[ti]Ep 2[/ti]He Said She Said [Closed, Megatron]

[Knock Out]

Episode 2 | Week 2 | Day 7 (After Shafted)
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Most Decepticons on the Nemesis, it seemed, were pretty damn awful at coming in for scheduled checkups and maintenance. If Breakdown wasn't sent to remind people, especially the Vehicons, Knock Out wondered if anyone would show up at all for their checkups – despite them being protocol and an order half the time. Megatron wanted his troops in the best shape they could be, and that meant frequent visits to the Medbay even if the patient in question thought nothing was wrong.

Knock Out didn't understand why people seemed to avoid this place like the plague. The Medbay wasn't a terrible place. It was kept tidy and impeccable. As if reflecting Knock Outs personality and way of doing things. Maybe it was due to the overly sterile smell that Knock Out didn't even notice anymore, or just the looming feeling of dread when entering the room – it wasn't exactly colorful, or a shining place of happiness in here, no matter how much the surfaces sparkled. There was also the fact that nobody liked being poked and prodded.

Well, some might, not that it was any of Knock Outs business...

...Okay, maybe it was. The rumor mill and grapevine were amazing things, and Knock Out heard a lot in this line of work – it was part of why he enjoyed it so much. Of course there was the Medic and Patient confidentiality clause, so secrets were kept here – but word, especially gossip, traveled fast among the Vehicons no matter how tightly Knock Out kept his mouth shut.

Despite the fact nobody wanted to be here, more often than not they did infact show up. The Medbay was like a well oiled machine, and Knock Out and Breakdown did a good job of running a tight ship. Schedules were kept to, and everyone was kept in damn good shape, something Knock Out took great pride in.

One Decepticon who did seem to enjoy coming in for checkups and maintenance was none other than the Warlord himself. He seemed to pride himself on being in tip-top condition, and was a frequent visitor to the Medbay.

It was a lovely ego boost for Knock Out, knowing that he was trusted enough to be visited frequently by Megatron. Not that the Warlord had a choice in the matter, it wasn't like they were drowning in medics here. But that was a tiny detail, one that Knock Out chose to not think about.

His visits were usually brief, and due to the frequency of them, they were usually very routine with not a lot changing each time. Not a lot could really change in a day unless of course the con in question had fallen off the Nemesis, got into a fight, fallen into a shredder...

Point was? Not a lot could change in a day. Which is how long it'd been since Megatron had been in the Medbay. Something about being his best before he went off to the DMZ, not that Knock Out paid much attention.

So needless to say when the door to the Medbay slid open and Knock Out heard the familiar footfalls of the Warlord? He was... Surprised, to say the least. The weekly visits were already somewhat unnecessary – but was he going to make this a daily thing? He turned to offer the Warlord a salute, then blinked at what he saw.

“Lord Mega..Tron..” He hesitated as he spoke, he couldn't help it. What the frag had happened to him? He'd just been in here yesterday! Due to Knock Out's height, or lack thereof, the first thing he noticed were the tell-tale grey and purple paint transfers on his leaders... Crotch. He found himself staring.

Awkward.

Was that Roulette's paint? It was. What. What. This was amazing. Big M and Roulette? He never would've thought! Poor Flatline will be sparkbroken. Oh he couldn't wait to tell him! He just HAD to rub it in his face. He had the smuggest little smile on his face that he couldn't seem to stop doing. Stop smiling. Stoppit. Stoppp. Nope. He was smirking and it showed no signs of leaving his face. This was too good.

Knock Out cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Lord Megatron.” He repeated, this time without hesitation, lowering his servo from the salute. Immediately shifting his gaze upwards so he could look into Megatron's optics as he spoke instead of his crotch. He noted more paint transfers as his gaze traveled upwards, as well as the fact he was filthy. He could tell an attempt had been made at cleaning himself off, but he looked gross.

He wanted to ask. He wanted to ask so badly just what he and Roulette had been up to to get into this state. His processor immediately jumping to every amazing, dirty conclusion he could think of. How could he not when the evidence was right there infront of him.

“So. What'd you and Roulette get upto, mm?” He couldn't help it. He had to ask. He had to. This was too good not to. Moments like these were few and far between and this was even rarer because it was Megatron.

Due to the fact he was trying his best to stifle a laugh, and hide his smirk? He would briefly turn away from the Warlord to grab a handheld scanner from a nearby bench. Attention fully on this if only to stop staring at the paint scuffs that littered Megatrons frame. 

[Deleted]

Megatron had had to walk through busier corridors than he would have thought possible to get to the Medbay from the shower rack. By the thirty-second Eradicon he'd passed, he was rapidly coming to the conclusion that his movements were being reported and his position converged upon.

The scrub-down in the shower had done much to rid his frame of the congealed mud and grit from the miserable climb out of the mineshaft, but it was not a complete job. There were still chips of granite lodged in his mesh beneath his armour; smears and flakes of clay inside his left shoulder assembly that had been too painful to scrub at; and paint transfers that clashed with his own finished.

It was not the colouring of the paint that was attention-grabbing, as most Decepticons tended to follow the same black-grey colour scheme with accents of purple or red. Rather it was the placement -right down his central seam over his spark chamber, and across his pelvis and thighs- and the titbits already making the rounds of the rumour mill.

Megaton did not officially pay any mind to the rumour mill. Unofficially, Fairwinds was a gossip and her prattling on about individual crew members had become a sort of background noise to their shared rations. He was perfectly aware that he and Roulette were the object of some speculation in an extremely-out-of-audio-range fashion.

The scene in the mine after they'd finally dragged themselves out of the collapse was going to be fuel on the fire. This trek through the ship after what had transpired in the showers made it feel like a veritable walk of shame - something that Megatron was trying hard not to think too much about right now.

Repairs first. Damage control with Roulette later. Much later.

Megatron had just about calmed to the plan when he reached the Medbay, settling into the familiar environment and anticipating having his frame back in full working order.

And then Knock Out had started talking.

Honestly the arrogant mech would have been dead or at least maimed a hundred times over already were it not for his usefulness.

"Getting out of a collapsed mine," he growled in answer, already migrating towards a berth for examination.

His massive frame was covered in dents and gouges, but he still exuded a presence. Total dominion of his environment and a figure of immutable power.

With a couple of rather questionable paint transfers.

Megatron did not take a seat up on the berth right away. As the most severe of the damage was around the entirety of his left shoulder, it was not immediately obvious to him how Knock Out would wish to inspect it. Certainly the injury was extensive, radiating beyond where his armour had been split open by sharp rocks during the fall. Muddy water had travelled into his chassis and boiled against his components, and the strain of the climb out of the collapsed shaft had only deepened the damage.

he kept his arm close to his chassis, stabilizing it at the elbow. Roulette had field-patched enough to staunch the energon leaks and keep the pressure in his hydraulic lines mostly stable, but the limb still felt weakened and unsteady.

[Knock Out]

Knock Out certainly wasn't to blame for the attention that Megatron had received in the corridors leading to the Med Bay – he wasn't even aware that the Warlord would be stopping in for a visit today! He knew for sure though that the Vehicons would be all a flutter over this newest little piece of juicy gossip; and the moment that Big M was gone? They would rush to talk to the Chief Medical Officer about exactly what'd happened.

Not that he'd tell them anything, of course. As much as he loved gossip? He loved being alive and in one piece more. Any sensitive, confidential information that Megatron shared with him? Wouldn't leave this room. Well, mostly. He still had every intention of rubbing it into Flatline's face.

“A collapsed mine? Well, that's certainly an odd place for paint swapping.” He replied casually, his attention and gaze still on the scanner. His long, slender thumb scrolling along the touchscreen before he typed a couple of things into it. He didn't take much notice of the tone that Megatron replied to him with – it wasn't considered a satisfactory day without hearing Megatron growl at least once or twice! He hummed quietly, before continuing with his thought. “You know, there's plenty of... Ah.. Quiet areas on the Nemesis if you wanted to do that kind of thing in private. No need to go to such dramatic lengths to hide things.” His tone still casual and cool, like it wasn't the leader of the Decepticons he was speaking with. The smirk had at least faded from his face now.

With that? He would saunter over to the workbench next to Megatron, pulling various tools from the wall and setting them out neatly upon it. He took the briefest of moments to admire his reflection in the shiny metal workbench, before his attention would turn to look at Megatron once more.

It didn't take a genius to work out where the Warlord was hurting the most, his shoulder looked particularly gnarly, and he took note of how Megatron held his arm close to himself. Knock Out would lean up onto the tips of his pedes to reach up and pull some of the diagnostics cables from the wall. He was quiet for now as he set things up, the cables would attach themselves to Megatron's shoulders and inner arms, as that looked to be where most of the damage was. There would be a small hiss as they attached and settled, before the screen beside the berth would blip in confirmation and turn itself on, displaying Megatron's vitals and other readings that wouldn't make any sense to the untrained eye.

“Take a seat whenever you are ready, my Lord. I'll get you fixed up quick-smart like always, so you can get back to your.. Mm, duties.” His tone more formal with only the tiniest hint of sass, as he got into medic-mode – the thing that had probably saved him getting booted from the Nemesis more than once. He could always stand on a footstool to get a closer look at Megatron's shoulder, but that would just be awkward and probably unprofessional. “Did you need assistance? I don't think you should put any weight onto that arm until I've looked it over.”

Or, he could always ask the Warlord to kneel.

That would be hilarious, and something he'd quite possibly always dreamed of doing – but he would refrain. It wouldn't end well, and he knew it.

[Deleted]

Megatron was well-versed in ignoring prattle - a necessity in living with Fairwinds and working with Starscream. Fairwinds chattered on when she was feeling any emotion that was not abject despair, and his mercurial Second didn't shut up when he was trying to dig his way out of a (usually self-created) situation. He would not call Knock Out's inane musings a nervous overflow, however, even though the doctor should feel some unease given the warlord's temperament right now. No, when Knock Out got uneasy, he got quiet.

Knock Out just had one of those loathsome positions that was critically important and difficult to fill. And, for all his preening and bluster, he was a good medic.

Still.

"Quit your ridiculous speculations on meaningless gossip and do your job," he snapped, lipplates curling though he didn't spare Knock Out a look. Field and tone ought to convey his mood well enough.

Instead, Megatron scanned for the lowest-set medical berth and lowered himself onto it. Knock Out may still have to adjust the height, but it was a start. He arranged himself with his damaged arm as close to the edge as possible, gripping his wrist across his hip to stabilise the limb.

It put the paint transfers into harsh relief under the overhead lights. Really, between the Eradicons that had seen him and Roulette emerge from the mine and what already circulating through the rumour mill, there was nothing he could do to stop this. The best that he could hope for would be that it stayed out of his audio range, and ideally Roulette's.

He may not be able to afford to cripple Knock Out (who would fix him if Flatline's skills were not up to it?), but the rest of the crew were fair game.

Still.

Megatron's optics slid sideways from the ceiling to fix on the crimson mech. "Mind yourself, Knock Out. I am not in the mood."

[Knock Out]

That was a definite no to asking Megatron to kneel.

He could tell the Warlord was, ah, rather annoyed; even without his field and tone giving away as such. It seemed to be Megatron's normal state, which was why Knock Out foolishly wasn't too phased, or bothered by what'd been snapped at him. That being said, he was smart enough not to rile up the Warlord further, and so would go quiet for now – if only because he didn't want to incur Megatron's wrath while he was still standing up. He'd only just got himself buffed and polished, and to have to explain to Breakdown that he needed it doing again would be more than a hassle.

He hummed to himself, tapping a long slender digit to his lips as he thought about what he'd need to do to fix up the bigger Mech. He didn't have Breakdown here to assist with some of the dirtier work, but that was alright, he'd manage. He was the Chief Medical Officer for a reason, and moments like these he got to reinforce just how useful and indispensable he was to the Warlord.

Which was probably for the best, given his love for gossip and seemingly inability to shut up sometimes. It'd already got him into trouble today - add to the fact that he'd pushed his luck more times than he could count, and even he couldn't get away with everything forever. Which was why he would try to be on his best behavior from here on out. At least for today.

The diagnostics screen told him pretty much everything he needed to know, although most information he'd gathered on his own through common sense, simply by looking at the Warlord. Badly busted shoulder, vents needed replacing, as well as some general maintenance work where the muddy water had gotten into his systems. The screen was blinking red in various points, indicating where several systems needed cleaning out or had overheated, there seemed to be a few minor Energon leaks, too. He'd have to look closer at the shoulder to work out just what'd happened there, and the overheating would probably mean the coolant was now tainted by mud and filth, and would need replacing.

All in all? This wouldn't be a fast job.

The cables would move with Megatron as he made his way to one of the lower-set berths, and Knock Out was silently grateful that he'd picked one where he wouldn't have to awkwardly spend time adjusting the height. Being short had its downsides sometimes, but luckily Megatron was in here enough with his weekly check-ins to want things done as quickly and efficiently as possible, which meant not faffing around and wasting time with adjusting heights of medical berths.

While Megatron got settled, Knock Out would type something else into the data-pad, before picking up the tools he'd gathered earlier and made his way over. Megatron's optics focusing on his made him tense up just briefly, and nervously chuckle as he set the various sized tweezers and hammers on a bench beside the berth, alongside the data-pad.

“Apologies, my liege. I was just.. Ah.. Simply making an offer should you and Roulette need somewhere more private in future.” He really did have the best intentions (as well as an insatiable need for gossip) at spark, they were just so very wrongly worded, and being said at the absolute worst time; to the one Mech he should not be offering his suggestions to.

At least he was managing to tone it down a little. The things that he wanted to say would get him thrown out of an airlock and swiftly replaced by Flatline. Ew.

...So about that reinforcing that he was indispensable thing? He would quickly move to lean over the Warlord's bad shoulder to get a better look at it, thankful that Megatron couldn't do much with this arm. Sure he could reach over and smack Knock Out with his other arm should he choose to, but would he really do that while the medic was working on him? He hoped not. He didn't think the previous comment would warrant anything but another warning hiss, but given the Warlord's mood? Who knows.

Now he was looking at the damage to the shoulder, he saw just how bad it actually was. The crack exposed much, and he could see straight down into the plating and underlying mesh – there were several severed hydraulic lines, the Energon lines were ragged and torn. He could see that some form of field patchup had been done on both lines to prevent leakage, and while they weren't the best patchup jobs he'd ever seen? They were holding. He was silently thankful that they were, or the Warlord would've been in much worse shape than he currently was. Which wasn't saying much, given the state of him.

No, this would not be a fast job indeed. He hoped Megatron didn't have any plans because he would be in here a while, and that was with Knock Out working as fast as he possibly could. He could now see why Megatron was so agitated; this looked like it hurt. A lot.

“So, pray tell my Lord, what exactly happened to have you end up like this? The patching of your Energon and Hydraulic lines was smart. Good thinking,” He hesitated briefly, optics narrowing into a slight frown. He wanted to ask about Roulette, who had obviously been the one to do the patchup work. If Megatron was like this, what shape was the femme in? Was she alright? But he would refrain, he had a feeling that throwing that name around again would just anger the Warlord, and make it sound like he was just digging for gossip. “At least the majority of the damage seems to be just on the one rotator cuff, which is lucky. It'll be easy enough for me to repair, and while I can't say for certain until everything is done? I would take it relatively easy for a few days – at least with any heavy lifting that you should need doing.”

He couldn't help but talk as he worked, that's just who he was; although his tone was much more serious now. The time for talking about Big M and Roulette's romantic paint swapping adventure were over, and now it was time for seriousness and work. The question he'd asked was innocent enough, and as much as he'd love to know just what he and Roulette had gotten upto to have the Warlord arrive covered in questionable paint transfers? He really was curious just what had happened to have him get to this state. If it were anyone else, the injuries would be much worse, near fatal even, but Megatron's past as a miner probably helped some in that he was built to withstand damage. Even so, his shoulder was in pretty bad shape.

As he talked, he would pull an 'H' shaped tool from a drawer beside the berth, nestling it into the split in Megatron's shoulder. From here, he would twist a small screw on it, causing the two ends to push apart; opening the wound just enough that he could get well into the crack to repair all the damage done. His soldiering skills were impeccable, and once this was all over? It'd be oh so very hard to tell that the shoulder had been split at all. But that would be a long ways down the line.

Once the split had been pried open enough for him to work, he would remove the tool and set it aside. The harsh lighting of the overhead bulb showed just how filthy it was inside the wound. There was gravel and clay packed into almost every nook and cranny, everything was covered with mud, mixed with Energon and Hydraulic fluid from the punctured lines. If it'd been done to Knock Out, he would've been more concerned about the mess than the actual injury itself.

First, he would have to clean out as much of the filth as he could, not only to see better, but there was absolutely no point in patching up broken lines and repairing damaged hinges and mesh if they would just be contaminated a klik later by mud. It was bad enough Megatron had Dark Energon flowing through his lines, without disgusting mud, too.

He'd lean over to grab a small but simple joint knife to begin scraping away at the baked on clay which coated almost everything of importance in here - he was amazed that Megatron could still use his arm, if only a little - the pneumatic pistons and multiple cylinder heads were caked with solid clay. If he could get the majority of it off with this joint knife? It'd be an easy task to remove the rest. There were various pustule looking globs of mud where the clay had mixed with the oily hydraulic fluid and settled. These would be removed first, due to how deep they were in the shoulder itself.

He would move with caution, easing the joint knife under the disgusting globs, edging around various pistons and ball hinges, to remove them in one piece, scraping them into a metal tray as he worked. He'd rinse and repeat, getting into a small rhythm as he worked. It was looking much better already, and he was very much focused on the task at hand, meaning he had actually stopped talking – which no doubt suited Megatron fine.

The silence wouldn't last long, however, and as he moved the tool under one of the globs, he actually nicked another alongside it. This one had been baked onto one of the tears in the hydraulic lines themselves, and as such? Burst like a zit, all over Knock Out's faceplate due to the pressure of the line being opened. He squawked out in sheer horror at the nastiness that now covered his faceplate. Instant karma perhaps, for his earlier comments.

The downside? Any and all hydraulic pressure in Megatrons arm would now be gone, and the limb would be useless and limp until repaired.

The upside? Knock Out was planning to bleed out the hydraulic line in Megatron's rotator cuff anyway to replace it with fresh fluid. Just not right now, or like this. He was just oh so very lucky that there wasn't that much hydraulic fluid left in the line, or it could've ended a lot worse. Still, this was gross.

He shuddered, but would continue on with his work – acting calmly despite his little squawk of terror, almost as if he was pretending that he meant to do that. And that he totally knew that would happen. Quietly leaning over to get a small isolating ball valve and a long, plastic hose. He'd push the small valve into the newly opened hole, and would attach the hose, turning the valve so he could control the pressure and speed of which it drained. What little of what remained of the hydraulic fluid in Megatron's shoulder would quickly drain into a small bucket, while it should've been a clear yellow substance? It was so obviously tainted with mud. Not wanting to look unprofessional, he would gently clear his throat before speaking – to inform Megatron of exactly why he'd done what he had, just incase the Warlord should question his decision.

“I drained the hydraulic fluid a little earlier than I'd have liked, but I deemed it necessary to do so now; due to the amount of severed lines. The pressure behind them, as you saw, is dangerous – and this way I can clean everything out properly before administering more fluids and re-pressurize the lines without fear of blowing out the rotator cuff. While your arm may feel strange, I can assure you my Lord, that it is only temporary.”

Aah the act of bullslagging his way through things. Just one of his many skills. He would be internally screaming, however, at being covered in disgusting mud and hydraulic fluid. It was taking everything in him not to turn around and clean his faceplate while throwing a fit about how nasty he felt, but as a show of professionalism to his leader? He would refrain from doing so. At least for now.

[Deleted]

The sensation of his arm turning into a useless dead weight was enough to derail the murderously simmering tangent of Megatron's thoughts. He'd had the limb incapacitated innumerable times in the past, which included being obliterated down to the strut and completely torn away at the joint. This slow creeping numbness was another sensation entirely, and he was acutely aware of it without the distracting veil of combat-protocols.

Complete loss of movement did absolutely nothing to dull sensation, however. Megatron kept his optics on the ceiling and gritted his dente as Knock Out manipulated his shoulder components. He made the mistake of taking a look when his plating was split further apart with an audible sound, and the gory mess had been enough to convince him that the ceiling was absolutely sufficient to hold his attention.

Knock Out usually administered some kind of neural block before beginning such an invasive repair, either chemical and electro-disruptive. Often without offering to first, lest he rankle his Lord's pride.

As the doctor continued to twist and yank at the raw-feeling components in his shoulder, Megatron concluded that withholding a pain suppressant was in protest (perhaps even punishment) to his refusing to indulge his gossiping nonsense. He could bear it, well-versed in setting his mind to other things and shutting out pain, but not if this was a deliberate stunt on Knock Out's part.

"Would you also deem it necessary to administer a suppressant before you go any further," he bit out, glaring at Knock Out from the corner of one optic.

[Knock Out]

Knock Out was a lot of things. An amazing medic. Sassy. Clever. Vain. Slightly unhinged. Narcissistic...

Vindictive.

He had never actually forgiven Megatron for what he did to Breakdown when he was taken by MECH. Or, a better term would be what he didn't do – which was to go searching for him, or at the very least send out troops to do so. He cited it a waste of man power. That Breakdown could be replaced by a new assistant easily. A waste of time. A waste of resources.

The Autobots had saved him. The Autobots.

Until now? Knock Out had kept things pleasant and civil around the Warlord despite the anger that bubbled up within him sometimes. He hadn't spoken out against him, nor taunted him for the fact the Autobots did a job that he refused to. Not that he'd ever be stupid enough to taunt him for it, that would not end well – but the urge crept up sometimes to rub salt in a probably non-existent wound. Even Breakdown wasn't aware that Knock Out held the resentment that he did – he kept it to himself, which was no doubt why it had allowed to fester into some petty want for revenge.

Until now, he'd had no way of paying his Warlord back for what Knock Out deemed to be an awful transgression against what he thought was a much needed member of the Decepticon force, not to mention himself. The checkups that Megatron brought himself in for weekly? Well he couldn't do much then, they were so routine and simple that he could never get his own back in his own petty little way. But now that Megatron had been hurt and was in a lot of pain? He would 'accidentally' forget to administer a suppressant as he tore open the shoulder to get deeper into the wound. He would continue to 'forget' it as he scraped around at the mud inside the wound, he knew it hurt, he wanted it to hurt. Maybe the brief pain that Megaton felt would be somewhat equal to the anger and pain that Knock Out had felt that day Breakdown had been taken.

Maybe.

Not that he'd ever let on anything, nor hint that he had a vengeful reason for having it 'slip his mind'. Nothing so pathetic like the fact gossip was being withheld from him, that'd be ridiculous even for Knock Out; who could be reduced to such pettiness at times if he didn't get his way, but he wouldn't actually stoop that low over something so silly, not with the Warlord, anyway. No, this was so much more, and had been a long time coming. It was worth it, but only for the briefest of moments before Megatron glared at him, and he realized that he should probably do things properly before he was given a quick flight out of an airlock. 

He would chuckle nervously, pulling away for a moment to get the pain suppressant from a drawer, as well as a cloth with which he would swiftly wipe his faceplate free of as much mud and other gunk as he could without getting called out for taking too long on being a priss. He'd turn back to Megatron then, with a giant needle in one servo, it contained a familiar yellow compound, one that Megatron would recognize as a numbing-agent. He'd place his free servo on Megatron's dead-weight of an arm as he spoke.

“I would indeed, Lord Megatron. I was infact just about to now that I am about to get to the nitty gritty of things. Apologies for not doing it sooner. A big, strong Mech like yourself usually has a higher pain tolerance than most, and I hadn't, ah.. Realized, just how bad it was until I'd started cleaning things out, which I deemed more urgent than numbing the area. Apologies again.”

He wasn't sorry at all, but his tone was genuine and showed no hint that he wasn't being sincere. It sounded like he meant every word, there was even a backhanded compliment thrown in there for good measure. He would gently squeeze Megatron's arm as if highlighting the 'big, strong' part of his sentence, but it was mostly to keep the limb steady as he leaned in to start work on numbing the area. 

[Deleted]

Knock Out had been skating perilously close to the edge of acceptable since the Commander had arrived, and that final remark was one too many. Megatron tolerated a great deal from the doctor's vocaliser on a poor day, letting the over-familiar loquaciousness wash off as inconsequential. His questions had bordered on insolent, and it was a wonder that Megatron hadn't reacted sooner.

The unafraid grasp of his injured arm alongside the condescending remark about his pain threshold (as if Knock Out comprehended what real pain was when he screeched and turned tail over paint scratches) snapped his last mental straw for the day.

As soon as Knock Out came flush to his side to deliver the suppressant, Megatron reached across and grasped his helm in one massive hand.

Cybertronians were sturdy creatures, and a mech's neck could support the dangling weight of their body easily. It wasn't comfortable, though, particularly when said (helpless) dangling weight was jerked sideways and held over the Decepticon Commander's massive chassis. The medic's legs would crash across his armour, catching on the blunt curves and immovable planes, though Megatron held him aloft easily.

"You forget your place with your attitude, doctor," he snarled, faceplates drawn in fury. "Your brazenness could easily be taken for insubordination, and you forget that you are no longer the only capable medic on this ship."

With only one functional arm, it was necessary to drop the red mech onto his chassis, legs astride and scraping even more paint transfers onto his armour. Then, fast and with the precision of long experience, Megatron grasped Knock Out's left wheel arch and twisted it into a spiral.

He left the doctor to dismount and get back to work, settling back with a dust-clogged huff.

It would be interesting to see if he used a suppressant on himself first before carrying on.

[Knock Out]

Knock Out's attention was fully on the cracked open shoulder plating. He leaned in further to make an attempt at applying the numbing-agent with careful and precise movements. He was one hundred percent focused on the task at hand now, like any good doctor should be.

Which was probably why he hadn't seen, nor even expected Megatron to swiftly reach across to grasp his helm with one servo. At least not until it was too late to react, and he found himself being lifted like some helpless ragdoll by his helm. He hadn't even gotten chance to numb the shoulder!

This is it. This is how I offline.

An undignified, garbled squawk escaped him and the syringe full of numbing agent clattered to the floor beside him; which was probably for the best as for the briefest of moments, he had the utmost genius idea of stabbing said syringe into Megatron's working arm as a way of self defense against whatever was about to happen to him. Field radiating panic as he was jerked sideways and held over the Warlord.

Well then.

He cringed, wincing as his legs clattered over Megatron's frame. Ow ow ow. Ow.

His optics were wide in terror as he stared down at Megatron from his awkward position aloft his Warlord, listening more intently than he probably ever had as he was spoken to.

“I ah, apologies, Lord Megatron!! I didn't mean to offend!!” He started to quickly stammer, before he was dropped on top of Megatron with a painful thud. Was that it? Was it over? Oh, if only.. If only. He glanced up briefly to get his bearings and count his blessings, when there was a flash of pain like fire coursing through his systems as his wheel arch was twisted harshly and painfully.

“Gghhnn!! Ah!” He winced, optics closing tightly in pain as he whimpered out. Okay that hurt. That hurt a lot. Served him right for not applying the pain suppressant to Megatron sooner, it served him right for being petty and trying to get his own back through spiteful means. If only he hadn't opened that mouth of his, maybe he would've got away with it.

It wasn't worth it.

Luckily he'd learned to shut up for right now, holding back a smartaft comment about how he usually preferred if his partner asked first before being so rough in the berth. This wasn't the time, place, nor Mech to even dare think that kind of slag. So the thought quickly left his processor.

Once he was sure Megatron was done with his punishment did he finally dare ease himself off the Warlord and medical berth. He tried to move quickly despite the pain, of which he was over dramatizing it just slightly because of how dainty he was. He took a wary glance down at himself and it took everything in him not to gasp out at the state of his frame and paint which was now littered with dents, scratches, and Megatron's paint.

The horror.

“My sincerest apologies again, my Liege!” He whimpered, not even knowing what to say that could help redeem himself, so he would simply apologize again, bowing to the Warlord as he settled back onto the berth.

He moved quickly now. With purpose, and in scared silence; as to not say something he should quickly regret, bending down to swiftly retrieve the syringe which he'd dropped. Part of him wanted to use it on himself to rid himself of the pain that was pulsating through his systems, but a larger part of him wanted to refrain; if only to try and show Megatron that he wasn't a complete wuss, and that he could take the punishment he so rightly deserved. That, and, Megatron hadn't expressed that he could do so.

He wouldn't use it on himself, from fear of getting punished further.

He returned to where he was in the moments before Megatron had grabbed him, standing alongside the Warlord as he lay on the berth. Gently easing the syringe down and into the widened crack in Megatron's shoulder. He was careful and delicate with his movements, being precise as he injected the fluid into various points inside the deadened limb to ensure that the entire thing, including the shoulder, were as good as dead for the near future so he could work.

He set the empty syringe aside, reaching over to grab another smaller tube of what looked to be some sort of bonding agent. The minor work on repairing the various broken and cracked Energon lines he could do without the limb being totally numbed, his movements and digits would be delicate enough to not hurt the Warlord.

He'd lean up on his pedes to pull the overhead light down further so he could see better into the open wound, wincing sharply with a small pained hiss as he did so. One servo would reach in, and his long slender digits would begin to slowly ease away the patchwork repairs that Roulette had done. There may have been a little discomfort, something akin to ripping off a bandaid, but the pain would be brief – what with the numbing agent quickly setting in, and how efficiently Knock Out worked now he was terrified of being punished again. No sooner were the split lines opened? Knock Out was in there closing them with the bonding agent.

It was amazing how quietly he was working now that he was scared.