Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s several years after reawakening on Earth that Knock Out finally meets the Autobot’s Head Tactician. He had heard of him, the cold construct made for processing an insane amount of information within mere kliks; it’s hard not to when Starscream and Co. constantly complain about the unfair advantage his fancy processor brings. But considering the amount of war crimes the Decepticons are committing almost daily, perhaps the Autobots should get to have their super computer.

Starscream’s “Master Plan that will make all Deceptions realize that I, Starscream should be leader” this time around consists of stealing all the energy from the pumps of some giant gas station, Buck-lees or something. Their organic mascot makes Knock Out uneasy; why is he so important to the point that there are hundreds of stations built in his honor? These fleshies confuse him at times.

Knock Out’s supposed to be on look-out duty, but considering there are several other mechs also on look-out duty, he’s decided to delegate himself to other activities. Look, he didn’t even want to go on this little trip, so forgive him for trying to make it worth his while by getting himself some new tires. Breakdown will understand.

He’s in the midst of inspecting when suddenly the sound of a bot transforming into root mode occurs behind him. The sight of a red chevron that he’s only ever seen in pictures before gets his attention. New tires are going to have to wait, he supposes.

Prowl stands there stiff as a board, glaring at Knock Out with cold, calculating optics. Servos in fists by his sides.

Knock Out looks him up and down, servo on hip. “So you’re the Autobot’s famous Tac-Head? I thought you’d be taller.” Emphasized with a tilt of the helm.

Prowl just continues to stare. They forgot to construct this one with social skills.

“Not much of a talker huh-”

Before he knows it, Prowl has his arms around his back and in stasis cuffs. Knock Out is almost impressed if not slightly miffed. He turns his helm to the side to glance at the cuffs before shooting him a smirk.

“You do this to every bot you meet or am I an exception, Officer?”

Nothing.

Prowl proceeds to push him to the ground, sending dirt flying.

“Watch the finish, Chevron!”

Still nothing. Rude.

“Considering your dull paint job, you probably aren’t aware of the time and effort it takes to get like this.” The poor mech probably doesn’t even know the first thing about polishing. A shame with a bumper like that, not that Knock Out’s jealous or anything.

He finally gets a response from the stoic mech in the form of a doorwing flick similar to the ones Starscream’s wings do when he’s annoyed, granted Prowl’s are much more subdued.

Feedback is heard over Prowl’s comms, but Knock Out’s current position on the ground makes it difficult to actually hear what is being said or who is talking. He gets his answer to the latter soon enough when a Martini Porsche comes racing in before transforming.

“Ay nice goin’ Prowler!” Jazz is all smiles as he struts up to Prowl to swing his arm over his shoulder.

Now that gets the drone to finally change expressions. Not by much, but he loosens up and his doorwings do a flick that Knock Out isn’t familiar with.

“Wasn’t much of an issue.” If he wasn’t so shocked by finally hearing him speak, a monotone cadence that almost rivals Soundwave’s, he’d be insulted.

“No need to be humble, It’s only me, babe.” Knock Out expects Prowl to shove him off or impatiently ask Jazz to move his arm at this point, Prowl doesn’t strike him as a particularly touchy mech. Instead, the tactician leans in ever so slightly.

Ah. So the officer does make an exception.

“I imagine you weren’t struggling much either.”

“Y’know me so well.” Jazz exaggeratedly places a servo to his bumper. Prowl’s doorwing twitches at this too.

The entertainment from watching these two idiots awkwardly flirt is brought to an end when Jazz glances his way. “Better bring him to the Brig, huh?”

“Yes, and you contained Breakdown already as well?”

“Oh yeah, no way he’s gettin’ out-” Breakdown rams right into the two of them in his alt mode, sending them both flying.

“Excellent timing as always, darling.”

“You alright?” Breakdown asks as he helps him to his feet. Prowl is doing the same to Jazz in the back, dusting him off slightly. Perhaps they should hurry this up before the two commanders get back.

“My paint, no, the rest, I suppose.” Knock Out fiddles with the stasis cuffs, finally unlocking them. Pointy digits have their uses.

“I’ll help you buff it out when we get back.”

“You’re too good to me.” Small smile before the two begin driving back to base.

Knock Out and Breakdown are off to another drive-in theatre showing tonight, some romcom that Breakdown will never fully admit to enjoying is playing this time. They head towards their usual spot in the back only to find a Porsche and cop car already parked there.

“Must you Autobots always get in the way?” As much as Knock Out loves his alt mode, sassing just isn’t the same without servo gestures.

Prowl frantically whispers “Jazz-”

“They haven’t done anything wrong yet-well that we know of-and we’re off the clock anyways. No need to worry, babe.” Jazz whispers back calmly. “Fancy seein’ ya gentlemechs here! Didn’t realize this was your scene too!” He greets as if they hadn’t just tried killing each other the day prior. Behind, Prowl mutters about how they’re never truly “off the clock” mostly to himself.

“We come quite frequently actually; can’t say I imagine this being your scene either. Well you maybe, but not Wee-Woo’s in the back.” Tire turn in emphasis; it’s just not the same.

Prowl is quiet in his patch of grass. If he was in root mode, he’d be hitting Knock Out with that blank stare again most likely.

“Ah you're right on that, took a lot of pleadin’ on my part to get him to join me, but what can I say, I’m irresistible!” Jazz lightly taps Prowl’s front tire with his own.

“I only agreed to come because Chromia said this was an ‘enjoyable film.’”

“And because Elita said ya couldn’t relax even if your spark depended on it and ya got all huffy.”

“I did not.” Prowl snaps back, huffily.

“As charming as you two are, you are in our spot. So, do please take your flirting elsewhere.” A perfect moment for a dismissive servo flick, but alas.

Prowl’s sirens go off, drawing attention from the teens parked closer to the screen, before stuttering out, “We weren’t-”

“My bad fellas! C’mon Prowler, spot to the left has better seats anyways.” Jazz easily backs up before driving to the other side. “Enjoy the flick guys, see ya around!” Prowl stays in his spot for a klik as if debating finishing his statement before belatedly following.

“They’re a fun pair.” Breakdown chuckles as they watch Prowl awkwardly drive over to Jazz.

“That’s one way to put it.”

Breakdown motions to their spot with his tire. “After you.” You can just hear his smile.

“Why thank you, dear.”

“How did you find the movie? I thought it was a tad basic, but enjoyable nevertheless.” Knock Out takes a shot at Prowl’s helm.

Prowl dodges before looking at Knock Out, bewildered. Maybe it’s because he asked him this while they were in the middle of a skirmish. “Excuse me?”

“You know, the drive-in theatre. Your little date with Visor.”

“Viso-Jazz? Date? That wasn’t a date.” Prowl lowers his gun ever so slightly.

“What do you mean that wasn’t a date?”

“We’re colleagues.” Prowl has completely dropped his defensive position. Now he’s just standing there confused in the middle of a battlefield. Behind him, Chromia and Ironhide are shooting at Skywarp and Thundercracker.

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it now?” Knock Out also loses his stance as he crosses his arms.

“I’m serious.” He puts his servos on his hips to show just how serious he is.

“And I’m seriously confused. So he just took you to see a romantic film as buddies?”

“It was more so a comedy.” For crying out loud.

“He calls you babe.”

“That’s just how Jazz is with everyone.”

“He calls everyone babe?” Optic ridges raised in disbelief.

“I haven’t heard him use that particular one on someone else but I would imagine, yes. Jazz calls everyone things like that.” This is the greatest mind of the Autobots? No wonder this war is nowhere close to being over.

“I bet he carries everyone close to his chest too when they’re injured, huh?”

“What are you talking ab-” Knock Out shoots Prowl in the leg. Nothing life-threatening, but definitely won’t feel good to walk on. It’s the least he deserves after mucking up his finish during their first meeting.

“Until next time, Chevron!” Bids Knock Out with a wave of the servo before transforming and driving away. Leaving a fuming tactician clutching his leg in his dust.

“Knock Out!”

From his side-view mirrors, he sees Jazz rushing over to Prowl. Servos frantically moving around the wound. He’s barely losing any energon, calm down. Prowl seems to be feeling the same way as he tries to push Jazz away from him albeit gently, probably arguing that he’s fine based on the roll of his optics. Jazz isn’t having any of that and in one swift motion, he easily gets his arms under Prowl’s legs and back and picks him up, holding him close. Prowl’s optics widen as he wraps his arms around Jazz’s neck out of shock

Despite being too far to pick up what they’re saying, Knock Out can clearly see Prowl sputtering “Jazz!” out of embarrassment, trying to get Jazz to put him down. Jazz doesn’t give in, grip tightening, and smiles as he heads presumably to where that rust-bucket Ratchet is stationed.

Colleagues, huh?

Knock Out took a brief intermission from street racing after the last one’s incident involving some no-good human scratching his paint and then suffering a horrible crash. Those events may or may not be correlated. He truly only stopped because Breakdown was getting antsy about people finding out that he didn’t exactly have a driver in his front seat. But after installing some even heavier tinted windows and convincing Breakdown that he could hide off to the side in case things got bad, Knock Out is back in business.

He typically arrives late to avoid any chances of a human trying to start conversations or Primus-forbid, touch his paint, so there’s a pretty good crowd when he arrives. He pulls up in the back and is content to just sit there until the horn blares to signal the beginning. Then a Porsche that is becoming annoyingly familiar pulls up right beside him.

“Didn’t take you for a street racer.”

“I’m starting to think you’re following me.”

“You wish, just needed to let out some energy. So you race here often?”

“Only every now and then. It feels good to let loose.” He doesn’t know why he’s choosing to engage in this conversation.

“Y’can say that again! Love Earth but the speed limits are killing me.”

“You actually follow those?” Of course he does, the Autobots are incredibly boring.

“Woah don’t let Prowl hear ya say that! This ain’t Breakdown’s scene, I take it?”

“No, but he did come along in case things get dicey. He worries too much.” Knock Out is aware that he sounds disgustingly fond right now, time to change topics. “Did you forget to bring your cyberhound this time?”

Jazz falters for a klik before what, or rather who is being referred to hits him. “Oh! Prowl? I tried alright, but he’s not exactly fond of the lack of legality. Makes him all squirmish. Plus he made a pretty good point that his alt mode would cause a scene-”

“I really don’t need to know all this-”

“-Would probably have all these punks running for the hills and then I’d have nobody to race, well actually Prowl and I could just race then which would still be fun but I’d like him to actually see me beat someone y’know-” The blare of the horn saves Knock Out.

He instantly shoots from his spot, leaving a stunned Porsche in his wake. Amateur. Despite his beginning in the way back, he has no issue moving up by weaving between the other competitors; none of these humans actually know how to drive.

He’s trying not to play too dirty this time around, since Breakdown asked so nicely, but that won’t stop him from a little show boating. A few additional drifts here and there. Some very close swipes that make the drivers all nervous to the point that they swerve. He wants to make sure Breakdown has a good time after all.

He’s comfortably showing off in the front until he catches a glimpse of a Martini Porsche getting a little too close for his own liking. He lightly taps the busted Camaro behind him, sending it into the racers behind. The racers all slam on their brakes, a couple unable to avoid ramming into the Camaro. Jazz is no longer in his line of sight, presumably stuck behind the pile up. Good. That Camaro, however, did end up in a ditch. Eh. It’ll be fine.

The rest of the race continues with no fuss. Knock Out can make out the finish line from up ahead as he makes one last turn. Oh how impressed Breakdown will be-Jazz zips past out of nowhere, tearing through the finish line.

He does donuts in victory.

No one was injured (well, not horribly injured) this time besides Knock Out’s pride.

Jazz drives over once the rest of the racers leave. “Whoo that was good! Y’know we should do a one-on-one race sometime. Maybe then Prowl will actually come if no humans are involved.”

“What makes you think I’d want to race you again?”

“Aw don’t be like that! Better luck next time, mech!” Jazz uses one of his blinkers as a wink and zips off to Primus-knows-where.

What a waste of a night- “You were just flying! You really showed those humans, they couldn’t keep up with you! Primus, you’re amazing!” Breakdown exclaims with no small amount of excitement as he comes out from his hiding spot. Perhaps tonight wasn’t too bad. He might take up Jazz’s offer, for Breakdown’s sake.

Getting caught by this tightaft is way worse than losing any race to Visor. That mech at least has some style. Knock Out thinks glumly as he’s cuffed to a table in one of the Ark’s interrogation rooms. He’s been waiting in here way longer than is typical and he’s starting to get bored.

He had been caught stealing parts from a nuclear plant which resulted in him having to evade capture via driving away, something that he usually has no issues with after doing it so often, but this time Prowl was the one after him and it turns out the Tac-Head is faster than one would expect. Knock Out informed him of his surprise while being chased.

“I’m a cruiser-build. Of course I have some speed.” Prowl’s been talking more these days and Knock Out credits himself in bringing that out.

“Builds mean nothing if you don’t use them. You’re behind a desk most days anyways, I’m surprised you’re not rusty.” Blatantly wrong information is a good way to get him talking and hopefully distracted enough to miss the sharp right Knock Out had taken around a cliff side.

“While it is true I tend to be needed at base, that does not mean I don’t keep up with the training regimens like any other soldier,” Prowl had no issue copying the turn. Frag. “Plus Jazz often gets me out for drives as well which will most times result in him having me chase him-”

“Oh I bet you do.” Prowl almost crashed at that, giving what Knock Out had figured was the extra time he needed to finally get away. Instead, he managed to catch up again whilst Knock Out’s guard was down and resulted in the little situation he currently finds himself in.

Starscream is going to give him so much slag if he finds out that it was Prowl who got him. Eh. He can just bring up Skyfire to get him to shut it.

The door finally opens and in walks, or rather shoved in, is the tactician himself by a very cheery Jazz.

“Ya got this Prowler, don’t let him get to ya! Remember, your bumper is bigger than his!” Jazz loudly whispers before doing a two-digit salute and slamming the door. Rude. About the door thing, definitely not the bumper comment.

Prowl looks at the door with optic ridges raised in amusement before sighing and turning to join the Autobot’s current guest at the table, attention firmly on the datapads in his servos.

Knock Out sets his chin on his intertwined digits and smirks. “Missed me already? How’s your leg by the way?”

He doesn’t look up from his datapads. “No one else wanted to talk to you.” Apparently Prowl’s social skills have not been improving as previously inferred.

“But you did? I’m honored, truly.” Prowl continues to not look up. “Shocked Rims didn’t want to chit-chat though. I’m a little hurt.”

“Optimus Prime has better things to do with his time than ‘chit-chat’ with you.”

“And you don’t?”

“I do, many things in fact, but this needs to be done nevertheless.” Annoyed doorwing twitch. Bingo.

“I’m sure you could’ve convinced Visor to do this if you just shook that bumper of yours a bit. He clearly looks at it already.” That gets Prowl to look up, optics wide and his faceplates darkened. He shuts his optics and attempts to steady himself back to his usual hardened blank slate.

There’s a few solid kliks of awkward silence before Knock Out decides to touch base on what’s been bothering him the whole time he’s been stuck in this forsaken room.

“Cruiser-build or not, I still can’t fathom how you got me. I’ve escaped several of your fellow Autobots with, frankly sleeker, racer-builds more times than I can count. There’s no way you’re faster than Jazz and definitely not those lamborginis-”

“You favor the right.” What?

“I beg your pardon?”

“When Jazz regaled his time beating you-”

“That’s not entirely accurate I’ll have you know-”

“-He mentioned that you tend to drift right. I simply adhered to his advice.” He takes a page out of Knock Out’s book and rests his chin on intertwined digits too and smirks. Prowl is not someone he’d consider to ever be smug yet here we are. Aft.

Does this mean he’s predictable? No. That can’t possibly be. He’s gotta fix this wait why would Prowl even admit to this-

“Let’s get back to the purpose of this meeting, shall we?” Meeting? Knock Out’s here against his will last time he checked. Prowl ignores the incredulous look as he neatly organizes his datapads.

“Why were you stealing these parts?” He slides a photo of said parts to the other end of the table.

“Because I was told to.” Prowl is not impressed.

“For what purpose?”

“You know, the Ark is a really awful shade of yellow. You should really think about switching it up-”

“Focus.”

“I mean really, how is anyone supposed to want to admit their factions’ deepest darkest secrets when the only thing they can stare at is either you or this horrendous wall-”

“You’re doing this on purpose-” Breakdown busts through the wall to the right, burying Prowl in debris.

“Sorry I’m late!”

“Oh, your timing is just right, darling. Prowl and I got to have a nice chat.” Stasis cuffs broken by pointy digits yet again before he hears said bot moving beneath the rubble. “Hate to break it to you, Chevron, but you weren’t ever going to get the information you wanted. I never paid attention to what the mission was about in the first place. Thanks for the chat, glad your leg is doing better!” The couple rush out right before Jazz enters to help Prowl get out from under the debris.

Prowl and Knock Out continue to cross paths from time to time, mostly due to Knock Out going out of his way to bother Prowl about Jazz to the point that he looks like he’s about to shoot him.

“Did you take my bumper advice?”

“No.”

“Have you ever considered switching up your paint job? Some red accents would complement your chevron well, and I’m sure Visor would love it.”

“No.”

“Jazz is definitely checking you out right now.”

“Stop.” Prowl sneaks a quick glance nevertheless. Jazz waves at him enthusiastically from afar. Knock Out decks him in the helm.

“Are you just afraid to make a move? You know the first time interfacing really isn’t that scary-”

Prowl does actually shoot him over that one.

He eventually finds it in himself to take up Jazz’s offer to race again. Jazz pulls up with Prowl in tow and as predicted, every single one of those punk-humans scramble to take off in their dusty cars the second they see Prowl’s police lights.

“I’m sorry that I ruined your race Jazz but I did try to warn you that this would most likely-” Prowl’s cut off by Jazz’s raucous laughter.

“I think that’s the fastest I’ve ever seen humans move. Primus, that’s good! You’re amazing, Prowler.” Jazz transforms into root mode so he can clutch his side as he laughs. Dramatic.

“But-” Prowl transforms too and is incredibly confused. He looks like a kicked cyberhound with that helm tilt.

“Nonono this is what I hoped would happen! Now Knock Out and I can have our 1v1 that we’ve talked about!” One arm around Prowl’s shoulders as he points his other open-palmed servo at the aforementioned bot.

“That you’ve talked about. I’m simply humoring you.” He transforms to hit Jazz with an unimpressed look.

Breakdown joins them from his original hiding spot and transforms, placing a servo on Knock Out’s shoulder paired with a gentle smile. “Change of plans I take it?”

Prowl looks unsure as he scans the area. “I don’t think this is the wisest decision Jazz-”

“C’mon! All the humans are gone, even Breakdown’s fine, right?”

“No humans as far as I can tell.”

“See! Plus, Dontcha want to watch me beat Knock Out?”

“Just because you won the last one doesn’t mean-”

“Well, when you put it that way, yes." Prowl has really taken to smirking as of late and Knock Out is not a fan at all. He misses when he only had one facial expression: Vague Irritation.

Breakdown and Prowl make themselves comfortable on part of a cliff in preparation to watch. They use the blare of Prowl’s sirens to signal the beginning.

Breakdown whoops and hollers during the whole race while Prowl politely claps every now and then, doorwings bobbing silently. You would think he was doing more based on how powerful Jazz’s EM field was anytime it brushed by.

Jazz does, unfortunately, win again but Knock Out would like it to be known that he was a very close second. He’s been making sure he doesn’t drift right as much as before.

“That was..fun to watch. You did very well.” Prowl’s optics keep shifting to the side as he lamely finishes. Yeah, those social skills really haven’t been improving. Jazz doesn’t appear to feel the same way as his face splits into a huge grin. What a sap.

“Primus, that was good! You are just exhilarating to watch!” How’s a mech supposed to not smile at that?

Jazz and Prowl now have their own spot at the drive-in theatre, all the way to the left in the far back. Jazz will always greet them with “Fancy seeing you two here!” and proceed to laugh every single time. Sometimes they’ll rag on the film together once all the people leave. Prowl turns out to be quite the critic when he wants to be.

They’re in the middle of a movie when Soundwave comms in.

:: Knock Out and Breakdown: Needed now. ::

:: Can’t this wait? We're in the middle of something. Some of us have lives outside of base. ::

:: Needed: Now. ::

“Probably best to head out I fear. Don’t want to upset Megatron again.” It’s moments like these where Breakdown seemingly forgets how big he is and just sounds so scared. Knock Out hates these moments.

:: We’ll start heading back now. ::

:: Affirmative. ::

“Of course he has to interrupt us when they actually play something good.” The complaints are really just for show, he doesn’t want to make Breakdown more nervous than he already is. Doesn’t want to make Megatron upset with them again either.

As they drive off, they see Jazz and Prowl gently rubbing their front tires together as the glow from the screen reflects off them. Blissfully unaware of everything else.

“Guess they finally worked it out, huh?” Breakdown’s nerves stall in the place of mirth.

“About time.”

The next time Knock Out finds himself in one of the Ark’s interrogation rooms with Prowl, it’s not due to an inability to evade capture.

“Optimus says you want to defect and join the Autobots.” Prowl glances up from his datapad.

“Rims is right on it.” He had expected the Autobot leader to welcome him with open arms as soon as Knock Out asked to join, but it turns out they have rules and regulations about this kind of thing. Good to know Optimus isn’t a total pushover, or well the Autobots aren’t at least. There’s a reason Prowl is the one in this room rather than Rims.

“I imagine you understand our struggle in believing that. Even when Skyfire joined there was much apprehension.”

“Skyfire joining your little group turned out quite well. Not willing to take another chance?”

“You’re not exactly Skyfire.”

“Thank Primus for that. Have you seen that color palette?" The tone isn’t matching the words and he knows it. Prowl for all his social flounderings knows it too.

“Why are you here Knock Out?” Straight to the point. He appreciates that. Prowl sets down his datapad and stares while holding his servos together on the table.

He hesitates for a moment, staring at the ugly yellow wall. “They killed Breakdown. There’s no reason for me to stay.” He smiles but it doesn't reach his optics. It still doesn’t feel real. He and Breakdown just saw a movie last week. The Breakdown that was laughing so hard he started wheezing couldn’t possibly be the same mech whose face is now permanently stuck in one scared expression. The Breakdown that was parked so close that Knock Out could feel his heat couldn’t possibly be the same mech that is now cold and lifeless. Breakdown couldn’t possibly be-

“So you decide to turn to the Autobots’ cause?”

“If I was on Cybertron I’d go solo or find some other group but unfortunately options are a tad limited here on Earth.” That’s probably not the best thing to tell a high member of a group you want to join, but Prowl would know he was lying if he tried to be an aft-kisser. “Please don’t make me go back.”

Prowl sits in silence for a few breems, looking at his datapad. He expects Prowl to tell him to forget about it. That he’s calculated that he’s too untrustworthy. That he isn’t valuable. That he’s a risk that isn’t worth it. That he’s hurt too many of their own mechs including himself to ever be forgiven. It’d be fair. It’d make sense-

“We could always use another medic. I’ll clear you.” Prowl casually types on his datapad as if what he just said is no big deal. What.

“You-You’re serious?”

“You are a medic, correct?”

“Well yes-to an extent.” Knock Out hasn’t tripped over his words this much since the first time Breakdown told him he was beautiful.

“That’s better than nothing. Report to Ratchet. He’ll hit you into shape.” Prowl stands up from his chair, signalling that they’re done as he heads towards the door with his datapad under his arm.

Shock aside, Knock Out’s not gonna let go of an opportunity to give Prowl slag. “The phrase is ‘whip into shape’ not ‘hit.’”

“I meant what I said.” Prowl glances his way and smiles like he knows something Knock Out doesn’t. “Welcome to the Autobots.”

Chapter Text

Hit into shape he did.

Knock Out can’t count how many dents and scrapes he’s had to buff out since he joined the Ark two weeks ago. Turns out Ratchet has really good aim when it comes to throwing wrenches.

Ratchet wasn’t particularly thrilled when informed about the new addition to the medbay, apparently Knock Out “commits medical malpractice” and “doesn’t even know the damn difference between a bolt and a screw” and so on. Nevertheless, he begrudgingly accepted Knock Out after Optimus politely pointed out that Ratchet was the one who brought up that there wasn't enough medical help in a recent High Command meeting and would quote “take whatever he could get at this point.” The medic sighed heavily, resigning himself to his fate but not without first threatening his new teammate with a wrench, “You try any Decepticon scrap and I’ll use you for spare parts, this is my medbay, Shiny. Don’t forget it.”

Knock Out simply put both servos up, "Wouldn't dream of it.” Ratchet somehow grimaced even harder.

Due to the majority of the Ark not trusting Knock Out to operate on them, the Ex-Decepticon is mostly stuck cleaning, fetching tools and delivering paperwork for Ratchet. The only Autobot he’s gotten to work on completely on his own was Elita who spent the entire time staring daggers at him as he fixed her arm. Operating on Megatron was less terrifying.

He’s in the middle of rearranging Ratchet’s tools (the old bot has no sense of organization, he claims he “knows exactly where everything is” but there’s no way that’s efficient) when the medic himself drops a stack of datapads beside him.

“Drop these off to Prowl, his office is in the east wing at the end of the hall.”

Knock Out’s about to make some snarky comment about Ratchet forgetting his manners in his old age when the task fully hits him. “Prowl?” He hasn’t seen the tactician since the meeting that made him an Autobot. The mech never leaves his office from what he can tell.

“Yeah, and while you’re at it, tell that idiot he’s overdue for a check up. I’ll drag him out by his doorwing if he doesn’t come in by himself.” He huffs as he turns to go check on a patient’s vitals.

Knock Out gathers the, frankly ridiculous, amount of datapads and heads out with more energy than he’s had in awhile. He hasn’t gotten to hear how his relationship with Jazz has been faring since what he (and Breakdown his processor helpfully adds) saw during that last movie.

Knock Out’s about to knock on the door until he remembers that this is Prowl and just barges in. Prowl is not impressed.

“I know, I know, you missed me. Try not to get too emotional, I know you struggle with that.” He drops the stack unceremoniously before taking a seat on the corner of Prowl’s desk and turning his helm to face him, servos resting on the edge. “So what’s new?”

Prowl promptly shoves him off.

“Hey!”

“There’s a chair in the corner you can pull up, but I have a meeting coming up soon, so do make it quick.” Prowl answers absently as he goes through the datapads, doorwings flicking in what is seemingly one of his happier movements as he adds them to his completed stack. What a loser.

Knock Out opts to just stand after brushing himself off. Prowl glances up from the datapads, noticing the bumps and scrapes that he hasn’t had the time to fix yet. He’s still on the clock after all.

“I see you’ve met Ratchet’s wrench.”

“You’re horrible.”

“I tried to give you a heads up.” Another datapad completed.

“Well, do better next time. Here’s an example of an actual heads up: Ratchet is planning to drag your aft to the medbay if you don’t do it yourself soon. You’re welcome.”

“He always says that but never actually does it.” Prowl proceeds to not look his way as he reaches for another datapad.

“I’m going to tell him you said that.” Knock Out wants to see Ratchet drag this nerd down the hall so bad.

“And get your paint scratched again?” Optic ridges raised.

Knock Out crosses his arms. “You’re a real aft, you know that?”

“So I’ve gathered.” And another datapad.

Prowl makes no effort to further the conversation, too wrapped up in his work. Truly an awful host, so Knock Out takes his time viewing the surprising amount of knick-knacks and framed photos scattered about. On one wall, there’s a photo of Prowl with Bluestreak and Smokescreen on each side of him, arms thrown over his shoulders with big grins. Prowl appears to have made an effort to match their energy if his awkward half smile is anything to go by.

Prowl looks less out of place in the next photo, this one consisting of him, Chromia, and Elita. All three sitting together, each with a cube in their servo and matching resting faces. Knock Out can feel their unimpressed stares all boring into him so he quickly goes to the next photo, or well photos, all clearly taken by Jazz. A few have Prowl looking towards the camera with a smile that’s more relaxed than the one with his fellow Praxians, but most of the pictures are taken without Prowl noticing. Optics glued to datapads, mid-sip of energon, sleeping on his desk; the only constant is Jazz’s grin in the corner.

“I expected your office to be more barren, this is surprisingly homey. If you don’t count your presence, that is.”

Prowl ignores that last part. “You can thank Jazz for that. He tends to bring me ‘souvenirs’ when he returns from his missions.” His servo gestures to a shelf that is chalked full of various Earth paraphernalia: rocks, plants, crystals, snow globes, vinyls, you name it; all organized despite the variety.

Knock Out hums, optics not wavering from the shelf. “Breakdown would do the same,” he adds quietly. Especially when the items reminded him of Knock Out’s paint job. They were never the exact shade, but Knock Out appreciated the thought all the same. They now sit on the flimsy shelf in his new hab. “How’s that going by the way?”

“How’s what going?”

“You know, you two. You and Jazz.” He moves his digit between Prowl and the pictures of the two from where he stands.

“Jazz and I continue to be on favorable terms.” Prowl has returned to his beloved datapads yet again, shuffling them so they can somehow be even neater.

“That’s all?” Knock Out leans in as he grips the edge of the desk, Prowl’s doorwings do their familiar annoyed twitch.

“Yes? Were you expecting more?”

“I was hoping you’d regale me with all the starlit drives and dinner dates Jazz has been taking you on. I’m bored, Chevron. I need something.” Knock Out throws his helm back perhaps more dramatically than is necessary, but he truly is bored. The only mech he’s really interacted with lately is Ratchet. That can’t possibly be good for his spark.

Prowl again chooses to ignore the last bit and just focuses on the first half. “Why would Jazz be doing all that?”

“Because that’s what dating typically entails?” Knock Out flicks his wrist as if to say duh. That processor is really only made for crunching numbers, isn’t it?

“We’re not dating.”

“No need to be modest-wait what.” Knock Out freezes.

“My meeting is about to begin so I’m going to need you to-”

“What do you mean you two aren’t together!” Knock Out accidentally smacks the stylus holder as he throws out his arms, shifting it out of place from its spot on the desk. Prowl instantly sets it back with precise movements.

“Jazz and I are not romantically involved.” Prowl says this as if Knock Out is stupid. Knowing Prowl, he probably does think that. No plating off Knock Out’s back, he feels the same way about him, especially right now.

“Are you shitting me?”

“We’re just colleagues. Well, ‘friends’ may be more applicable.” Prowl puts a digit to his chin thoughtfully.

“Like slag you are! Breakdown and I- I saw you two getting quite cozy at the drive-in. You two were touching tires!”

“Jazz likes physical touch.” Prowl shrugs as he holds a datapad with both servos.

“And you do too?” Knock Out pushes the datapad down so Prowl can fully see his disbelief.

“Not typically, no-”

“Just Jazz, huh?”

“It’s not like that.” Prowl has finally abandoned the datapads in favor of making his point. “Jazz and I are simply good friends, nothing more.” Prowl stares him down.

“You sure about that?” Knock Out levels him with a stare of his own.

“Yes. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting-”

The office door slides open and in saunters the mech of the hour, cube in each servo. “Heya Prowler-oh hey Knock Out! Fancy seein’ you here.”

So this is the meeting Prowl was getting all bent out of shape over. Knock Out shoots Prowl a knowing look, Prowl refuses to look his way.

“Hello Jazz, here for a meeting with Prowl?”

Jazz takes a seat on the corner of Prowl’s desk just as Knock Out did except this time Prowl doesn’t shove him off. Didn’t realize that spot was already taken. “Just droppin’ off a cube, I’ll be quick. Didn’t mean to interrupt whatever it is ya two were discussin’!” Prowl’s doorwings droop at this before quickly returning to their regular placement.

“Knock Out was actually just about to-”

“Do you do this often? I mean, I haven’t seen Prowl in the rec room since I’ve arrived, I fear he isn’t fueling at all.” Knock Out places a servo to his spark in mock caring. Prowl scowls.

Jazz laughs, “Oh he gets out every now and then!” He extends one of the cubes to Prowl. “Just didn’t see you in there today so thought I’d stop by.” Prowl’s expression softens.

“Thank you.” Servo accepts the offered cube.

“Of course, we can't have our top tactician toppling over again due to low fuel levels.” He moves his visor in such a way as if he’s winking. Prowl rolls his optics.

“It was only one time.”

“Three actually.” Jazz puts up three digits next to his faceplates. “I even have the days when they happened documented if you don’t believe me. I’m sure Ratchet will back me up too.” Jazz slides off the desk and makes his way to the door.

“Oh, so you do know how to document? Because the datapads you dropped off yesterday, late I must add, say otherwise.” Prowl sips from his cube.

Jazz looks back to Prowl with a gentle smile. “Only the things that matter.” The door shuts. Prowl chokes.

“Just friends, huh?” Knock Out looks down as Prowl wipes energon off his chin.

“Isn’t Ratchet expecting you to be back at the medbay by now?” Slag.

Back on the Nemesis, Knock Out had a fairly spacious habsuite that included a personal washrack, all of which was comfortably shared with Breakdown. Being the head medic had its perks. Now as essentially Ratchet’s lackey? He has to have a roommate.

At first he thought he might luck out since none of the Autobots were exactly lining up to room with an Ex-Con. But then Skyfire in all his big empatheticness volunteered, so now Knock Out is roomies with his old teammate (awkward) and even worse, Starscream’s Ex (more awkward). The bright side to this whole arrangement is that both bots are usually so busy with their respective work that they’re rarely in the hab at the same time. Unfortunately, that does not make up for the moments when they are there at the same time. Knock Out still shudders at their first meeting (well, re-meeting).

Skyfire had been the one to show Knock Out the way to their shared hab, pointing out where the rec room and washracks resided whilst making polite conversation. The Autobots they passed either gave Knock Out wary looks or pretended they didn’t notice him. No issue, Knock Out doesn’t want to interact with them either. Once they made it to their hab, Skyfire opened the door with enthusiasm that the room wasn’t deserving of. Knock Out tried to smile politely; Skyfire was always one of the less annoying teammates so he’d like to stay in his good graces even if his thing for Starscream brought him down a few points. No sane mech has a thing for Starscream.

“I know some of the crew will be wary of you, but just give them time. They all eventually came around to me. If anybody is particularly awful, you can always let Optimus know. He will quickly put an end to it-”

“-Thanks, Sky, really, but I don’t think that will be much of an issue.” Skyfire smiled down at him (how is his neck not killing him) and placed one large servo on his shoulder.

“It's good to see you again, Knock Out. Though I do wish the circumstances could be different, I’m sorry about what happened to Bre-”

Knock Out abruptly took his servo off, “No need to delve into that.”

An uncomfortable silence permeated the room. Skyfire’s optics trailed to the wall as he fiddled with his digits.

“Sooo, how has Starscream been-”

“He’s still not over it.”

“Oh.”

Keeping that little instance in mind, Knock Out decides he’d rather sit at an empty table in the rec room during his downtime since Skyfire is currently in their room.

Knock Out plans to just grab a cube and file down his digits in hopes that will pass enough time for Skyfire to be gone when he returns. Those plans quickly change when he sees Prowl actually present for once at a table in the far corner, his back to everyone else, untouched cube beside him as he goes through a datapad.

“You do realize that the ‘rec’ in rec room stands for ‘recreation’ right?” Knock Out slides into the seat across from him.

Prowl doesn’t look up. “I am doing something I enjoy.”

“Do you have any idea how sad that sounds?”

He sighs and puts his precious datapad down, “What do you want?”

“Just a friendly face to share a cube with.” Knock Out’s million shanix smile is apparently not convincing. Prowl goes back to color coding whatever report he has pulled up. “But seriously, do you not have other hobbies?”

“I like solitaire.”

Knock Out scoffs. “You would.”

“What does that mean?” Prowl’s doorwings flick inquisitively.

Knock Out throws a dismissive servo, “Don’t worry about it. Out of curiosity, does Jazz make a habit of delivering energon to every mech on this ark?”

“I'd imagine he does for Blaster and the mechs in his division from time to time.” Prowl highlights an entire section of the report in red, somebody’s going to have to do some revisions.

"But mostly you?”

“It’s not that often.” Is that a defensive tone he detects? Ohohoho.

“Just often enough to know when he’ll be doing it again? Or, I’m sorry, when you two will be having your ‘meetings.’” He makes quotations with his digits.

“Why do you care?” Prowl snaps, those doorwings are really moving now.

“It was entertaining at first, but now it physically pains me how pathetic you are.” Prowl’s annoyed expression doesn’t waver. “I don’t get why you’re so afraid to make a move, he clearly likes you. For some reason.” He mutters that last part to himself.

“Our relationship is fine as it is,” Prowl highlights a paragraph with considerable force. “It wouldn’t work anyways.”

“So you DO want to be with him!” Knock Out slams an excited servo down and points an accusatory digit right in his face, Prowl bristles as some mechs from nearby tables turn their attention towards them.

Knock Out’s servo is smacked out of Prowl’s way, “It doesn’t matter what I want, and furthermore, it’s none of your concern.” Prowl’s harsh whispers lose some of their heat since he’s clearly embarrassed by the attention they’ve garnered. Knock Out takes pity on him and lowers his volume. Slightly.

“Sure it matters! You have to do some things for yourself, I do it all the time.”

“Evidently.”

“I’m gonna be nice and ignore that; my point still stands.”

“Whether I want it or not doesn’t change the fact that it won’t work.”

“You’re telling me that TacNet of yours calculated a zero percent success rate?”

“The TacNet wasn’t created to handle interpersonal situations-”

“Primus that explains so much.” Knock Out drags a servo down his face. “No wonder you’re so hopeless. You’re in luck though, I have just the plan of attack for you. I know you’re against a new paint job, but at least consider some polish. I have this one blend-”

“No.”

“I get it, first relationships are scary-”

“I have experience and most certainly don't need advice from the likes of you."

“Oh really? Did all these experiences happen to conveniently die at the beginning of the war?” Knock Out wishes that happened to some of his exes. Would’ve saved him from a lot of awkward moments. Having to explain that one seeker situation to Breakdown? Ugh.

Prowl’s stare hardens but says nothing as he gathers his things and leaves.

Well Skyfire is probably gone at this point, Knock Out might as well leave too-

“You ask him!”

“It was your idea, so you do it!”

Two of the Autobots’ better polished mechs, Tracks and Sunstreaker, he’s fairly certain, loudly whisper to each other as they head towards Knock Out. They stop right in front of him, fiddling with their servos.

“Can I help you?”

Tracks elbows Sunstreaker, making the Lamborghini shoot him a dirty look. He's unaffected, motioning his helm to Knock Out in an impatient manner. Sunstreaker huffs before awkwardly addressing Knock Out.

“I-well, we’ve been wanting to ask you about your polish.” Sunstreaker scratches the back of his neck while looking to the side.

“My polish?” He takes a long sip from his cube, pinky digit out, without breaking eye contact; making them more nervous. Is it a little mean? Sure, but considering the majority of the Ark has gone out their way to not interact with him, he thinks he deserves some retribution no matter how meager. Breakdown would say he’s being petty and he’d be right.

“Yeah, um, you see-”

“-Do you have any tips?” In spite of Tracks’s interruption, Sunstreaker nods emphatically. The two look with big, hopeful optics. Knock Out finds himself genuinely smiling for the first time in awhile.