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“Hey, that was supposed to be a surprise.”
Knockout turned his gaze from the datapad he had uncovered to the bulk of Breakdown’s frame in the doorway, startled.
“For when we rebuild Cybertron,” his partner added, the corner of his lips plates curled into a grin. “Didn’t think you’d dig into that junk. S’why I hid it there.”
The medic stared hard at him a few seconds more before returning his optics to the datapad in his claws, processor turning. Blueprints projected onto the screen. “When did you design this?”
Breakdown tilted his head in half-sparked contemplation. “Dunno, about a vorn ago? When we were rolling on our own before Screamer called us up.” He sauntered into the storage unit of their quarters, watching his partner as his amber optics flickered with cocky curiosity – an expression only Breakdown could seem to craft. “It’s pretty good, right? You like the layout?”
Knockout stared at the schematics, optics roving over the details. Old conversations sprung into his memory banks as he recalled the seemingly frivolous ideas. There had been a lot of talk about what ifs. What if Cybertron was restored, what if the Decepticons won, what if they were given the opportunity to rebuild their own habitat complex. To Knockout, it had been unrealistic, even if somewhat enjoyable, to talk about such things that were still so far from possibility. Breakdown had taken those musing, had remembered what Knockout said, and designed a blueprint based on his self-indulgency. Right there on the datapad was the extravagant habitat Knockout had dreamed of, from the designated buffing station to the sweeping contours of the habitat’s excessive floor space. And in fitting with the overall design and flare, Breakdown had added his own little nook, his own space that ensured they would both be happy in this habitat. It had been a fantasy home within Knockout’s processor, something best left to imagination than construction. But Breakdown had transferred it from concept to concrete anyway. And Knockout couldn’t look away.
“Well?”
The medic finally tore his gaze from it and found his partner standing just outside his field, waiting expectantly for an answer. The cockiness has been replaced by a warm glow in his golden optics, and Knockout was temporarily locked in a stupor by them.
“I thought we could build it together,” Breakdown continued, tilting his helm in a casual gesture and a smile that had Knockout aching. “I’d show you what to do. I know you don’t have any interest in construction, but… this place’d be entirely ours. Built by our own servos.” He brought both fists into view to accompany his statement, shifting closer as he did.
Knockout hesitated, unable to look away. He expanded his field to find Breakdown’s, reaching out a servo hopefully – but immediately withdrew. His spark ached painfully. He gripped the datapad harder.
“You know I hate construction,” he replied quietly. His tone echoed distantly between them. “The dirt and dust would blemish my finish.”
Breakdown grinned. “I know. I want you to get dirty with me –”
Knockout raised an optic ridge.
“So that when our home’s finished,” Breakdown continued, “when we’ve done everything, when we’ve detailed the interior,” Breakdown shifted closer, and Knockout pulled his fielded even tighter about him. “I’ll get to clean you up in the new wash racks,” he reached forward, “and buff you smooth in the new detailing station.”
His servo passed straight through Knockout’s door panel,
Spark-wrenching disappointment washed over the medic and the restraint on his field broke. It spilled out around him slowly, washing over Breakdown. Only, there was no other field to meet him. There was nothing there. Nothing but cold confirmation that the mech before him wasn’t really before him.
Knockout closed his optics. His spark wailed silently and his EM field clawed hopelessly for something that wasn’t there. When he opened his optics, Breakdown was gone.
He had never been there.
The medic looked down at the datapad; the solid evidence that his partner had planned for a future with him. A future now without. Knockout clutched it so hard the metal groaned and his digits ached. He pressed it to his chassis and let his spark bleed.
Alone in their quarters, he mourned in agony.