledge of sensibility it had been clinging to. The promise of a helmache is imminent, blossoming of little halos that would leave a lesser mech gasping flooding his vision.
He nearly pivots on out on his heel right then and there, determined to head right on back from the direction he just came from. But instead, he locks eyes with Megatron, sparing only a simple, curt nod for the room’s other occupants.
He swears Megatron’s smirk is more malicious than usual as he briskly walks over, pulling his leader by the arm, giving them the illusion of privacy.
“Have you gone mad?” It slips out of his mouth with zero discretion or tact, hissed between teeth. A distressingly common occurrence, that.
“Now, Starscream, what could possibly be the issue?”
Aft. All of this was most certainly intentional. A foolish, childish ploy at annoying Starscream.
“Surely you’re joking.” He once again locks eyes with those peculiar eyes. It dawns on him that perhaps they never left to begin with, following him around.
Attention pulled back towards Megatron, the Seeker watches as his leader’s eyes slide over to him with the utmost disingenuous regard. As if he ever takes his Second’s words that seriously.
His tone, his words, they’re all predatory and so frustratingly calm, as if there wasn’t anything upsetting going on at all. “Have I ever been someone known to joke?”
No. That was so very much a ‘no’.
Something cold and bitter splashes around in Starscream’s spark chamber, a sour and acidic taste coating his tongue as he internall scowls. This wasn’t a part of their game, their dance. It was nothing more than trying to make an even bigger fool of Starscream; despite the fact he had yet to step out of line in a breem or two.
The only thing keeping his glare locked up tight is the fact he’s sorely acquainted with what happens when he isn’t so careful, when something slips through the cracks. His wings the typical victim, phantom twinges serving as a reminder. Even now, they pull flat against his back with the unspoken threat lying between those words. Flicking, rising, and falling in spastic little circles.
Irritation clamps down, taking a bite out of his patience.
He detests change — especially impromptu, impulsive bouts of it like this. His leader, however, seems to find it funny, not telling his Second in Command of such changes to the point he’s often the last to know. Go figure, really; Megatron thought himself infallible, above the opinions and input of others. The most classic example of hubris with the power to back it up, nobody daring to take a stand. Safe, secure, spoiled in riches — that was Megatron at his core. Everything else be damned.
But above all else, to Starscream, the most infuriating thing making his head pound was the very sight of these new… recruits Megatron seemed to have brought along. Without negotiating or discussing the idea with Starscream in the slightest. It would no doubt be up to him to show them around and tutor them in the most basic of things as well.
His grip on Megatron’s arm grows more urgent, a little more violent. “What are you trying to pull? How long have you been planning on having more people onboard the Nemesis?”
Perhaps, in a better world, Megatron would answer him. As it stands, he merely gives Starscream’s hand a little condescending pat. It lacks any pleasant quality. “Now isn’t the time.”
And it never was, was it?
By now his scowl has become very much real and openly malicious when he looks back over to where Megatron’s staring. The red racer—because of course it was an annoying grounder—practically beams at him, something appraising and potentially happy swimming around in his eyes. In response to a glare, no less. That made it bizarre and a problem that needed to be dealt with. It’s mocking is what it is, mischievous with something No Good hidden beneath the surface.
Not caring at all that he’s causing a scene at this point, Starscream leans closer once more into his leader’s space, hissing, “They’re incompetent fools merely looking to reap the glories and spoils of war. You can’t rely on them in the slightest to get work done. The—“
“Like yourself?” Megatron easily disrupts, voice loud enough that the Seeker is certain the two walking hunks of metal must have heard it. Amusement radiates off of them. Well, one of them, at least; the red one had his head tilted and pulled towards his shoulder in a rather haughty manner, face weirdly contemplative. As if he wasn’t sure what to make of the entire sight before him, but wanted to.
Stupid, stupid Megatron. Feelings aside, such disregard for rank in front of newbies like this was downright dangerous. It put his command into question, encouraged mutiny and insubordination.
Not that Megatron ever seemed to care.
The claws of Starscream’s hands brazenly clasp themselves impossibly tighter around the rusted fool’s arm, pulling him down to his level. Eyes never leaving their newest recruits.
“As I was saying, the big one there is no better than that foolish Autobot Wrecker. He no doubt thinks with his fists instead of his head, impulsive and brutish in all the ways that work against us. And the red one — don’t even get me started. It’s a wonder he can see anything past the size of his own ego. Racers like him are always vain, obnoxious, and a liability. He’s not the type to get his hands dirty.”
“Then it’s a good thing he won’t have to, isn’t it?” Before Starscream can ask, he’s already answering the unspoken question, yanking the Seeker’s hands far away from himself. It makes him yelp before he can help it. “So unless you have a better solution, Starscream, I suggest you shut your trap. You’re not as irreplacable as you seem to think you are.”
No threat from Megatron was ever an empty one, forcing the Seeker to fully pull away, reluctant.
He’s aware that he must appear to be pouting now, arms crossed and pointedly avoiding eye contact. He finds that he doesn’t care. “Did you at least verify their credentials? Backgrounds? Training?”
Now it’s Megatron’s turn to lean in real close, sharp teeth glinting. Starscream takes a step back. “You’ve made the mistake of thinking me an incompetent fool once,” the Decepticon leader begins, voice low, calm. “I don’t think you want to make that mistake twice.”
With that said, he goes back over to where the recruits are still standing up nice and tall, hands folded behind them like good little soldiers who had definitely not been eavesdropping.
Behind Megatron’s back, Starscream sneers, petulant until the end. It annoys him when that makes the racer smirk a little, before having his eyes dart back over to pay attention to whatever it is Megatron’s prattling about.
Sat in his usual chair, Starscream doesn’t bother reading the files Soundwave sends his way, continuing to scowl. Head in hand, the other tapping out an annoyed little song into the surface of the table. It amuses him, the way Megatron has to pretend it isn’t happening at all, carrying on with his dull spiel.
The only thing that occasionally interrupts him is whenever he catches the red one looking at him some more. The fourth time he catches it, he almost misses his cue to take part in the conversation.
Lucky for him, he’s used to slipping in and out of roles, playing his part well: offering up a hand despite his inner reluctance, all cordial smiles. First impressions matter, after all.
“Starscream — Second in Command of the Decepticon cause, as well as Aerial Commander,” he introduces himself, straight to the point. “Your integration into our ranks will be overseen by myself, so should you have any questions…” He leaves it open-ended, sweeping his hand out a bit and back around to himself in place of words.
Taking his offered hand, the large and brawn of the two firmly grasps the Seeker’s much smaller, more delicate hand. It’s a crushing hold, something internal protesting. It’s all Starscream can do to maintain his composure.
“Breakdown,” the recruit says, oblivious. “And this here is—“
“Knock Out,” the racer all too blithely interrupts, the very definition of chipper. That fox-like smile is back, his eyes closed. His grip is less firm, but no less unpleasant. “The pleasure is all mine.”
The Seeker is stunned, not daring to speak.
Knock Out’s companion, on the other hand, rolls his eyes.
It’s quiet, making Starscream realize all of the sudden that Megatron is no longer in the room. That left him, the recruits, and Soundwave.
Not that Soundwave counted much for company.
Collecting himself, Starscream gives Knock Out a look comprised of a raised optic ridge, trying to cow him with a look alone. He didn’t expect it to work, and it doesn’t.
Shameless — he adds it to his files accordingly.
Eyeing their newfound medic openly, Starscream is all too quick to pull his hand back towards his chest, more grimacing than smiling at this point. His hand feels strangely warm. “I’m sure.”
Traitorous, his mind screams. That smile, that look, those mannerisms — they were all those of someone who would betray you in a heartbeat. He finds you weak, easy prey. He’s already assessing the ways in which to kill you.
He’d have to keep an eye out and open. To protect himself, of course; whatever happens to Megatron is likely of no consequence to him. What will be, will be.
“Follow me,” Starscream eventually says after a moment of unsteady silence. He tosses the words over his shoulder, already turning and about to leave. “I’ll show you where you are both to stay for now.”
To his surprise, there aren’t any obvious hang-ups from there on. The two of them appear compliant enough, respecting the agreed-upon terms of their allegiance and everything else in between. Their questions are easy to answer and astute, showing that they actually pay attention to his words.
That is, until Knock Out ruins it all.
It was just the two of them now, Breakdown settling himself in his suite. Perhaps that was Starscream’s first mistake.
“Sooo…” Knock Out drawls, dancing his fingers along the surface of the medical slab, radiating an out sort of coyness as he smiles. “Do you visit the medbay often?”
The question stops Starscream in his tracks, blinking. “What.”
A shrug. “Exactly as I said.” Up and up his fingers go, distracting. Especially the way Knock Out was leaning over it, acting so languid. It makes Starscream feel odd, something giddy warming his insides as the other’s eyes lock on to his. The smile certainly doesn’t help. “Pretty bot like you, I’m sure you find yourself in all sorts of trouble.”
What sort of harassment was this? That’s what this was, right? The alternate option felt too out there to be true.
“Are you challenging the authority, the strength, of your superior?”
That makes Knock Out jolt, adjusting his posture until he’s upright again. Again, the inner lenses of his optics contract, expanding and narrowing in rapid succession before focusing once more. “Not at all. That- that wasn’t what I meant.” He scoffs a bit, but it isn’t mocking. It’s incredulous. “I- haven’t you ever been complimented before?”
Yes — plenty of times, in fact. Starscream was aware of what he looked like, thank you very much. But a pristine, brightly-colored mech like this doing such a thing? Someone so vain, self-absorbed? Starscream wasn’t forged yesterday.
If only he could truly convince all of himself of that. If only he could stop that part of himself that’s curious enough to wind up dead. “Whatever you’re trying to pull, I suggest you stop it right now. I won’t accept such behavior in the future; you would do well to remember that.”
The medic’s quiet, something passing over his features too quickly for the Seeker to process. “You don’t believe me.”
It isn’t phrased like a question.
“No,” Starscream snorts, “I don’t.”
Damningly, Knock Out drops the matter altogether, every question after respectably professional.
Still, Starscream thinks about it, mulling the words over. Rolls them around and around in his head until they’re worn down.
The only thing he’s certain of is this; he doesn’t intend on visiting the medbay for as long as possible.
Starscream was determined to keep his promise to himself, but as always, life had other plans. Really, it was foolish to think he could avoid it forever. Didn’t stop him from hoping, however.
In the beginning, it was just small injuries here and there, nothing too major. But every visit was followed by all sorts of flirting, sometimes small gifts.
Starscream never knew what to do, the bottles of polish and paint accumulating on his desk. They were exactly the sort of gifts he had expected someone like Knock Out to give, and that alone was a puzzle.
Since when had he thought about something like that?
Why did it feel like he couldn’t help himself whenever the other was around, always acting foolish and outside his normal guidelines? It was disgraceful and- and….
It made him happy.
He found himself smiling to himself, recalling something inane the medic had said. Some sort of joke that no one else had laughed at. It was a bit of a surprise, just how obscure and ridiculous Knock Out’s taste in humor was.
It was also charming.
And that was the problem.
Starscream onlines to find himself in the medbay.
He doesn’t remember how he got here.
Uncomprehendingly, he stares out at the ceiling, searching for an answer that doesn’t come.
There’s nothing holding him down, but he still feels too heavy to move. Too exhausted.
Lulling his head to the side, he sees Knock Out staring at his own hand, looking bored. A bottle of polish was beside him, giving off an odd fragrance. Not a bad one, per se, just. Odd.
“I wouldn’t move around too much if I were you,” Knock Out suddenly says, not even looking up from his inspection of his fingers. He picks at the seam. “You took a rather nasty hit to the head. Your gyros and systems are probably still recalibrating your coordination units. Or something. It’s not like I’m a medic with training or anything.”
Starscream blinks.
Seeing his confusion, the medic—still refusing to look up—juts his head in the direction of the slab next to the Seeker’s.
Lulling his head over, Starscream sees a Decepticon he never bothered to learn the proper designation of. Their wrists are bound, optics off.
“Had to initiate forced stasis when they refuse to take my advice. Who knew losing a limb could be painful.” Knock Out shrugs, looking completely unbothered.
“And the bindings?” Starscream asks, wincing a little at how hoarse his voice comes out.
Now Knock Out looks up, propping his head in one of his palms as he twirls the polish bottle on its corner. “He scratched my paint.”
It’s said so simply, as if it were only the most logical course of action. Starscream kind of gets it. He never claimed to not be a little shallow himself. “Huh.”
“As for you, I’m sure you’ll be out of here in less than a day. Just have to wait for the dizziness to mostly pass.
“And that will be…?”
“Are you that eager to leave?” Knock Out asks. It’s clearly meant to be teasing, but there’s something genuine woven in.
Starscream considers his answer, placing his head back in the middle, staring straight up. Time had passed — he knew Knock Out’s character a little better now. He was, without any doubt, the most vain and confusing mech Starscream had ever known.
But he was also useful and didn’t seem all too fond of Megatron himself. He teetered on the kind of self-serving Starscream needed if he wanted to be anything at all. To seize control and take over. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Knock Out only joined because it was most convenient for himself, offering protection. Being a medic had its downsides, too.
Lost in his own head, he fails to answer. By the time he realizes, it’s already been too long. Knock Out merely sighs, playing it off as if it were some sort of inside joke between them.
It’s blurted out anyway. “You’re… vexing.”
“Oh?” Knock Out asks, already back to his annoying habit of playing innocent. He plays around with — something in his hands. It almost looks like string, which only adds more questions to the whole pile of them Starscream has. “How so?”
Deadpan, Starscream just stares. It’s oddly effective.
Knock Out laughs. “Hmmm, point taken.”
“So you’re aware of your flirting.” There was a crack in the ceiling. Since when?
“That was the intention, yes.”
“Hm.” That would need to be fixed, soon. Maybe Breakdown would do it.
“That’s it?” Knock Out sounds strangely disappointed.
Starscream doesn’t shrug; just closes his eyes. “Is there anything more to say?”
Nothing. Nothing for a klik too long.
“You’re rather odd yourself, you know. First you think I’m joking, then suddenly you’re aware of it and acting like it doesn’t mean anything. Do- do you not want it to mean anything? You didn’t seem the type, no offense.”
That was true; Starscream was normally the flirtatious type. It used to get him into all kinds of trouble, in the past.
But something like that is also a distraction, an obstacle. Starscream wants power, devotion. People listening and obeying. Romance and the like is tricky, messy. It’s so disgustingly delicate and expectant.
“You’d flirt with anything with wheels,” is what Starscream eventually lands on.
“Trust,” Knock Out concedes, a smirk in his voice. “But you don’t have a set of wheels, so what does that tell you?”
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
“Is this funny to you?” Starscream asks, dodging the question entirely.
“A little,” the medic admits. “But only because you’re rather cute when you’re confused.”
“I’m not confused,” Starscream snaps. Even he can tell it’s lacking in bite, though. “I’m irritated.”
“Then say so. If you really want me to stop, I will. No more. I can respect boundaries.”
But that left the question that Starscream doesn’t know how to tackle; does he want him to stop? It did his ego plenty of favors whenever Knock Out would smile at him over the table during meetings, or the way he’d press a kiss into his hand, bowing and acting as if Starscream was a noble. It always left his hand warm for days.
“I don’t know.”
The Autobots were becoming infuriatingly clever as of late. Broken wings were proof of that, sticking out at odd angles they were not meant to, low to the ground.
It hurt. A lot.
It hurt, it hurt, it hurt — energon spilling out between claws. It stains the hallways in long streaks across the walls, down and out through the labyrinthine maze of twisting corridors. Little splish, splashes echo as droplets hit the ground.
None of it hurt quite as much as the feeling of being defeated, of not doing enough. He’d been meticulous in this plan, practically obsessing over it. He tried to find faults to correct, so self-assured that he’d finally accomplished what he wanted.
Such is life and the way of war, he supposes.
It doesn’t make the sting hurt any less.
Curses fall one after the other as he uses the wall for support. Step by pitiful step, his destination the medbay, so tantalizingly far.
After what felt like an entire day, he does manage to pull himself to safety. A quick scan of the room reveals nobody else. Perfect.
He scurries over to the racks of jars and bottles. He didn’t have a clue what anything was, or what tools would fix a broken wing despite the numerous times he’s been here for that very thing. He didn’t even know how Knock Out kept track of all the clutter. Did he just have it all memorized?
Picking up a blue-tinted liquid, Starscream brings it up to eye-level for a better look.
“What… are you doing sulking around? In my medbay, at that.”
The sudden presence of someone else makes Starscream flinch. Unable to keep a steady hold on the bottle, it falls; bits of glass fly, slicing, rolling and falling, sliding and going. It’s quite a mess, blue liquid everywhere.
It sort of makes Starscream feel like crying. Everything’s already gone to shit, so why not? Why not indulge himself and allow a bit of weakness? Fall to the floor, hand over face, laughing until it becomes a sob?
But Knock Out’s still here, and he’s staring. Staring with bare, stark and liable confusion, an optic ridge raised and — something on his face. Something soft and inexplicably concerned.
Concern? Starscream does laugh then. Oddly, he doesn’t hear it, feeling it, knowing it, from the force of his shoulders moving.
Concern… Knock Out? It didn’t suit him, nor did it feel right; that urge to bow and break under the strain of too much growing in intensity. Like a string pulled taut, waiting to snap. To fray and break, pieces torn and everything else unraveling.
Knock Out was many things, but he wasn’t generally concerned over his patients. He had an odd fondness for the science itself, never shying away from the more gruesome parts of it, even though it left him dirty and dingy. He was fascinated with every aspect of the field. A little sadistically, maybe.
But he’d never been rough with Starscream, oh no. It leaves him confused, spiraling.
His hands feel so cold right now.
The medic still makes no move to clean up the mess. Somewhere in the chaos—the static encroaching and clawing at the edges of his vision—somehow, Knock Out’s gotten closer. Close enough to touch, to reach out; to try and try and try. To try and fix the wound.
But he doesn’t. The spilled energon keeps on flowing, Starscream’s plating pressed tight as he’s all wide-eyed and feeling clueless and unsightly, backed into a corner. He can’t help it, the way he stutters, stopping and starting sentences without lift-off. Nothing feels adequate, processor too tired and sluggish to explain himself.
How was he meant to, really? When he’s already been caught messing around and not where he’s meant to be. Everyone had surely heard the ruckus he and Megatron had caused, voices loud and words cold.
Yet, Knock Out’s acting like he heard nothing of the sort. As if this was exactly where Starscream was meant to be.
Hands splayed, every movement broadcasted televised, slow and measured. It’s a silent offer, one that — Starscream doesn’t have within him to take. He just sort of — stares, really. Follows every movement Knock Out makes with wide, warning eyes.
The only thing that feels real about all of this is the look of disdain that momentarily flashes across Knock Out’s face as he sidesteps the still-spreading puddle of solvent and something medicinal. It’s the only expression he really allows to slip through, everything else controlled.
His lips move — probably a quip of some kind — but Starscream’s too focused on that throbbing feeling behind him, not quite brave enough to turn.
Shock. That’s what this is. He’s so presently aware of that fact, even when the rest of him feels adrift.
But why? What was so shocking about today, really? Megatron was a fool. A fool’s kind of fool, leading his men into danger. Starscream tried, he really did. Tried to make the plan of a fool work.
It hadn’t.
So why is Knock Out now smiling?
It’s there again when the soft tugging of fingers begins after nothing but staring, the other bottle the Seeker had been holding seized in a manner that’s all too gentle for such a petty crime.
It’s not what he deserves. He’s not much the type to wallow in self-pity and deprecation, nitpicking faults and feeling sorry for himself. But the truth of the matter is that he fucked up, defeat tasteless and like dust lodged in his throat, suffocating.
But it’s what Knock Out gives.
“Back with us now?” Knock Out asks once the room stops being so indiscernible, so squiggled and shapeless.
“Yeah,” Starscream answers, out of breath. Why?
“Good, good.” Knock Out’s movements are still so blatant, so obvious as he reaches out, hand hovering over Starscream’s. Eyes searching for approval.
He relents. The why doesn’t matter.
“Your wings, huh?” Knock Out says, looking them over, leaning a bit against Starscream’s shoulder. Starscream’s never put much thought into it before, only now noticing the way Knock Out has to stand on the tips of his toes to really see. Even then, he’s mostly leaning to the side to truly see the damage in full.
“Are you really making fun of my height right now?”
Starscream puts his hand down.
“Thank you,” Knock Out dryly says. Fondly. So, so fond. Relieved.
Maybe that’s why Starscream doesn’t resist as he’s gently guided to sit down on the slab, Knock Out repairing his wings.
“Hey… why don’t we try?”
“Hm?”
“You and me.”
A pause. A sharp, tugging pull of his wing. It makes him hiss, a small, soft ‘sorry’ coming from behind.
It doesn’t change in volume or tone at all as Knock Out asks, “What made you change your mind?”
“You’re nice,” Starscream says, looking up at the ceiling. The crack had been repaired.
“That’s… that’s it?”
“There’s not many people I’d call nice.” He gives a half-hearted shrug, suddenly exhausted. “It’s simple, being around you. No expectations, no pretenses. You do things like this. So yeah: nice.”
And so, so much more. You make me feel wanted, alive. You’re always so fast, so intense; never hesitating.
When the silence stretches on, he can’t help thinking that maybe Knock Out left. That maybe it hadn’t been enough after all.
But then warm, spotless as ever arms gently wrap around his middle. It’s a little too gooey and soft for Starscream, but — he allows it, patting Knock Out’s hand when he feels it begin to tremble ever so slightly.
The entire thing was uncharacteristic of them both, but then again, wasn’t that what it was all about? Or something like that — Starscream can’t remember the last time he ever bothered with something like a genuine relationship.
Throat straining, constricting, Starscream barely manages to get out, “You’re going to ruin your paint.”
“That’s what the bottles I gave you are for. We wear the same red,” comes the muffled reply, Knock Out’s face pressed up against his armor. It was like he never wanted to let go.
“Did you seriously give me a gift I was meant to use on you?” He tries twisting around to catch Knock Out’s expression, but stubbornly, the grounder refuses to let him.
All he can see is his finger as he points, gesturing. “It’s cute. Couples do cute things like that all the time.”
“You’re impossible,” Starscream says, laughing. It doesn’t even hurt when his wings bob in tune.