❤️🩹 - For my TFP Soundwave from Knockout?
❤️🩹 for an angst starter
Soundwave and Knockout
Knockout had never been one to be sentimental. At least, not openly. He would show affections and favor someone over the other with clear preferences. But sentiment was reserved for those who could afford it, and in war time very few found themselves wealthy.
Knockout had never been one to be sentimental.
But standing now, at the berth side of his lost love, the lifeless frame of Breakdown, he found the last few dregs of sentiment in his spark and they spilled from his optics, streaking down his faceplate.
Breakdown had always been there for him, in his times of need, both in battle and in the small hours of the cycle when stasis evaded him. He had always felt safe with Breakdown. Even now as he placed a shaky servo over the fizzled spark of his Conjunx, he felt safe. As if the other would spring to life if the mere mention of danger arose.
Knockout knew that wouldn’t be the case. After all his love’s frame had been through, the desecration by a filthy organic no less. He knew there would be no Primus given miracles. Not for mechs like them anyway.
The doctor slid to his knees next to the medical berth, his servo refusing to lift from Breakdown’s icy frame as he lowered himself to the floor. He gripped Breakdown’s stiff servo and simply sobbed with his helm slumped forward. He pulled Breakdown’s cold, lifeless hand over to cup his tear stained cheek plating, wordlessly begging for Breakdown to wake up and hold him, to comfort him how he used to.
No matter how he cried or grieved, Primus didn’t play favorites with the likes of them. He would not see his love rise the way the leader of the Autobots so often did. And that thought planted a bitter seed in his own spark.
Just as he thought things couldn’t get worse, he heard the doors to the medical bay hiss open. Without much thought, or care really, of who was at the door, he grabbed the nearest object which was a tray of autopsy tools he had used to inspect his Conjunx’s frame for research. With all his strength he threw it at whoever had entered, the tools smashing against the wall next to them. Rage and anguish filled his intake and he screamed, not saying anything, but roaring in agony, in anger. Because how dare someone interrupt his mourning?
He screamed so hard his vox glitched and he nearly broke it. Then he fell silent once more, resting his helm against the side of the berth as another pitiful sob shook his frame. He was resigned to whatever reprimand he would receive for acting so unbecoming of the Decepticon CMO title. He couldn’t care, not when his Conjunx’s lifeless frame rusted next to him.
Even if it was the chief of security who had entered the medical bay.