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Knockout wanted to deny the position from the very beginning. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Wheeljack- in fact it was the exact opposite. Knockout always had difficulty controlling himself when it came to vehicle modes. That’s what landed him on the Decepticon side to begin with.
They scouted most of the system together, intercepting stray Decepticon activity. During their time Wheeljack had never displayed a bit of camaraderie to the medical officer. They exchanged nothing more than terse greetings and shared orders. Honestly, if it wasn’t for the occasional off-ship excursion, Knockout probably would have gone completely out of his processor.
They stayed within their cramped quarters for entire cycles, two silent roommates exchanging only greetings as they went along their way. It was like that way for awhile- Knockout forlornly following Wheeljack out of the corner of his optics.
It was on a run far out in the reaches of the system where help was few and far between when Knockout woke up to a listless ship. Out of all the things he woke up to, this was a first.
Knockout wandered the Jackhammer, looking for the cause of their adrift state. Knockout didn’t bother to call out Wheeljack’s name; he probably wouldn’t have answered. As Knockout strolled through the dense quarters of the hulking ship, he caught himself in a reflective surface. It distracted him momentarily as he checked out his appearance. It was an old habit, checking his finish for scratches and to ensure his inner machinations were all in line. Knockout couldn’t help but compulsively check himself, an old habit that couldn’t die even after his switch. It was his lingering glance at his reflection that caused him to carelessly trip over his own pedes.
Or perhaps, someone else’s.
Knockout rubbed his helm, cursing out his misstep before looking down as his pedes. What he saw figuratively made his spark stop.
Wheeljack lay on the floor, his optics offlined. Knockout immediately panicked and spun to shake the larger ‘bot awake. “Hey, Autobot.”
Knockout suddenly became aware he was touching the beautiful Wrecker’s chest and immediately removed his clawed digits. His insides churned with guilt and concern over the glittering mech’s wellbeing. His conflict was shortly solved when Wheeljack onlined his optics.
“Knockout,” Wheeljack practically coughed out, “What are you doing here?”
The red mech was momentarily concerned, “I live here now.”
Apparently that was not what Wheeljack meant. He struggled up and Knockout reached out his servos to help before pulling them back, clenching his claws. He didn’t deserve to touch the formidable mech in front of him, yet he wanted so badly to help his shipmate.
Wheeljack managed to right himself before he covered his side in a subtle movement. Knockout glared up at the Autobot, “What is that?”
“It’s nothing, just a scrape I got in our last bash.”
Knockout felt a dip in his processor and responded flatly, “Our last encounter was three cycles ago.”
Although Knock Out did his best to keep his emotions from rising up, he felt a little hurt. How many times had the Autobot been injured and not told him?
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It ain’t that bad,” Wheeljack waved him off with a servo, “I figured I’d get it fixed at the next pit stop.”
Knock Out sat patiently while the Wrecker avoided his gazed, “It’s not that bad, hmm?”
“Yeah, no problem.”
Knock Out was feeling very spiteful so he reached out a quick claw and prodded the abrasion. Wheeljack, strong as ever, merely gritted his denta.
“I understand,” Knock Out threw out his servos and folded them over his door-covered forearms, “There is obviously not a problem. No problem at all. I assume you’ll be fine until we run adrift in some asteroid belt.”
Knock Out made a move to stand but as he rose up, the Wrecker gently grasped at his hand, “Would it be too much for you to help?”
The Aston Martin looked down at him with narrowed optics; briefly he wondered if Wheeljack could hear the sound of his energon pumping through his systems. He would have to be nonchalant about the whole thing should he choose to assist; Wheeljack obviously couldn’t trust him.
And why should he? Knock Out reasoned with himself. It isn’t like he’s spent as much time admiring you as you have him.
“I need to get a few things, but I’m sure I can operate here. Don’t go running off.”
The red mech could have cursed himself out. Don’t go running off? He can’t move. Knock Out put a claw to his helm, being this close to the streamlined Wheeljack was beginning to fry his processors. This was the most they had interacted in a very long time.
When Knock Out returned, Wheeljack had uncovered his wound altogether. It seemed as if some rust flakes managed to make it into there, irritating the white mech’s systems.
“Hmm, this is why good hygiene is so important.” Knock Out lectured the Autobot.
Wheeljack just gazed at him with his soft blue-green optics.
“What?” Knock Out couldn’t help but comment and look down at his tools.
“Nothing, I’m just wondering why medbots are always so caring.”
Knock Out jettisoned out a laugh, but when he looked back up at the war worthy mech, with his score lines and scars, Wheeljack smiled gently at him.
Knock Out usually didn’t like such battered mechs, why didn’t Wheeljack buff out some of those dents? He was a perfectly beautiful machine, yet he did nothing to remedy each dent.
Knock Out worked on the wound in silence before venting out, “Don’t even let it get this bad again Wheeljack? I’m not as talented at your Autobot medic, if this had become any more oxidized it would have entered your system.”
Wheeljack reached out a servo and Knock Out instinctively jerked away before realized that Wheeljack was giving him one of his trademarked congratulatory pats.
“Thanks Knock Out, I think I’ll just sit here a moment and recuperate.” Wheeljack offlined his optics again.
Knock Out immediately regretted not leaning into the Autobot’s touch, how nice would it have been to feel the touch of this particular mech. Perhaps that is why he lingered momentarily, lost in thought about what could have been.
There was one dent that Knock Out particularly wanted to buff out. That was because he remembered the exact circumstances of how Wheeljack got it. Whilst hosted up inside the Nemesis. He wanted to rid himself of that memory. He saw a flash of horrors every time he noted that dent on the top of his thigh. No one else would have noted it until Knock Out pointed it out, but that’s just the way the ex-Con was.
Knock Out suddenly realized he had reached out to touch the dent. He snatched his claw away as if he had touched something hot.
Wheeljack had onlined his optics, for how long Knock Out couldn’t have known. “Don’t stop on my account, medbot.”
Knock Out trembled slightly, “I’m sorry, that was unprofessional of me.”
He began quickly packing up his things, right now it would be best to get as far away from this Autobot as possible.
Wheeljack once again caught his servo, this time Knock Out dropped one of his tools and looked up at the Wrecker.
“Sorry I’m not a luxury model.” Wheeljack stated. Knock Out wasn’t sure if it was from the rust in his lines, or what.
“I’m sorry?” Knock Out responded flatly per usual, he heard a lot of weird things from the ‘Con’s in his day, this was not.
“I’m built for battle.” Wheeljack gestured, finally letting go of Knock Out’s servo. Knock Out massaged his digits gently looking for scratches. “That’s why you don’t like me right?”
Knock Out raised his helm in alarm, “Don’t like you? What made you ever think that?”
Wheeljack shrugged, “I don’t know, gut feeling. You tend to avoid me. I try not to take it personally.”
Knock Out could have said a lot, about how much he wanted to buff out all of Wheeljacks scratches, refinish his glimmering exterior, “I’m an Autobot now. I have to be more careful with my team.”
Wheeljack displayed his multitude of bygone contusions, all which marred the otherwise perfect surface. “I think I’d be fine.”
Knock Out finally lashed out, “It isn’t that I’m overtly fond of luxury models. You’re just a well-worn machine. Why don’t you keep up your physical appearance more and get rid of some of these blasted dents?”
Wheeljack grinned, “They’re not just dents, Knock Out. They’re memories.”
Knock Out clung to himself, “Why would you ever want to remember that.”
Wheeljack pointed at the cut surrounding his mouth, “This one I got hit going into battle without my mask on, it was a good lesson. The ‘Con sucker punched me. These dents are memories of what made me into the ‘bot I am today.”
Knock Out rolled his optics and lifted up on his pedes to point at a soft scrape on Wheeljack’s door fins. “What about that?”
Wheeljack grinned, “That’s a personal secret. Listen medbot, are you going to question all of my scrapes?”
Knock Out got heated at that, “Maybe I am, Autobot. You could use with a good buff. You can’t possibly need all of these-“
Wheeljack lifted Knock Out up and over his thigh, Knock Out’s voice stopped completely as he settled into the mech’s lap.
“Why do you keep calling me Autobot?” Wheeljack teased gently, “Seem’s like you’ve got some of your dents you need to buff out.”
“Where?” Knock Out panicked, believing the white mech seeing something he hadn’t.
Wheeljack dinged him on the chestplate, “Right there.”
“Very funny.” Knock Out didn’t like how comfortable he felt in the lap of the automobile, but he couldn’t help but point at a dent on Wheeljack’s chestplate, “How did you get this one?”
“Ah, that one is from Soundwave.”
Knock Out drew a claw around the edge of the dent, fighting back his craving to fix it. He finally wondered out loud, “Aren’t you angry? Aren’t you mad we did this to you?”
Wheeljack tilted his helm and gave that sweet, small smile of his, “Nope.”
Knock Out looked up into his optics from his comforting position, “Why?”
“I have these dents because I don’t want to forget, not because I don’t want to forgive. Yeah, some of these dents might come from less than happier times, but those dents got me here with you didn’t they? That’s definitely not something I want to forget anytime soon.”
Knock Out flushed heat, his eyebrows raising as Wheeljack smiled down at him. Knock Out didn’t know what to do, or to say to such a kind response. He turned his optics away.
“W-what about this one?” He pointed to another ding on the weapon tech’s arm.
“Ah, now that one is a long story.” Wheeljack began.
Knock Out could sit on this mech’s lap and hear him speak forever, he felt perfectly safe listening to the low rumble as the Wrecker dictated his exploits. A settling in his spark began as he shifted to sit perfectly relaxed into Wheeljack’s lap. The red car watched his friends marred hand as the bot gestured out the ranges of his stories.
The two stayed in such repose, Knock Out perched atop Wheeljack, pointing out each scrap to hear the bittersweet memories and know more about his partner.