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

[Knock Out]

"- and, I will need to buff nothing if I bludgeon you to death."

A gentle tsk, paired with a grin - Knock Out couldn't help but smile as he replied - even despite the fact the cane was pointed at him in an almost threatening sort of gesture.

"Aw, see, it's working already!"

While Flatline wasn't anywhere close to being himself, the sassy retort was a brief glimpse into how things had been before… well, everything had gone to complete slag with the other mech's psyche. They had their moments since then, of course, after all he knew juuuuust how to rile the other mech up without pushing things too far - but by Primus did he miss when sassy (and yet productive) bickering was their usual state of being.

He wouldn't comment further, not wanting to put Flatline off the important task at hand, though was ready to jump in and steer things back on track should the other mech start to protest or whine about this whole thing.

The grumble didn't bode well, though the actions that followed were a relief. He was actually going to do it. Or… uh, attempt it, at any rate. Knock Out was sure no effort would be put in, one hit – or a miss, no doubt – before a declaration that this whole thing was a complete waste of time.

Still, no comments were made as the other mech moved into position. No jabs or sassy remarks about Flatline's posture, nor did he try to rush or psyche him out to the point he'd whiff and miss entirely. No, this whole thing was to help Flatline, and he wasn't about to jeopardize things.

At least not until he was back to his usual, grouchy and sassy self, anyway.

Silently he watched, ready to offer words of encouragement when the first swing was an inevitable disaster.

Except-

The noisy clang of the pipe making contact was louder than he'd expected, and his mouth hung open at seeing just how far the rock actually went. Had he put that much effort into the swing, or was this some sort of lucky first-timer fluke?!

The distant 'ting' of stone hitting metal meant that he'd actually hit something, too.

"Wh-"

Turning to look at Flatline for some sort of explanation – or at least a smug comment about how he'd managed to hit it – the confused expression was met with a genuine, heart-felt laugh.

"How the frag did you do that first time?! Beginners luck much!"

Casting a quick glance down, he moved to pick up a rock of similar size to the one that'd just been hit - clearly he'd meant what he said about keeping the rock that'd been given to him by the other mech, and would instead hold out the new one.

"Bet you can't do that again!"

[Flatline]

What happened?

What was going on?

There was no boasting, no prideful motion or statement of 'I told you so'... no... Flatline simply stared back at Knock Out with a true core level of stunned surprise to the point that his lower jaw slightly hung. He was simply not an athletic individual, which was putting it lightly. Even when he didn't have a broken knee, he wasn't someone with any ability to run on a basic level. Sure, he could use his gyroscopes and roll for a short distance, though that wasn't what he would consider 'athletic'. Here? In the now? Evidently he was 'good' at a sport, though it could just as well be beginner's luck, and after a handful of beats between the two mech in stunned silence, Knock Out spoke up first to break the awe and shock.

Twisting his helm to the side slightly while his turrets crooked up, Flatline reached out and took hold of the offered rock with the end of his claws, looking over its surfaces to see if there was a decent flat side that could be exploited again.

"I would honestly agree with that wager."

Still guarded and showing a level of disbelief as though he had yet to fully process he had hit the first one, Flatline bent down and sat the stone where the previous victim had been a second before, where he then rotated it to what he thought was the optimal angle for its impact. He then eased back upright and held onto his cane in what he thought was the same configuration, and this momentary thought to try to replicate it caused everything to quickly unravel.

There had to be some sort of trick to it, a proper way to grasp to get the best chance to do what was wanted, and with that he was now starting to overthink to try to learn the patterns so that he could repeat it.

Previously it was done with an organic flow... letting the motion be what it was... and now...?

The stone was struck again with a noisy bang of the hollow pipe, where it sounded similar enough, however this time he gouged a little too low, causing the rock to hit the higher portion of the cane's curved handle while throwing dirt up. With a popped 'thwip', it was cast skyward at a more vertical angle, hanging in the air just as long as the previous strike while obtaining none of the distance. A short ways away from the two the rock would fall back down, leaving an indent in the dirt.

Ah well, he didn't expect lightning to hit twice.

Pulling his weight back, Flatline turned his cane around, looking at the worn handle to see if there were any marks left on the material that would bother him in the future. The cabling wrapped around it for some semblance of a grip had a small scuff, but it wasn't any form of true indent, and it didn't create any rough surfaces that he would pick up on when it took his body weight. With this confirmed, he held the cane out to Knock Out end side first, not fearing that it would get mangled if it took a handful of additional hits. Unless the other mech absolutely slammed its end into the rocky earth below, things should hopefully be okay.

Hopefully.

"Give it a shot?"

Flatline's words seemed somewhat stilted and awkward, not fully wrapping his head around things that he was smacking rocks and he had done well for a moment?... It showed well in how he moved and spoke, where things seemed... off.

He was confused.

[Knock Out]

In a way, Knock Out was glad that his confusion was matched by the other mech. It meant that it probably had been nothing more than beginners luck, and he was sure that if Flatline had fully intended to hit the thing the first time almost perfectly, there would've been a certain smugness that followed that would've made him want to strangle the black and red mech.

Thus making the entirety of this outing a waste of time.

Thankfully, that wasn't the case at all - and as the second rock was taken, he would take a careful step back. Even if he was out of range of the next possible swing, Flatline wasn't exactly the sporting type, and with his luck, this second attempt would end with him losing grip on the cane and it somehow flinging toward him.

Or, maybe he'd hit it perfectly again - in which case, maybe they needed to find some sort of human golf club and get Flatline earning some sort of prize money from it. Not that he'd know what to do with said money after the obvious necessities, but it'd be hilarious all the same.

He'd watched Flatline the first time, and this second attempt was no different. He took note of the other mech's posture, the little readjustment as he straightened his spine. Was he overthinking it? Maybe. A shot like that would be hard to get right a second time, and the pressure to hit it again was no doubt weighing on his nerves.

A swing.

A hit!

It immediately sounded different than the first time. A subtle difference in noise with how the cane met rock but ah, it was there. This time it seemed Flatline had struck some dirt in the process as well, which probably wasn't a good thing. If he had been standing any closer he probably would've feigned some dramatics about the kicked-up dust, though he was safe over here, and so for the meantime would leave it be.

Watching as the stone landed just a few short feet away, Knock Out could only bark out a laugh.

"Can't all be winners, I suppose!"

Okay good, he wasn't some weird golf savant - though there went his momentary dreams of Flatline raking in the big bucks for him to buy all sorts of luxurious and expensive waxes. Shame, that could've been a good thing.

Ah, but there was the confusion again, though this wasn't stunned silence like moments earlier - and as the cane was offered his way, paired with a question? The cherry-red mech shook his head.

"Nope, we're doing this for you. The next step of this process is to imagine the rocks as your feelings-" Primus that sounded lame out loud. "-then you smack them as hard as you can and it helps you process. It helps if you yell, too. Like uh…"

Bending down to pick up a rock, he tossed it up a couple of times to get a feel for it, before turning toward the myriad of cars.

"Flatline scuffed my finish and now I have to go to all the trouble of getting it rewaaaaaaxed!" he yelled as he FLUNG the rock as hard as he could in the direction of the car graveyard. It fell short, of course, but he was laughing all the same.

"Your turn! Just like that, yell something like ohhh no it's my fault we crashed the Nemesissssss! Get the big one out the way first. While hitting the rock of course, that's the important part. Get that rage out."

Rage was probably a bad choice of words, especially when paired with the comment about the Nemesis, but ah - it was all in good humor, and he hoped the other mech wouldn't take too much offense.

[Flatline]

The entire ordeal that was unfolding almost felt like some sort of out-of-body experience since the first stone was hit, Flatline not really grasping the idea on any real level. Sure, he hit the rock far. Sure, the second one popped high and then landed a short distance off. Sure he could hit another. But. Why? Why was he standing here hitting rocks like some kind of brute? One could add the 'skill' aspect to it with the use of a cane turned club, yet at the end of the day he was in a desert beating the shit out of stones as if it would be therapeutic to him on some level.

He didn't understand.

As the offered cane was rejected, the plates on Flatline's back would bristle ever so slightly, a form of new confusion adding atop everything over the fact that this wasn’t even going to be some odd back-and-forth competition. That could have added a bit of a point, the two of them often trying to best one another in some form. They had almost made bickering an ART that was theirs and theirs alone to share! And now that wasn’t going to be a game? They couldn’t work within that realm of familiarity? Flatline furrowed his brows as he pulled the metal pipe back close, watching as Knock Out stepped forth and took the lead in trying to explain the purpose behind this event in a new way.

And what a purpose it was.

The absurdity and almost insult behind what was being offered started to shake Flatline out of his dazed stupor, feeling absolute hate at the idea. Having it all called therapy from the onset had already irritated him, and now finding he was theoretically striking his woes aside as if it were anywhere close to being that easy absolutely floored him. If it was that simple then he would have punched something in the Medical Bay the first chance he got just to shed off some of the blight that hung over his head perpetually. This caused his upper lip to flick into a sort of disgusted sneer, one that was creeping gradually more aggressive the more Knock Out spoke until it was that ever-popular look of disdain that often formed when they argued.

Then a psychological blow was dealt.

"THIS was your brilliant plan!? Physical violence fixing the most disastrous failure of my life!?"

Flatline borderline shrieked this, his gritty voice pitching up higher in a crackled pop at one point in his indignation.

HOW did Knock Out think it was a good idea to bring that up? If that truly was his goal to try to get him to release tension in such an ass-backward plan, then why wouldn’t he start with something small? Vent about the one time the other mech had stolen his sharp tip screwdriver to pry something open, bitch about how something may not be cleaned to his standards, or the time they got into a debate about what gauge of wire had to be used for a particular project. No. He cut right for the jugular by mentioning a hugely traumatic incident that he still actively feared.

Sure. He had lost his secondary arms. Sure, he had undergone tremendous shame and self-inflicted stress that ate at his very spark... yet that wasn’t enough. There was no way that could even REMOTELY be enough! He took from the Decepticons their Primus-forsaken WARSHIP! The most impressive battle vessel that likely remained that had profound destructive force! How was he still alive?! Did they find joy in his continued suffering? If he were dead, then the pain would be gone. He couldn’t wallow in agony... was his survival his punishment until his worth diminished and the fun of his torment waned?

"I ruined everything! I shouldn’t be alive! WHY am I alive?! You don't need my help!"

Still pitched and squawking, Flatline pointed out at Knock Out in ire, his gaze a mix of distress and rage that bore down upon the other mech.

[Knock Out]

To say that there was some immediate regret to his words would be a little bit of an understatement. Oh, he'd watched Flatline's face - the telltale twitch of his lip, shifting from mild irritation into a more… full-blown look of aggression as more words were spoken.

Yet he hadn't stopped talking.

Sometimes he just couldn't help himself! He'd gotten a lot better at holding himself back, especially after that incident with Megatron - but it seemed he'd slipped, poking fun at something that he didn't honestly think was too big a deal anymore. Flatline had been punished for his part in things with the loss of his secondary arms, he was still with them – still functioning – it was time to move on, crack a joke or two rather than dwelling on what was probably the biggest blow to the Decepticons in recent days.

Haha… okay, yeah… Thinking about it like that - maybe Flatline was right to dwell. It was a pretty big deal, and in that flicker of a second of silence after he stopped talking? Knock Out realized he prooooobably should've shut the fuck up - or at least eased into things with something a little less serious.

The shrieked words were expected, though the volume of said words still caught the cherry-red mech seemingly off guard, and he flinched back.

A servo moved to rub at the back of his helm as the other mech continued, before easing in front of himself - both servos raising.

So much for this fun little plan. It'd been one step forward and a trillion steps back.

"Ah, oops." he muttered sheepishly.

How to even bring this back around…

Boasting about how he was the reason Flatline was still standing – in an answer to the question asked – probably wasn't the best way to go. Should they ever have a gnarly, genuine fight he would be sure to slam that onto the playing field as a reminder - but now was obviously not the time nor place, even with a gentle rephrasing of the statement.

He could grovel? He'd done it before, sort of, when the backhanded compliment toward Megatron had ended with an injury that Flatline had fixed practically in one night. He wasn't above it, though he also didn't want to come across as pathetic. He knew he'd made a mistake, but pouting wouldn't exactly help things.

"Maybe we should've worked our way up to that, huh." go big or go home hadn't worked, but he'd meant well with his intentions! "As for uh, well…"

He'd gesture toward Flatline then, before lowering his servos back to his sides.

"You're alive because you're useful and for whatever it's worth, I do need your help."

Normally he wouldn't be caught dead admitting such a thing out loud. He'd run the Medical Bay practically solo (with Breakdown acting as an assist, of course) when they'd had the Nemesis. Of course back then they'd had state of the art equipment and enough supplies he didn't want nor need for anything which certainly helped. Now, though, at Blackridge Hold? He wouldn't have been able to do it alone. Bare bones both in tools and resources, it was a miracle almost that they managed to continue to his impeccable standards of care.

Of course, that was Flatline's fault. He was the reason they were stuck in such a dusty hovel. He'd been patient zero, and the reason they'd lost practically everything.

But Knock Out honestly didn't hold it against him.

"I just thought this would help. You've been so…" Primus, this was awkward to talk about and actually confront. "...Not yourself. That I thought actually facing things would, y'know…" he trailed off, frowning.

"You can hit me with your cane if you like? Gently, though - you've already ruined my finish once today! Come on, until my big mouth ruined everything, you were having fun for the first time in who knows how long, admit it."

[Flatline]

Knock Out's declaration that they should have probably worked their way up to that horrendously large failure was an understatement of the greatest kind. There were so many other small faults to complain about, things the two mech could have bonded over if they were ones that they both had gripes with. Perhaps expressed annoyance at a soldier who somehow managed to get the same injury twice within thirty minutes of leaving the Medical Bay, or perhaps complaints such as the handle on a tool stripping that they needed to try to glue it to make it functional again, and the subsequent anguish of watching glue dry so a job could even be continued. The pool of options were as vast as they were shallow, and yet he had swung for something that legitimately hurt.

As the red mech continued to speak, Flatline's gaze would flick aside, the panels along his spine pulling down as he took on a more guarded state beneath the compliments that were being cast out. It was almost as though he was finding such words painful, not able to fully process them in this sort of environment, with this sort of topic. If Knock Out had said he did something good in the Medical Bay? Right then and there he would likely say 'of course I did' or 'did you expect anything less?' or other flippant comments to continue their bickering. Here though? It was different. It was somehow more sincere, and that was what made it scary.

In the Decepticons, he felt there was a general need to detach from weaker emotions to not become a forgotten statistic. Show no vulnerability. Make it apparent that one cannot be exploited or blackmailed. Do things to avoid and not address what troubles plague on deeper levels... because in the end? Others frankly don't care, and caring for yourself was a waste of energy. It was this way of living that made Flatline almost wince when Knock Out said he hadn't been himself, because... what was himself?

Who was he?

The Flatline that lived before the war was different from the one that now stood in the middle of nowhere. He was a soul who took profound pride in expanding his knowledge, seeking to learn every new element that could be created in the field of medicine, while also wanting to reach out and put his own brand in history. In a way, perhaps he was a little bit of a dreamer in that regard, hungering to make a name for himself not out of a want to be famous, but as a want to actually do something of real value and not just be a forgotten statistic with the countless medical personnel in the past whose names bled away to time. The war at first offered a possible next step once he got enough of a footing, where splitting Sparks could make his name a staple in all sciences going forward! But it got derailed. Then it got derailed further... and further... and now here he was on Earth stifled and broken, Knock Out only having seen a mech who was defensive about his creations, with an obsessive compulsion with what few things remained that he could control.

They only got to know one another after the Nemesis' fall, their interactions before that nothing but spite and bickered hate that held a much sharper edge than their current arguments ever did. Knock Out didn't really know the nurse turned doctor turned scientist... he only knew the clipped-down shell that was portrayed to survive in a vicious cannibalistic world of attempted power grabs and murder.

Still looking aside, Flatline seemed to then be refusing to make eye contact, the plating on his spine still smoothed while he placed his cane down to rest some of his weight upon it, his thumb scraping once against the back of his other hand.

"I am facing things. That’s the issue. I see what is bound to come. Until Soundwave raises the ship... If it can be raised... I am living on borrowed time."

Even then there was no saying. Perhaps if the Nemesis was up and functional... the damage cleaned and everything restored... perhaps then, and only then he could allow himself to relax on any real level. Where he could feel like things had finally moved on from that catastrophic moment.

Flatline shifted his weight then, his body easing down while using his cane as support, the hinge in his damaged knee making a faint protesting creaking before it passed the threshold and he could bend it fully, resulting in his weight resting upon his angular hock, which in turn pressed its curved edge into the ground below. It was a sort of squat in a way because of this, though it was also a form of sitting given his digitigrade legs, wanting to rest, but not feeling relaxed enough to stretch a leg out and truly settle.

"I don't know what to do with myself..."

Still, he did not look over at the other mech, the painful perspective that such words and emotions were weakness making him almost hide from the fact.

[Knock Out]

The lack of optic contact from the other mech was noted, though expected to the point that Knock Out wouldn't call him out on it. This whole thing had turned awkward in an instant, and while yes- it was his fault - it was probably a good thing in the long run that this'd happened, if only to confront it directly somewhere safe, rather than within the confines of Blackridge Hold where conversations weren't exactly private.

Despite the fact Flatline wasn't looking at him, Knock Out was certainly paying attention to the other medic. His body language, the subtle shifts in his frame - taking on an almost more guarded stance. He paid attention to the other mech's servo as it gripped the cane, watching for nervous tells, for clues of anything that was about to come.

His own frame relaxed some. Or tried to, anyway. Wanting to make himself as nonthreatening as possible in this moment. He wanted to be there for the other mech as a friend - which was absolutely insane to think about given how it wasn't too long ago that they detested one another completely.

Quietly, he listened as Flatline spoke. The words made him frown, optics narrowing in gentle concern. Should this have been a few months prior, he may have retorted with an immediate boast how it was because of him that the other mech was even still alive. He hadn't exactly pleaded his case for him, they hadn't been that close at the time, but he'd put in a good word or ten to Starscream.

Of course, things could change in an instant. The silver Seeker could no longer deem him useful to the cause, offlining him to prove a point to pull others into line. But on the other hand, should their current Lord have wanted Flatline dead? He no doubt would've killed him already.

Biting his tongue, Knock Out chose instead to mull over his response for once. Blurting things out had got him into this mess, and while he knew things could probably be salvaged, this was new territory. Showing weakness, showing any sort of emotion or doubt could be exploited, and while he and Flatline had oh so briefly spoken about things that'd happened, it hadn't been in a situation such as this.

"Are you, though? Facing things I mean. You focus on work, rarely returning to your quarters for decent rest to the point it's strange when I don't start my day with you slumped over your desk."

It wasn't healthy. It wasn't truly facing things. It was making things worse. A self-inflicted prisoner, stuck in the Medical Bay and barely leaving it? And for what? It wasn't as if he could hide in there from anything or anyone.

"I'm sure the Nemesis can be raised. It's just a matter of when."

There was a touch of doubt to his words, though he sounded hopeful enough for it to perhaps go unnoticed. He wasn't sure how Soundwave would undertake such a massive task - the logistics involved were far too complicated for the cherry-red mech to even begin thinking about, though the Spymaster surely had some clue as to even go about it.

"As for borrowed time, aren't we all? Even out here in the middle of nowhere, an Autobot could swoop down and kill us both in an instant!"

There was still a lack of eye contact from the other mech, which was alright - though should it continue he had half a mind to call him out on it. Instead, though, a quiet hum was given in response to the last comment made.

"Well, you could start by hitting me, I know you want to. I won't even hold it against you! Or we could start over with this whole… thing." a servo would vaguely gesture in the direction of the abandoned cars.

"You were doing so well, hitting it first time! C'mon, don't let my stupidity ruin what was hopefully going to be a much-needed day out."

[Flatline]

When Knock Out started to speak again, Flatline's helm would angle slightly further away, not wanting to make eye contact during the more honest discussion about his failures. In some way, he knew the other mech was right, as he wasn't facing things, yet on the other hand how else could he other than trying to continue to live and show his worth? There was nothing wrong with focusing on doing his job well, and he had his reasons for not wanting to sleep in his area. He simply got no rest when he went out there, the movement of others disturbing him, and the presence of the monstrous femme being an oppressing element. He knew she looked down upon him, judging him, practically hating him for his meek and fearful state, which only exacerbated the issue. In the Medical Bay he was left alone, and if someone else came in? Then they were there because they needed his help, and weren't just passing by to wake him with their footfalls unintentionally.

He didn't have a bed though, which likely hurt his frame, causing strain upon systems that didn't get a chance to ever stretch and truly relax. He could only wonder just how badly he was treating his spine, its hooked nature meaning it structurally was varied anyway and deviated from the norm. It didn’t hurt yet, but when would such ailments creep up behind him?

As Knock Out continued to speak, outlining that they could very well be killed right now out in the desert, Flatline's helm would angle slightly back in his direction, though was far from making eye contact, it more a subtle gesture to show he was still paying attention and hadn’t tuned him out entirely. Though, he still didn't reply, simply letting the other mech get out everything he needed to say, which, still wasn't hitting any emotional mark. There was no feeling of understanding to be found, no relation to the words. It was almost hollow air that was being cast out, Flatline not accepting it in any way.

Sure, they could die. MECH could round some nonexistent corner and train a gun on them. The Autobots could bridge in with rifles aimed at their heads. Some freak weather event could take them down or some meteorite from Primus himself could smite them from orbit. Who knows. However, their threat removed absolutely nothing from the threats in Blackridge. The potential presence of a powerful predator did not remove the tiger that was already in the room nor negate its lethality.

There was absolutely nothing that was said that helped in any way.

"I don't want to hit you Knock Out..."

While he wanted to strangle the mech sometimes, he didn’t actively wish to hurt him outside of events of profound stress and anger where he could throw something in a moment of weakness. Right here in the now was not one of those, and lashing out when 'uninspired' was just barbarically out of line and not something that appealed to him. He didn't want Knock Out hurt... he no longer wished ill will to his general wellbeing, and at most he would cherish the moments when his finish got ruined simply due to the overdramatics of it and ridiculous nature. Yet, once more that was not something he wanted to cause himself. Despite how he could seem at times, he was not violent on such levels, and he certainly didn't hold enough ire to find vicious joy in senselessly punching in some therapeutic act.

"-don't let my stupidity ruin what was hopefully going to be a much-needed day out."

"If this was your goal, it was going to come out sooner or later."

Tired words, Flatline's distressed emotions muting out to a dull emptiness.

"How do I know when things are okay...?"

[Knock Out]

Was Knock Out trying his best? Yes.

Was he making everything worse?

… Probably.

While the cherry-red mech had made some pretty massive mistakes over his lifetime, nothing would ever compare to the giant, Nemesis-sinking one that Flatline had done. It was a miracle he was still functioning, a miracle he hadn't been killed on sight for his part in the greatest loss the Decepticons had seen thus far, and even though Knock Out was trying to help the other mech out from this wallowing pit he'd stumbled and fallen into? He simply couldn't pull from prior experiences to liken it to anything. Nothing he'd ever done came close to the seriousness of what'd happened, and there were probably no words that could even begin to express that things would hopefully be okay.

Because who even knew if that was true. Just because he had been allowed to live didn't mean it would remain that way. One slip up, one slight - one tiny, minuscule error? Perhaps that would be all that was needed until they deemed him a complete failure and disposed of him.

It didn't help that he hid away, focused so entirely on his work to the point he was harming not only his frame, but his entire psyche in the process. He was spiraling, and Knock Out's attempt to distract had made things worse.

Probably not helped by his own stupidity, bringing up the incident almost immediately and as bluntly as he had was a mistake, even if he'd not held any malice to his tone. Though… he'd never really been good at this stuff. Breakdown was the more caring, sensitive one, which you'd never think simply by looking at him. Knock Out, though… well, he meant well, and he hoped that deep down? Flatline knew that.

It didn't help that the other mech was still refusing to look at him. While there was a gentle helm turn in his direction as he rambled away, the optic contact simply was not there, and it felt like he was digging himself further and further into a hole with his words.

It was a little awkward.

Ugh. This was supposed to be something fun, to distract Flatline for a little bit, to release some of that pent-up stress – and Primus only knew there was a lot of that – and to talk a little bit in the safety of isolation away from others.

Still, though, he wouldn't give up - and there was an almost sigh of relief as the other mech finally spoke, followed by a gentle smile.

"You sure?"

He certainly deserved it, which uh- he probably did for a lot of reasons, but today especially so.

Easing his weight, it was then his gaze would shift from the other mech - turning to peer in the direction of the cars as he listened.

"How do I know when things are okay...?"

"I'm… I'm not sure." he started, voice quiet as he tried to find the correct words.

"Perhaps it won't ever be okay, as let's be real… this is a fuckup beyond all other fuckups. But, while you were the cause you weren't – at least technically – the one to actually crash the ship. Soundwave did that."

The image still haunted him, though a lot about that night did.

"You've been punished for it with the removal of your arms. I doubt anything more will come from it except the self-inflicted punishment that you're doing to yourself. It's not helping things, and is only prolonging your suffering, thus giving them reason to see you as not worth keeping around."

He tried to keep Flatline busy, tried to keep his processor occupied with work - though the other mech wasn't giving himself any downtime at all once that was all over and done with. Collapsing at his desk, starting the day again, never leaving the room save for but a few moments.

It wasn't healthy, and unless something changed? It was only going to get worse.

"I'm worried about you." a quiet admittance, gaze finally moving to look at the other mech - though it was his turn to avoid optic contact, even if his words were sincere.

"Hence why I brought you out here. It's not the best idea, I know, but I thought getting out of that room, and getting away from Blackridge Hold would help."

Easing down into a crouch, Knock Out moved to pick up a decent-sized rock - before standing and offering it out. A silent invitation to either take it and beat him to death with it, or to try again with the whole hitting rocks with stick thing.

"I'm, ah… not the best at this stuff, but- I figured it was worth a shot."

[Flatline]

"I'm… I'm not sure."

As Knock Out spoke, Flatline's frame would curl forward some, his long arms crossing overtop his knees in his seated stance to create a platform he could rest his forehead upon, though he didn't drop his helm just yet. He simply stared at the dark metals there, his eyes casting a haze of red across the paneling while he looked out at nothing at all. Listening. Trying to truly listen and not just wash off Knock Out's words as senseless attempts to make light of something horrible. His actions resulted in a heinous mistake, and it was a sad fact that it likely wouldn't ever be okay.

While he indeed didn't push the controls to the Warship himself to send it on its downward fall, he had been involved enough he might as well have, and in fact he was surprised Soundwave himself didn’t lash out. Not just for what he had done to the Nemesis, but what he had done to him personally by making him lose control on such levels. That was a daunting element to consider as well, the silent shadow of a mech that was always there, possibly looking for an opportunity to strike him down for the smallest of faults. If that were the case however, it would have happened long ago, the Eyes and Ears of the Decepticons working with vicious precision and efficiency with all things.

When Knock Out continued, Flatline knew what he was saying was right, that if he let himself crash and burn, then they truly would have no reason to have him around, and yet, it was easier said than done. Finding the balance between arrogance and paralyzing fear wasn’t as difficult as he was making it out to be, yet saying that much to someone trapped in a loop was like telling a grounder that they were technically capable of flight if they just tried hard enough. It felt so insurmountable, crippled beneath what should have been resolved weeks prior.

"I'm worried about you."

Flatline's helm would crook again slightly in Knock Out's direction, once more showing that he was listening and the statement was truly heard, without overtly turning to make any form of eye contact. It was a surreal statement that was for certain when reflecting on their past, yet at the same time it did feel real. Something earned through time. Something that he would begrudgingly admit too if their positions were swapped. This resulted in Flatline's lips parting some, as if he was debating saying something, yet nothing was formed, the words not even transitioned to the faintest of utterance beneath his breath.

It was only when Knock Out moved that Flatline finally permitted his vision to fully glance over, noting how the other mech had picked up a rock and offered it out to him. It gave him pause really, not sure if he had wanted him to seriously strike him, or if he was trying to get him up into a stand to try to hit it again, though whichever one it was he didn't really want to comply. This said, he did pull his arm away from its crossed position, reaching up to gently take the stone in his palm where he pulled it down to look at it more, finally speaking.

"Your method was abysmal but your efforts are appreciated..."

Softer words, no annoyed grit or irritation to be heard. It was almost a quiet admittance, acknowledging the good intentions behind it all, while not being able to fully release the distress that it had caused. This wasn't a joke outing, this wasn’t a laugh and a 'lets just have some fun for once!', this was Knock Out's attempt to truly help him, though he had done so in a way that appealed to his own tastes rather than his. Flatline wasn’t sure what exactly would have worked however when thinking about his own psyche, due to the fact he never really was accustomed to the idea of fun to begin with, more finding joy when he accomplished something with a level of skill others couldn't. Joy in a victory, before the next challenge arose.

Not something Knock Out could just drag him out to experience.

After a brief pause, Flatline would lift his arm again, offering the rock that he had taken just a moment previously.

"You try...?"

[Knock Out]

Primus, he sucked at this. He'd never really been one for wordy declarations to console someone, yet even despite this? He damn well meant every single word, even if it felt like an awkward struggle to speak them out loud. It simply wasn't the Decepticon way of doing things, yet here he was, admitting that he was worried.

It made him realize just how far he and Flatline had come regarding their friendship, however. From bitter enemies hellbent on sabotaging one another even despite the distance between their work areas, to working alongside each other in what could be considered harmony. While yes, it could certainly be argued they'd had no choice in the matter at first, it'd worked out, and they'd meshed well enough to the point they were actually a fantastic team.

Knock Out would even go so far – at this point – to consider Flatline a friend.

He'd vouched for the other mech quite adamantly to Starscream after the events of the Nemesis, and while he was sure the Seeker had already made his mind up regarding punishment, he liked to think he'd helped lessen the blow some.

From there, there'd been the slow rebuilding of Flatline's confidence. It was still a work in progress, of course, but there were flickers here and there occasionally of the sassy mech he had come to lowkey adore during their petty bickering. There were still far more bad days than good, but it'd been progress all the same.

Had he just ruined all of that work, all of that effort simply by making light of what'd happened to their Warship in some silly attempt to help the other mech move on? Probably. He wasn't sure. He wasn't even sure that Flatline was listening to a word he said as he scrambled over ways to further explain why he'd done what he had. He'd gone into this with the best of intentions, though that meant nothing when he'd been so careless with his words.

He'd never been good at that either, oh he had quick wit and a silver tongue for sure - but there were plenty of times he needed to step back and mull over his thoughts half a second longer before speaking.

The gentle crook of the other mech's helm was enough to show he was listening, at least - giving the cherry-red mech the push to pick up the rock and try again.

The fact Flatline took the offered rock was met with a smile, though the fact there were no further motions after this probably wasn't a good thing.

Until he spoke.

Laughing, Knock Out eased a servo to awkwardly rub the back of his helm. Once all of this was well and truly behind them both, he was sure they'd look back on this moment and laugh at his own expense – it would, after all, be completely warranted given he'd fumbled this so badly.

"Abysmal is one word for it."

Hell, why not start laughing at himself right now in the moment. While he knew Flatline probably wouldn't speak of this to anyone, Knock Out would no doubt confide in Breakdown later to try and learn how to do better. The big blue mech certainly had a way with words, even despite the fact he was seen as nothing more than a bruiser, and could no doubt offer some advice – and gentle scolding – for next time.

If there was a next time.

Movement then from the other mech caught his optic, and he glanced down as the rock was offered back to him, along with quiet words.

"Oh, uh- I mean, I can certainly try."

Ah yes, knowing his luck he would hit it perfectly to the point it far overshadowed Flatline's first attempts, thus sending the other mech spiraling further into a depression because he couldn't even hit a rock with a stick correctly.

Reaching out to take the rock back, he took a moment to inspect it, even if he had been the one to originally pick it up to begin with. Then, he would pick up Flatline's cane that'd been set down earlier, brushing some of the dust from it.

Primus, or he could hit the rock too hard and break the only walking aid the other mech had, a thing that was probably a crutch in more ways than one, ruined in an instant. That'd go over well.

Maybe he was overthinking things a bit.

"I've never really been one for sports. Well, unless racing counts, I suppose." he mumbled this, turning the rock this way and that between two digits before stepping back a couple of paces, setting it down at his pedes. The fact he was nervous was probably apparent in that he seemed to hesitate in actually hitting the damn thing, instead readjusting his weight more times than was probably necessary as he lined himself, and the cane, up with the rock.

Then, he swung.

There was no satisfying CLUNK of metal meeting stone, no vibrating tell of an impact that shot up the cane into his servos and arms as it met its mark. There was nothing.

He missed, swinging too hard to the point he staggered forward a step or two to catch himself from his overcompensating.

"Okay, pretend you didn't see that!"

[Flatline]

Flatline had been expecting a perfect hit on the rock, as why wouldn't Knock Out manage such a thing? The mech was somehow inherently skilled at talents he never got formally trained for, and an expectation this ability would surpass just medical knowledge alone was simply a given. Good at this, perfect at that, and any level of acceptable in between simply due to luck or Primus' blessing or who knows what... It was such a given in Flatline's mind that he had started to even turn his helm before the impact so that he could watch where the rock went, only... no clank came, though a swift 'swoosh' of metal through the air could be heard.

With a snap, red optics wrenched over to look at Knock Out while plating on his back bristled up in alarm, Flatline's reserved and deadened expression shifting to a look of confused disbelief a fraction of a second after. While he didn't see the actual miss itself, something he would likely regret in the future, he could certainly imagine just how comical it may have been, especially as he witnessed how the other mech had gone so far as to stumble forward due to the amount of power that was put behind it all. Was he trying to strike Cybertron with that hit? Was the momentum and force created from a pivot not enough? Evidently, he didn’t believe it was, and he was now trapped in the awkward aftermath of such a spectacular failure that almost lined up with the disaster of this entire event.

"Okay, pretend you didn't see that!"

A deadened stare, Flatline's lips parted ever so slightly once more as he was lost for words.

Before a sort of smile was offered back.

"When you choose to fail, you certainly go for a double feature don't you?"

There was some lightness that crept into his words, a small tinge atop a muted tone of voice. While it was still primarily reserved, there was a glimmer of the sarcastic old soul from before starting to creep back in, which meant a lot given how down he was feeling. From having a total internal crisis asking someone else when he could ever feel like he could live again, to a small amount of teasing mockery, well... It was a very large jump even if he did still sound depressed.

Unfolding his arms, Flatline planted the back of his knuckles on his right hand down to put his weight upon them, the action almost ingrained into his mind to not touch the ground with his open palm or the bottom of his bladelike fingers. It was meant to keep his hands clean simply out of habit, as well as not damage the edges of his claws that he often used as tools when assisting others. It was a silly goal here however with everything being dirt and more dirt... so his hands were already dusted over... yet it was what it was and with a strained grunt he would transition into a full sit with his functional leg stretched out, looking over the mangled array of cars in the distance.

"You don't have to be scared of hurting them, you know... they are already dead."

Still in muted tones, Flatline spoke with a dash of sarcasm and mockery, the softer smile remaining at the pure absurdity. Knock Out didn't just fail and strike the ground or clip the rock... no... he had MISSED, which made him feel good, especially as it didn't appear orchestrated. He didn’t believe the other mech would have fabricated such a thing to make light of the event and add humor, as it seemed genuine enough... though he didn’t know for certain. Whether it was intentional or not, it did make him feel better, a single shaky step taken in a hopeful direction this day.

[Knock Out]

"When you choose to fail, you certainly go for a double feature don't you?"

"Oh well forgive me for not being a one-hit-rock-destroying wonder like yourself!" he snapped back quickly, though it was evident enough by his lighthearted tone that he was smiling and holding back a laugh, even despite the fact he sounded beyond embarrassed by it all.

Honestly, he'd rather hit the rock and have it fall completely short over what just happened. Missing entirely - ugh, he'd never live it down, if only because he'd dwell on it for far longer than what was probably considered normal.

His one chance to possibly outdo the other mech's glorious first attempt at this random little game, and he'd messed up horribly.

Ah well, his failure had resulted in a bit of a smile from Flatline, and a glimpse of the sassy mech he missed so terribly, and even if he wanted the ground to swallow him whole – he didn't do well with failure – it was worth it just for that. It was a step in the right direction, though he knew he had a long way to go in truly repairing what he'd broken.

Glancing over his shoulder at the other mech at the sound of gentle movement, he was surprised to see him sitting down further. Should their roles have been reversed in this moment, he would've taken this opportunity to strut over and gladly show the loser how it was done.

"Pfft, I know that much." he scoffed. "I'm more worried about breaking your cane, that's all!" he laughed, turning fully so he was facing toward the other mech, twirling said cane in his servo before plunking it down into the dirt, leaning on it some.

It was a flimsy excuse at best, though he'd roll with it. Part of it was true, though it wasn't the reason he'd flunked so badly, as he really had given it his all.

"Maybe we should go down there and find a stick I'm not terrified of swinging around, then I can show you how it's done!"

[Flatline]

"I'm more worried about breaking your cane, that's all!"

"Mmm... sounds like an excuse to me."

While Flatline could spin it with gratitude that Knock Out was looking out for his belongings, the more logical assumption was that the statement was just that, an excuse. Something to play off the fact that he had just missed hitting something so badly that he didn't even strike the earth itself. The laugh that could still be heard in the voice simply added to the ridiculousness of it all, as if even Knock Out couldn't pretend to believe the story that he was trying to shell out. It was amusing, though, only for him to then speak about going down to find something that he wouldn't worry about damaging.

Flatline's gaze shifted aside at this, a sort of resigned exhaustion washing over him that made his brows furrow.

He had just gotten slightly comfortable... not wanting to get up so soon... though he supposed he couldn't tell Knock Out to do it himself and leave him where he was. Perhaps he had been hoping the other mech would make more attempts on his own, see if he could improve his swing while he could simply accompany and watch, though it appeared that wasn't how things were destined to be. As such, while his focus was still shifted away he drew in a deeper vent, steadying himself a moment, before letting it slip out through the slats on his back.

It was an awkward transition, Flatline becoming aware once more about the limitations his injured leg provided him. He may have an older soul, one that seemed to have forgotten the word 'fun' eons previously, yet his frame was not ancient, and he should be able to move with greater ease than he currently was. It was almost impressive how dependent one was when it came to their knees, how simple navigational elements became such a chore when one was robbed of functionality. As such, he pressed his weight down onto his knuckles on either side of his frame to lift just enough that the hock of his good leg could tuck down beneath him, the prongs of his peds then getting a firm grip on the ground. With this, he pushed up, balancing precariously on the slender limb while his injured one was tugged along as a side effect, not playing any contributing role.

Though it still hurt.

Despite not being used to push up, the injured knee did shift as he lifted, the disks inside of it slipping into place with a soft click that made him snort in pain. This caused the almost somberly amused expression to falter, the edges of his lips peeling back into a grimace, one he managed to quickly muddle into an uncomfortable frown. He should be used to it. Every time he stood in Blackridge it was the same feeling... yet he couldn't adapt. He couldn’t just grow accustomed to pain, as his tolerances were so incredibly shallow to begin with. It was likely pathetic in the eyes of others... yet... he couldn't help it, as it simply was who he was, and 'practice' wasn’t giving him any higher scores. With this thought, he looked over at the other mech, reaching his right hand out palm side up.

"Can I have it back?"

He wasn’t going to even pretend to take a step forward, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to even humor the fleeting idea of walking down the slope without his cane after Knock Out.

[Knock Out]

"Mmm... sounds like an excuse to me."

He tsk'd.

"Even if it was – which it isn't, mind you – Primus only knows how much you'd complain should I be the one to damage the stupid thing, and quite frankly I don't have the patience."

There was no malicious edge to his words, and the fact he was smiling was hopefully evidence enough that he was not at all serious with what he'd said, especially that last part. No, he was in a good mood even despite momentarily embarrassing himself there, and his tone was lighthearted.

Maybe it was an excuse, though deep down he really didn't want to hit the rock so hard that the cane was damaged. The other mech did need that to get around a majority of the time, and while it could be argued he could simply get another, it seemed Flatline was quite attached to that one and how it looked and felt, given Knock Out's previous offers to bedazzle the thing were declined every single time, much to his dismay.

The gentle resignation wasn't lost on Knock Out, and he watched curiously as the other mech moved. The ex-vent, the slats on his back shifting slightly - he wasn't quite sure what Flatline was actually doing, and so his optics narrowed as he watched, only to widen upon the realization that the other mech was about to stand up.

Fighting back the urge to immediately rush forward and offer assistance – Flatline wasn't exactly a damsel in distress, though he did look pretty pathetic all the same – the cherry-red mech would simply stand and watch, though was ready to give a servo to help should the other mech need it.

He took note of Flatline's knee during this, frowning again as he watched how it moved, making sure that things didn't appear to hurt further after the act of transformation moments ago. But it seemed all was well, and after a bit of awkwardness, Flatline was standing, and asking for his cane back.

Knock Out could only laugh.

"What, no please? Where are your manners, Flatline?"

He didn't move, though would half-heartedly hold the cane out toward the other mech, wanting him to make a couple of steps over to come and get it – if only to possibly look at the knee further – though even then, it remained up in the air if he was going to behave and simply hand it back, or take this opportunity to be a little slag.