[ti]Ep 3[/ti]Medical Leave [Closed]

[Knock Out]

Week 3 | Day 1
-

Day in, day out, Knock Out’s routine had been the same for far too long.

Wake up from recharge frustratingly early. Trudge to get a ration of Energon. Trudge across the base to the Medical Bay. Trudge to his desk, sitting down and sleepily looking at a datapad to check which of their many Vehicon and Eradicon troops were due for a checkup that day. Watch a few cat videos while sipping that ration of Energon (hey, they were cute and good for morale!). Switch back to the schedule, before assigning several of these ‘appointments’ to Flatline just to give the mech something to do, knowing Breakdown would be there to assist should either of them need it.

Work. Work. Work. Boring. Never ending. Drowning in the mundane - it was enough to drive him mad. On the Nemesis he at least managed to escape at times, taking a break from it all with frequent visits to the planet below - Breakdown had things more than handled in the Medical Bay while he got to feel the asphalt under his tires, if only for a couple of precious hours.

This day had started more or less the same. Waking up from recharge frustratingly early, he had trudged to get a ration of Energon before making his way to the Medical Bay - making a note of pausing just outside the doors that’d been adorned with an obnoxious medical cross in recent days. Flatline’s suggestion, of course - so newcomers to the twisting maze of Blackridge Hold knew where to go should they need assistance.

It was gaudy, but… eh, it made sense.

Venting out a sigh, he pushed open the door after staring up at the cross for a moment - immediately noting the slumped over heap at Flatline’s desk. This, too, had become an almost normal sight and part of his routine as of late, the black and red mech - for whatever reason - choosing to sleep here at his desk rather than in the (probably) perfectly good berth in his shared quarters.

Though, given who his roommate was, he didn’t really blame Flatline for opting to recharge elsewhere at times. Plus with the events of two days ago? Things like stress added up. Still unhappy with his frame despite his and Breakdown’s best efforts at getting it back to a presentable state (which to most, it would look absolutely fine) he still wasn’t entirely back to normal himself.

A gentle tsk sounded as he made his way further into the room - sitting at his desk and carefully placing the Energon cube down. Dainty fingertips scrabbled blindly for the datapad that was sat in its usual spot, and he would move to power it on. Only this time he did not bring up the usual cat videos, nor the list of scheduled appointments for the day, instead moving to what looked like medical records.

He had an idea.

“Oh Flaaaatline, I’m looking at your personal fiii-iiiles~” he spoke in a sing-songy voice, though made a point of keeping it very quiet, not wanting to actually wake the other mech up.

[Flatline]

Flatline's roommate was certainly a factor in why he chose to try to avoid the shared room as much as possible. She was a fearsome beast that didn't fear injuring another Decepticon. A behemoth that thought with nothing but brash impulse to try to take down weakness by either riling the individual up to a combative state, or smashing them beneath her ped. Flatline did not like her, an ire that only grew worse since the day she choked him and snarled at how he chose to conduct himself.

How did she want him to act?! He was going to die! He took down the Nemesis!

Either way, she wasn't the strongest factor that made these decisions for him.

Not in a long shot.

Flatline was always a workaholic. He prided himself on what he could accomplish, and all the knowledge he had gathered across countless years. He manufactured Cybertronian back in the day, not just patching up already constructed frames that obtained damage in one way or another. No... he made frames from scratch that could carry a soul and live! An odd amusement brought by this and a sense of arrogant power that he masked under professionalism and a want to start his next project. He was even stepping into theoretical sciences as the war was under full swing, doing extensive work on Sparks themselves in attempts to sever them to create two soldiers from one! He truly put all his self-worth and how he viewed himself in these facts. He measured what he was by what he could make.

And he was rotting here.

Stifled, crippled... he could do nothing but mundane work, and this fact was compiled with constant fear, the loss of his secondary limbs, and a general beaten down mental state, and Flatline was not in a good mindset in any way shape or form. He was scrabbling for some sense of value, trying to make himself feel like he had any worth of any kind...

Overworking himself beyond the norm on mundane things was the only thing he had any longer. It was the only thing that he could offer, and it in turn truly offered next to nothing to their team. He could only give their CMO a bit less work. Give him some more free time and relaxation. He was a pawn, and the rare times he did get to work on a patient they were belligerent or intentionally obnoxious to sully it all.

This was the true catalyst for why he slept so much at his desk.

Flatline was slumped forward onto the meager table, his frame taking up the vast majority of its surface to a point that his arm was at the verge of unintentionally shoving a small box of tools off its edge. His arms were folded across one another, helm placed before it into the flat surface below. One of these disproportionately long limbs were hooked up over his head, long fingers hanging slack splayed across one of the wheels that acted as his bicep.

Slender legs were tucked beneath the black and red mech, the good one planted down at a normal angle, while the damaged one hung somewhat slack, the side of its pronged peds pressed against the floor at an awkward pitch. The knee disk was relaxed, and was slightly askew from being inactive for so long and the latent damage, this fact visible given the joints overt exposure not hidden by armor.

The black and red mech's face was not visible, no twitch or movement made, nor a faint red glow of eyes opening.

Knock Out's footfalls fell upon deaf ears, his words just as lost in the silence.

[Knock Out]

There was no motion nor movement from Flatline, and Knock Out could only sigh quietly in response to the lack of reply, both vocal or otherwise. Even though his words had been a gentle tease, after all - going through Flatline’s personal files wasn’t exactly a threat anymore - he’d expected the other mech to at least stir upon the CMO’s arrival to the room.

He honestly felt somewhat bad for Flatline. Six months or so ago if anyone told him he’d not only be friends with the black and red mech, but good friends at that - to the point of caring about him? He would’ve laughed in their face. Yet here he was, genuinely enjoying Flatline’s presence and contribution to the mundane day to day at Blackridge. They worked well together, and for the most part? Made a good team.

Though it seemed as time went on, Flatline’s mental state seemed to deteriorate - and Knock Out had noticed, even if the other medic had done his best to keep up appearances. He wasn’t quite as meek as when he’d first been made to work under the CMO, but he certainly wasn’t the same sassy bastard that the cherry-red mech had grown used to. Something was wrong, yet- it wasn’t really the Decepticon way to talk about stuff like that.

Which was why he made a point to try and throw more work at Flatline when he could. Not out of laziness or an attempt to evade such things himself - though that may have had some part in it - but to keep the other mech busy. On paper? It looked like the black and red mech contributed a lot - his name marked next to each and every routine procedure and checkup. A waste of his talents, perhaps - but Knock Out was in the same boat there.

A quiet hum was given, his gaze lingering on the sleeping mech a moment longer before shifting back to the datapad. He really was looking through Flatline’s files, though it was not for malicious means.

He noted all the work that’d been done on Flatline’s knee, something that still hadn’t been fixed up to the point of not being an issue. At this point, he wasn’t sure it’d ever be repaired to the point of normalcy - a lack of supplies and equipment holding them back, though it was not for lack of trying.

The surgery that’d been done on him after the removal of his secondary arms was noted too, in detail. Then there were just the general checkup notes that everyone had - though with various gaps throughout. A time when Flatline had refused to visit the Medical Bay out of pride, opting to keep track of his own medical wellbeing - which had led to that virus progressing to the point of no return, which then led to the Nemesis crashing into the…

Mm.

Scrolling quickly past that nonsense with a thumb, he could only sigh again as he made his way down to the departure reports. While specifics were not listed in any real detail, as the CMO he had vague notes of when folks logged themselves as leaving via Bridge, just on the off chance such an outing coincided with weird contaminates being brought back. Not that it ever did, not that he ever looked, but it was better safe than sorry.

Unlike the logs to show what the other mech had worked on? These were… sparse, and pathetically so. Flatline seemingly NEVER left the base. The two most recent were the one to the fallen Nemesis just days earlier (which did NOT count), and before that… Primus, it’d been when he’d been dragged out to pick up a distress signal when they still had the Flagship - and Knock Out had been there with him.

How had he not gone completely stir crazy? Maybe that was part of the damn issue here - he was stagnating here in Blackridge Hold, quite literally at that. When was the last time he’d transformed and driven around?! Could he even remember how to do that?

Oh Flatline you idiot…

Setting the datapad down, he would ease into a stand. Picking up the Energon ration - as Flatline needed it far more than he did this morning - he would make his way across the room to the other mech’s desk - where he made a point of nudging the precariously placed box of tools over to one side.

Not setting the ration down, his free servo would curl into a fist - slamming down once onto the surface of the desk. Not overly hard, but just enough to startle and hopefully wake the other mech up.

“Wake up, we’re going out.”

[Flatline]

As before, Knock Out's stride was lost in the silence.

But the fist wasn’t.

A sharp inhale of a sputtered vent heaved into Flatline's systems, his frame attempting to boot online violently as if he was under attack. His arm would swing out and clutch onto the edge of the table, while his legs kicked up sharply towards his chest in a lurching movement. This caused his right knee to strike the underside hard, the impact causing the entire panel to jitter and rattle in a noisy bang that only made the mech startle himself more. A few screws rolled around in tight circles from this, while the cup of hole punches and a scribe clinked noisily against one another.

The glow of the medic's red eyes popped and stuttered a second before fully illuminating, white lenses contracting before spiraling to the apertures needed for the room. Flatline was grimacing, seemingly confused as his processor was scrabbling to come to terms with where he was and what had happened, only for his helm to whip around to the figure that was standing at his side. All in all, it took only a fraction of a pop for all of this to occur, the sudden adrenaline like response surging through his processor, only for the pain to catch up to him.

Just because it was his good knee that struck the table, didn't mean that it couldn't be hurt.

"What the hell Knock Out!?"

A stressed yell, completely missing the other mech's statement during his frantic boot-up process. All he knew was that his table had been slammed to wake him up, and that Knock Out didn't particularly seem stressed or alarmed. If the other mech had seemed worried, gripping the edge of his desk about to drop some horrifying news, Flatline would already be attempting to stand, eyes wide and trying to figure out what could possibly be coming their way. Issues from Starscream needing repairs, to a more grandiose event of an explosion injuring a squad of Vehicons.

No. Knock Out seemed passive and normal, which trashed any real worry and redirected it to stressed anger. Flatline's brows crooked down as his teeth grit together, ache and discomfort stinging at his legs.

[Knock Out]

There was a flicker of a moment - lasting but a second, if that - where Knock Out felt a little guilty for waking Flatline the way he had. As the other mech booted violently online with the dramatic body movements to match, the cherry-red CMO took a quick step back to avoid being on the striking end of an overly pointy appendage.

The smack of Flatline’s knee on the desk made him grimace, and there was another moment of panic - praying it wasn’t the already-injured limb that’d just hit the desk full force. The lack of pained screaming indicated that it thankfully probably wasn’t, though it certainly sounded painful regardless.

Oopsie.

He wouldn’t reply instantly after the other mech yelled - giving him a couple more seconds to fully join the ‘land of the living’ and to fully focus, as it was fairly apparent he hadn’t heard the comment made moments earlier.

One, two… okay yeah, that was probably enough.

“Ah, good - you’re awake.” he smiled, taking a step forward - moving into his original position next to the desk now that the flailing had ceased. He was still within hitting distance, of course, though he was certain Flatline wasn’t stupid enough to lash out.

“Sorry about your knee. Or, well, your other knee.” even though he showed little remorse now that they were talking, he did sound genuine enough in his apology, and as he spoke he would offer out the Energon ration.

“Here. Did you know that it has been months since you’ve been outside? Not just here, but the Nemesis as well. Months! Primus, Flatline - do you even remember how to shift forms at this point?”

[Flatline]

No shit he was awake.

At Knock Out's comment, Flatline's eyes would sharply narrow from a frantic and borderline alarmed wild look, to a seething glare. If he could slap him with a gaze alone, it would have happened ten times over in the few seconds that passed. Thankfully this wasn’t the case, and even if he had wanted to hit the other mech physically he would be unable to do so without standing. And his knees hurt. The damaged hinge was irritated as the joint was being slightly moved back and forth to try to slip the disk back in line, while the right was sore from the strike, the impact hitting the hooked guard. Whatever the case, his focus was pulled to the fuel.

Flatline hesitated a moment as the ration was held out, his helm crooking down to look at it, before he then peered back at the red mech a moment. He was expecting it to be jerked back and away with a 'haha joking! Go get your own!' or other sort of odd event due to the fact Knock Out wasn't really the type to pick up the role of meal delivery service. When no such action came, he would only then reach his hand up, keeping eye contact as he did so.

Warily, bladed fingertips would clip onto the bottommost edge of the cube, supporting it almost precariously in a way that could look quite unstable. Yet, this was simply how Flatline grabbed things he was uncertain of or held with care, as minimal contact made with its surface as possible. His level of trust was so low, that he even wondered if something was on the outside, choosing to grip in such a way from the underside on the off chance it was slick and would otherwise be dropped to splatter onto his work station.

Once he could see inside of the container, red optics would scan the surface of the Energon fiercely. Something dosed within, something floating in its surface... a stupid little joke of some kind like the fuel itself being replaced with coolant...

Paranoid? Yes. Was Knock Out so petty and foolish?... maybe. Or, more maybe back in the day. They were on much better terms now, yet this fact alone didn't stop his wariness. Especially after being slammed awake in such a rude and juvenile way.

Glancing back up, Flatline spoke in an irritated tone as his spark was still coming down off of the panic that had surged through it mere moments prior.

"What of it?"

Bitter. Defensive. Flatline didn't often leave his lab on the best of days. He traversed out a couple times back when they had the Nemesis, scavenging and assisting Pyrotech, but that was about it. Since their migration to Blackridge however, he didn't even dare to try. He treated the base as a prison of sorts, paying for his slight against the Decepticons. As such, his guard was shot up even further, now beyond the fear of a prank level.

"Of course, I know how to transform still. It has been months not decades."

Flatline's elevated and alarmed voice was easing back quickly to an idle annoyed growl, his gaze drifting back down to the cube.

"...Did you spit in this."

[Knock Out]

The glare that Knock Out received in response to his comment was nothing new, and as such? He wasn’t phased; the smile not leaving his face. If he had a shanix for every glare or dirty look the black and red mech had given him over the years? He’d probably be a millionaire, or damn close to it.

The overall hesitance from the other mech wasn’t lost on him, however, and while Knock Out hadn’t tampered or done anything with the ration - given it was originally for himself - he understood the wariness. Even though they may have been on better terms these days, old habits certainly died hard, and past Knock Out would’ve absolutely done something to mess with Flatline should he have found opportunity.

This was why he watched with relative patience as the other mech reluctantly took the cube, only to immediately begin peering inside the thing as if looking for some sort of tampering.

A gentle ex-vent of a sigh escaped him as he watched, arms folding loosely across his chassis - a casual motion, and not one done out of annoyance.

He found himself surprised that the first comment made wasn’t about the drink itself, and he could only chuckle.

“What of it? Well - you need to get out there, Flatline, see the world and all that! You can’t stagnate here in Blackridge Hold, it was bad enough you barely left the Nemesis.”

While it was far harder to leave the confines of Blackridge Hold - given Soundwave seemed to be lurking in the Control Room all the time - that didn’t mean they were held prisoner here. Fresh air and the occasional drive (or fly) did them good, and Flatline had seemingly resigned himself to living in the Medical Bay, and as such was so very overdue for an outing.

It was one thing to be stuck in the dusty rooms of Blackridge Hold, but the fact he rarely left this room? It wasn’t healthy!

A hum of thought escaped him about it being months, before that smile would widen.

“If you say so. We’ll find out soon enough, mm?”

Only for that smile to fade, shifting into a gentle frown at the next growled comment.

“Oh for Primus’ sake Flatline, I got that for myself - so sorry for being nice for once in my life and offering you my own ration.” unfolding his arms, one servo would splay across his chassis in mock offense.

“But now that you mention it, yes - added a dash of poison too, just for good measure.” flashing the other mech a playful wink, he would shake his helm.

[Flatline]

"And why should I care about seeing this world?"

A sharp snarl.

"I'm not going to go tourist around knowing there are things I have to be doing here."

The word 'tourist' was paired with one of Flatline's hands opening up to wiggle slightly back and forth in a sarcastic manner, one that was paired with a slight roll of his eyes. See the world? Really? That wasn’t something that Flatline felt he needed to do. He didn’t even seek out any sights of note back on Cybertron when that world was a normal semi-functional planet. Why would this suddenly change for some new alien planet that he had no emotional attachments to?

Easing back, Flatline would settle into his chair now that he knew there wasn't a medical emergency that would force him to immediate action. He still held the Energon cube aloft, but he more clicked one of his bladed fingertips against its side once instead of drinking. It was merely an object to hold for the time being as he continued to speak.

"We cannot leave the Medical Bay unattended, and backlogged work isn’t going to vanish on its own."

Dry biting words. Despite having just woken, and how abruptly it had been, Flatline seemed to be folding into his 'normal' rather well, lashing out at the CMO with all the biting annoyance that he could offer. After these words, he would stretch his bad leg out slightly, pushing it forward a little bit at a time so that the joint would slide into place without a rattling snap which it could do if done abruptly.

"Try as you might, you can't race away from responsibilities."

Flatline seemed particularly hostile, going on guard instantly at the prospect of being forced outside of Blackridge. It was easier to lash out and make Knock Out angry in order to make him give up, than it would be to grapple with his fears. If he were to give in and be forced out? Well, he would then be stuck outside worried about everything that could be going wrong, or how Starscream may need him to report to him, or if he noticed he wasn’t in his lab where he should be and was AWOL... The mere thought made his throat tighten some in fear, his teeth grating together once in the telltale sign of stress, before he lifted the cube.

"-added a dash of poison too, just for good measure"

"Primus, I could only hope."

Tipping the cube up almost as if it were a shot glass rather than a ration, Flatline took down a notable portion of the fuel to get it out of the way. He didn't really SAVOR his drinks when there was a job at hand, as if he did? He often forgot it and let it rot on the table slowly beside him rather than letting it be of any real use. Once this larger portion was consumed, he sat the half full cube down with a clunk beside him, red eyes glaring out at Knock Out again, his defenses still up.

"You are more than welcome to go have your fun. I will cover your shift."

[Knock Out]

The snarled question was expected, and as such was met with the gentle roll of Knock Out’s optics. Why the other mech seemed so against going outside was beyond him. He practically lived in the Medical Bay at this point, too scared to go back to his own quarters - choosing to sleep at a desk. Something that was probably so very against every rule and protocol they had, nor was it probably doing Flatline any favors at all - yet Knock Out never spoke up about it to reprimand the other mech for something so easy.

Of course, he probably could’ve done more to help. Used his position of CMO to get Flatline another room or something, given he was so clearly unhappy with his current arrangement. But that would bring more trouble than it was worth, plus it was not his battle to fight. Should the black and red mech show up to work one day completely crippled at the hands of his terrifying roommate? Then he may intervene, but for now he let things go.

“Because we unfortunately live here, and because I say so.”

Not quite an order, though he would be quick to pull rank should it eventually be needed. In the past he may have jumped to that first, an easy way to get what he wanted from the other mech - but now? Now, he wanted Flatline to want to do this himself. To actually see that some time away from this place was a good thing indeed, and so very, very needed.

Though he was certainly making it damn hard.

“Who said anything about leaving things unattended? One call to Breakdown and voila-” he gestured - with what was probably too much flair - to the room itself. “The Medical Bay will be left in good hands.”

Optics shifting to look at Flatline’s leg as he stretched the limb, he would then turn his attention back as he moved closer to the other mechs desk. Uncomfortably close, no doubt, as both servos moved to rest on the metal slab as he leaned down to be more on Flatline’s level.

“Racing? You think we’re going racing?” he laughed - a genuine chuckle as he shook his helm, lifting one servo to his optic as if wiping away a tear. “With your altmode? Please, it’s far too early for jokes.”

The other mech was certainly hostile this morning, he realized, though he wasn’t going to bite or react to it with hostility or anger of his own. Pushing up into a stand, he would return his servo back to the desk - though the smile faded at Flatline’s comment, frowning.

“Geez. I’d say someone woke up on the wrong side of the berth today, but given you sleep at your desk, it doesn’t quite have the same effect.”

The downing of the Energon was met with the simple quirk of a brow, and while Flatline was glaring, Knock Out’s faceplate remained neutral.

“Oh no you won’t, because you are coming with me. C’mon, Flatline - you need this. Don’t make me beg. I’ll do it - you won’t like it, but I’ll do it.” his lip twitched into the most subtle of smirks - wondering if Flatline would relent that easy.

[Flatline]

Good hands? Really?

Flatline did not consider Breakdown an applicable replacement for Knock Out, and certainly not for himself. The oaf may have some things figured out because of what his significant other could do, that usefulness couldn't be ignored, yet, it didn’t make him one who could run the room on his own. He was an assistant, not a medic. The second someone came in there nearly ripped in half he would be floundering around like the lost puppy he was without his owner to hold his hand.

This distrust showed plainly on Flatline's expressions, his eyes narrowing as his top lip flicked for only a brief moment.

One that wasn’t permitted to exist for more than a second.

Knock Out was getting up in his personal space suddenly then, Flatline leaning back now in an attempt to get further away rather than get more comfortable. His stretched out leg would tuck back up towards himself so it didn't get unintentionally... or intentionally... bumped by the smaller mech trying to get on his level. Silently the gyroscopes in his torso whirled to keep himself from toppling backwards. Red optics watched intently, gaze flicking across the other Cybertronian’s features to try to distinguish why he was moving into his personal bubble. This was all revealed when the mocking words were thrown right at him.

"I didn’t mean literally race! It was a play on words, you moron!"

Really? Knock Out thought that he was so stupid as to assume they would go out racing? Flatline knew well he wasn’t built for such things, even before his earth alt had been chosen. Certainly, his Cybertronian form was quicker as it was able to keep pace on the roadways connecting structures across Cybertron, that wasn't up for debate here, but that didn’t matter in the now, nor did it truly matter then. He seldom longed for speed on Cybertron, it only occurring when he was late for something, and he had never truly needed it on Earth other than his initial escape after receiving his alt.

"You run away to your little outings to avoid whatever you could be doing instead."

What job? Flatline didn't know. Knock Out could help with the Vehicon parts, start looking into upgrades for any of the soldiers that were applicable or able, or he could clean more. Try as they might, this room would never be truly cleaned until everything finally settled across Blackridge. The second the last horizontal surface was wiped down, the act of just walking around would stir up more dust to settle on the first thing that had been initially cleared. Always something to do, always something to keep busy with... and if nothing could be found? Something could be made to be found.

That was Flatline's way of thinking.

As Knock Out continued, Flatline's angular brow would crook up high, not understanding why this red mech was making this such a big ordeal. This little excursion would accomplish NOTHING other than being a waste of time and possibly something to get him in trouble... though... perhaps it could be forced to have value. While it could be easy for him to put on a smug grin and make the CMO beg him to leave Blackridge, a sad little pathetic motion that he would store away as an amusing event he could think back on for countless years... but there was something else that could be sought.

Reaching up some, Flatline tapped the pointer of his free hand idly against his jaw line, a sort of look of deep thought that was paired with a lower grumbled hum as he considered things. His gaze had settled from the fierce glare, and the look of confusion was long since gone. In its place was a calm contemplative state, eyeing Knock Out to try to judge how serious he was taking this. Trying to see if this was truly an attempt to better him, or if it was a ploy to get him in trouble by appearing to be 'nice'. After a few fleeting beats, he finally spoke in a low amused drone.

"Relinquish my debt of a repaint, and I will go wherever you want this day."

[Knock Out]

The look on Flatline’s face was one that Knock Out had seen… aaah, far too many times to count. While it was true that Breakdown was no surgeon, he had assisted Knock Out for so long that he was practically a medic in his own right! Of course he could only do the most basic, mundane things like checking up on the Vehicons when they came in for their routine checkups, and recalibrating the odd piece of equipment - but that was seemingly all there was to do around here these days.

Occasionally there were gnarly injuries through an encounter with the Autobots, or some unfortunate sap had a bad time in one of their many mines - but those days were few and far between, and Breakdown knew well that should that happen? He had to call upon either Knock Out or Flatline to actually fix them.

This morning’s schedule was full of the same old processor numbing slag, things that Breakdown could handle on his own, at least for a few hours at any rate.

While his intention had been to make Flatline slightly uncomfortable, when the other mech started leaning away? He didn’t push forwards to close the gap further. That would just be downright rude- though he was sorely tempted when Flatline spoke.

“No need for name calling! You know I’m barely functional at this hour - forgive me if I cannot stand up to your wit at all hours of the day!” he sounded hurt, and for added dramatic effect would huff quietly - pouting.

So mean, and after Knock Out had given him his ration? Ungrateful little slag…

“When was the last time I ran away from responsibility. Since we’ve been at Blackridge Hold I’ve practically been a hermit! I’m almost as bad as you!” that part was at least genuine - and the truth, and the annoyance in his voice showed that he wasn’t exactly happy about it. Aside from their little excursion to the Nemesis two days ago, which he didn’t want to talk about, he’d only left the base once in recent weeks, and even then it’d been well after hours and not on ‘company time’ or whatever nitpick Flatline would’ve had about the whole thing.

Standing up, he vented out a sigh. He waited for more words of protest, some feeble excuse or reason why Flatline was so against leaving the dusty walls of Blackridge Hold for a few hours - though they did not come.

Instead he brought up something interesting. It was met with a quirk of a brow and a smirk.

“Wherever I want, mm?” there was a gentle tease to his question - though he really did have no ill intent for this little outing. He saw Flatline as a friend, and he truly was worried by the fact he barely left the room, let alone the base itself. Throwing him into something awful would eradicate any and all chance for future excursions, and he knew better than to mess with the other mech so soon.

“Ah, no, I won’t be cruel. I’d be more careful with your phrasing in future, however. Thooooough…” a slender digit tapped at his chin “I suppose that’s a fair trade.”

If only because their attempt to get the gaudy paint he wanted for the other mech had ended in failure, and it wasn't like he could simply go out and get more. 

“You have to promise not to complain while we’re out, though. I’m doing you a favor, I don’t want to listen to you whining.”

[Flatline]

"You know I’m barely functional at this hour-"

"At this hour?..."

Soft muttered words, uttered half into the cube of Energon that Flatline had lifted back up to his mouth. He wasn't feeling antagonistic enough to say more than that, or even speak such things loudly at all from the get-go. He was still trying to mentally catch up to things on some level, since he didn't have a chance to truly wake up like a normal mech should. So, he was more focused on what was to come, and the situation he was being forced into. A situation he didn’t understand fully. Good nature and kindness in the Decepticons didn't often come without some sort of barter or trade system, which is exactly what was happening here it seemed.

While Flatline had started the bartering, he didn't really feel thrilled at where it was going.

Placing the cube back down once more, Flatline's bladed fingertips clicked on its upper edge a second while listening to Knock Out. It figured that the red mech would try to spin his words, could Flatline truly say he was surprised or that he anticipated any different? No. Should the tables be turned, Flatline would be mocking the mech's poor choice in phrasing as well. In this case, he would blame the intellectual slip from having just been woken up, while Knock Out's previous stumble was more glaring.

In his opinion.

The warning on his phrasing had to coast past him however, it not worth focusing too hard on as Flatline's attention zeroed in on the last words that were uttered. While absorbing the condition that was set, the clicks against the top edge of the cube stilled, tired red optics looking to the side some. While Knock Out's actions may be truly a kind gesture, and he should try to be chipper and more hopeful, he couldn’t help it.

"We might as well scrap this entire bargain then. I can't be who I am not."

These words would be easy to blame on the mech's antagonistic personality, pushing back against the request, except they were subdued and more neutral. It was almost a defeated sadness. It wasn’t a commentary on how he wanted to rip into Knock Out and give him grief, going out of his way to complain... which he did on some occasions out of spite... it was something more.

Flatline genuinely didn't know what he would do if he was barred from complaining. He could try to tamper it back, of course. He didn't make an active effort to be as belligerent and combative as possible at every turn. Yet, he found faults in so very much it was hard to say if he was capable of truly holding his tongue or even enjoying a situation for what it was. Everything around him was degrading steadily down through the years, from his past job through the tiers of bases and outposts in his long life, all the way to where he was now.

Where everything was so far from his comfortable standard, that he didn't even feel like he belonged.

"...I can try."

That was all he could promise. In the past months there had been another wager in regards to muting back a personality trait, yet that was Knock Out trying to stay away from lewd commentary or jokes. Things that could be redirected into other humor or statements. Flatline was currently so miserable at Blackridge that the idea of feigning joy and neutrality felt like an entire act he didn't have the energy for.

He seemed detached from the discussion then, not wanting to make a jab back, while also feeling awkward at the harsh tonal shift.

Pushing back wasn't going to get him anywhere this time.

[Knock Out]

“Mm. I’ll let you have that one even if it was a little uncalled for - if only because it seems like you need a win.”

He’d heard Flatline perfectly fine, even despite the other mech’s words being partially uttered into the Energon cube, and while he could’ve thrown another biting retort of his own to continue the back and forth he was so fond of? He opted against it.

Glancing to the cube as it was moved and set down, Knock Out’s optics narrowed just slightly as Flatline spoke. Scrap the entire thing? Not happening.

“Well it wouldn’t be you if you weren’t complaining about something, I suppose.” he smiled weakly, shaking his helm, noting just how quickly Flatline had seemingly given up on the conversation and the fight.

Then again, he was unfortunately used to it - especially in recent days.

Ever since the events of the Nemesis, Flatline had been in a downward spiral that seemed to have no real end in sight - with some days certainly worse than others. While this slide into seeming indifference today could be blamed on the fact he’d been jolted awake, Knock Out seemed to be aware that things were already a little off - picking up the patterns of weeks prior. He’d started out strong, with some familiar name calling and sass thrown in there, only for it to taper off quickly with words mumbled into Energon cubes, and a lack of real movement.

He’d tried to help the other mech where he could. From using his rank to put in a good word with Starscream directly after the Nemesis had crashed - even if he personally didn’t gain anything from it - to promoting him into a more official ‘assistant’ role, giving him the ability to work on some of the day to day tasks here in the Medical Bay that weren’t cleaning. A purpose, a use.

Granted, the day to day here wasn’t exactly brimming with the adrenaline filled excitement of life-saving surgeries, and was instead mind-numbingly boring in its own right for the majority of the time - but it was something to keep him going.

Though even that hadn’t really helped counter the amount of bad luck. Add in the violent removal of his arms, the psychotic roommate, the lack of decent recharge in Primus only knows how long? Yeah, Flatline needed a win every now and then, if only because Knock Out wasn’t sure what else to do to cheer him up. He’d found himself worried for the other mech, which was certainly odd in its own right.

Hence the need to try and get him out of here for some fun, even if it was simply driving aimlessly for a while. Flatline had practically become a piece of furniture at this point - sleeping at his desk, always in this room, never leaving the base. It was no wonder he was so unhappy.

Nodding at the meek promise, he would pick absently with one digit at the plating on his arm, no doubt attempting to get rid of some of the lingering dirt and dust that most at Blackridge seemed indifferent to.

“Trying is good! Though I’ll tell you what, you can complain, but only after you’ve given this outing a chance, mm? I understand it’s out of your comfort zone, but you can’t sit here wallowing all the time - you’re miserable, and quite frankly it’s bad for morale!”

It wasn’t just Flatline it was affecting. Knock Out had to sit in the same room as him day in day out, and while he absolutely did his best at trying to cheer him up at times? He worried - and enough was enough.

[Flatline]

Flatline didn't know how he felt about any of this, and rather, how to even react to it. This wasn’t him reporting to the other side of Blackridge. It wasn’t going to one of their mining sites, nor was it going to another's work station. This wasn't visiting the Nemesis, or another downed ship... This was going to the surface with no functional goal for the Decepticons at all. This was an outing for outing's sake, and that was where the divide sat, a gap that he was having issues stepping over. Logic should come into play at some point, logic dictated that this is indeed something that made sense and must be done! Yet logic and feeling did not always go hand in hand, and that was the limbo he stood within.

Once more, the sharp bladed edge of Flatline's fingertips clicked along the rim of the cube, soft taps made while he quietly worked over the situation at hand. He wasn't making eye contact as he did so, not even looking up as Knock Out spoke, his gaze settling upon the luminous castoff of Energon that ghosted against the metal table and closest tools. He had to take a sort of weak step forward. A small leap of faith onto uneven flooring. If he were to not do it now, then when? Did he not hope to climb out of this hole? It had to start somewhere, and Knock Out was trying to offer him a hand in getting to this future point. Did he think he would ever take a chance if he couldn't even do it in the now with help?

The loose touch against the cube transitioned to a light grasp then, Flatline lifting the vessel up to drink down what remained of the ration. There was no joy in eating, no moment to savor the fuel or try to enjoy it. The task was simply gotten out of the way as an obligation that was then sat aside away from Knock Out. This sort of definitive movement seemed to speak more than words could, a choice being made as his now free hand would reach over and grasp hold of his cane that was leaned up within reach.

Gnarled and worn, the cane may not be old at all, yet it showed just how much he used it. Scratches and indents around the handhold, a few dingy scrapes... the contact point was damaged, though it worked, this edge placing upon the stone floor as he pushed his weight into it.

The first stand after prolonged rest was always the worst... as the joint had to slip fully back into alignment as weight was applied... This caused Flatline to let out a short snort sound as his bad leg drew up beneath him, the panels upon his back bristling some before flattening out. Getting over this fleeting bump in the road, his prong like ped then clipped down solidly upon the ground, his frame converting into an eased stand as he finally looked over at Knock Out.

"And we are certain this is permitted?"

Wary. He didn’t want... couldn't AFFORD... to be in the wrong here and get in trouble. Knock Out said that Breakdown could hold the fort in their absence, yet was that even alright? Flatline's reservations aside, did the mech hold enough of a standing that Starscream or Megatron would approve such a substitution? For both to leave Blackridge relatively unattended felt unwise.

At this question, red optics would finally flick over to the other mech, looking nervous, but no longer avoiding eye contact.

[Knock Out]

The lack of response was- well, while it wasn’t insulting per se, Knock Out found himself a little annoyed as he knew what was to come after the silence had ended. Flatline was no doubt mulling over a way to say no to the whole thing, one of the comments made - probably the one about him being miserable - had no doubt been clung to and would be twisted around and used as a reason to stay here in the safety of boring Blackridge Hold.

Sigh.

The lack of optic contact was, to him, only solidifying the fact Flatline wanted no part of this impromptu outing, and while he wouldn’t sigh outwardly in an attempt to get the other mech to hurry up and just say no, he shifted his weight, lowering both arms to his sides. It was a fun idea, though it would only be fun in practice if Flatline was with him. As great as driving around was, he did genuinely have the other mech in mind with this, and at the end of the day he couldn’t really force him to do anything he didn’t want to do.

Alas. It was worth a shot, at least.

Resigning himself to another fantastically mundane and processor-numbing day, he found himself surprised when it seemed like a decision had been made. There was no vocal reply at first - ah, but Flatline’s actions spoke far louder than any words. Chugging the rest of the ration, it was then that the other mech began moving into a stand.

And Knock Out smiled.

He waited with patience as the other mech eased himself up to his pedes. No offers to help were made, not wanting to destroy any sense of pride that Flatline may have had - and while his attention was still on the black and red mech, he made a point of not staring.

At the question, he would nod, holding up a single digit as if to say wait a second, before he made his way back to his desk. Without a word, he would swiftly pick up the datapad, attention drifting to it momentarily as he typed something.

Then turned back to Flatline.

“Yep, see! Right here.” he made a point of holding the datapad up, though not moving closer so Flatline could actually read what was written - even if there was nothing malicious about it at all. The screen would be familiar enough, though - records of some sort, signed and dated with the CMO’s approval.

“This is just what the doctor - that’s me, by the way - ordered! Quite literally at that.”

Even without the usage of his rank, he could - and would - argue (with practically anyone who questioned) that Flatline was stagnating here at Blackridge Hold and needed to go outside and get some fresh air before he drove them both insane.