#lots of mention of kobd but breakdown's fate in the show will remain the same:c sorry

[noodleblade]

Chance and Unlikely Circumstance 4/6

(chapter centered around the episode The Human Factor)

Previous Part AO3 Link

Smokescreen watched the slow, steady tick of his chronometer in absolute silence. At night, along the dusty stretch of highway, there was not a single sound save for the occasional gust of wind kicking up the arid sand. It hissed as it dragged along his frame, leaving microscopic scratches in his finish. 

“Premium grade liquid wax would help sustain the integrity of your finish; the skinjobs have mastered that, at least. You could do with a buff or two. Maybe a repaint. White is awfully boring. Have you considered orange? Maybe just continue on with the blue.”

Smokescreen let out a heavy exvent as the words echoed in his processor. 

Three nights had passed since K.O.’s abrupt departure. There had been no sign of the other mech since. In truth, not an exorbitant amount of time had passed, but after meeting up every night cycle for nearly an entire Earth month, the sudden break in their routine was…jolting. 

As much as Smokescreen had thought he’d prepare himself for K.O.’s eventual farewell, it did little to soften the blow of his absence. Perhaps he had fooled himself into thinking their arrangement could last forever. Perhaps he had grown too reliant on the easy, comfortable friendship that had formed. Perhaps he had been mistaken in thinking the feeling was mutual.

Smokescreen pushed those thoughts away forcefully. He shouldn’t let doubt sully their friendship. All those races and each and every conversation were not for nothing . He had to have some faith that those meant as much to K.O. as they did to him. He couldn’t let his own downward spiraling thoughts take him down that road when K.O.’s absence might be something simple and inconsequential and have nothing to do with Smokescreen.

Maybe K.O. had to deal with something important and it was just taking time. Maybe K.O. needed to stay low for a while and couldn’t risk meeting again. Maybe K.O.’s elusive partner returned. If it were any of those options, Smokescreen hoped it was the latter. K.O. did promise they could meet once his partner returned.

Well, okay. Maybe not promise , but he didn’t seem opposed when Smokescreen had suggested it! If anything, there had been interest and hope in K.O.’s field that one day that could be a possibility. 

Smokescreen decided that must be the reason. K.O. was too busy being reunited with his partner. He attempted to picture the unnamed mech, but K.O. had been pretty lax on the details, only calling him bulky. Whatever he looked like, Smokescreen hoped they were both barreling down a long stretch of highway together. The very thought of it lightened his spark greatly.

A gentle ping came from his HUD and Smokescreen immediately felt his tanks drop at Ratchet’s designation. It was never a good sign when he was called in the midst of patrol. 

::Smokescreen, where are you? Return to base, ASAP. We got a situation.:: 

Perhaps it was for the best K.O. and his partner were together tonight. Afterall, a “situation” almost certainly meant Decepticons and Smokescreen was itching for the chance to kick some aft.

--

A heavy energy hung over the Autobots. 

Smokescreen felt antsy, his wheels aching to spin and his doorwings twitching. After the night they just had, he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to recharge peacefully for quite some time, despite Ratchet’s insistence that he get some rest. Adrenaline still pulsed through his circuits, his processor still trying to understand what he had witnessed. 

He waited until the base grew quiet, waited for the flurry of activity to settle and everyone separated. Bee was quick to volunteer to go out for patrol, Acree disappeared to watch over the Darby residence, and Ratchet and Optimus had excused themselves into a private hab for a meeting. Only Bulkhead remained; his optics staring off into the distance, unfocused and deep in thought. 

Quietly, Smokescreen saddled up to the larger mech. He perched himself on a crate beside him and tentatively let his field brush against his. A weak, barely there flicker was returned and Smokescreen took that as good as any sign that his presence was welcomed. Since their fight with the human-mech monstrosity, Bulkhead had been quiet. Smokescreen was still trying to wrap his processor around it but at least he hadn’t known the bot personally. Not like Bulkhead did. 

“Were you friends?” 

He asked the question softly, simply letting the words hang in the air. He didn’t want to press or bother Bulkhead, but curiosity was killing him. 

Bulkhead swiveled his helm, almost surprised to see Smokescreen beside him. His field pressed back against Smokescreen’s purposefully, awareness and familiarity mingling in the space between. A heavy exvent left the mech’s intake, his frame sagging in exhaustion, almost painfully so. 

“Once. Long time ago.” 

Bulkhead scrubbed at his optics with the heel of his servo as he returned his gaze straight ahead. Smokescreen followed his example and kept his optics focused on the wall before them. 

After a lengthy silence, Smokescreen hesitantly asked, “What happened?”

“When you pick different sides, it tends to ruin friendships. Like I said, it was a long time ago. Probably knew him longer as an enemy and a ‘con than a friend. He…made a lot of mistakes, did some things I can never really forgive but…doesn’t really matter, still ain’t right what happened to him.” A moment of heavy silence hung between them. The air around them was heavy, pressing against his helm. Smokescreen barely caught the muttering of, “I wonder if his partner knows.”

Dread seeped into Smokescreen’s lines as he tried not to react to that word. 

Partner . 

He couldn’t help but think of the red speedster along the dusty stretch of road, alone and his missing partner, field awash in anger, grief, desperation. Smokescreen wanted to chalk it up as a coincidence, that there are two pairs of mechs missing their partners. Surely it was fluke, surely what he experienced tonight had nothing to do with K.O. 

“Partner?” Smokescreen asked quietly. Maybe if he whispered, then Bulkhead wouldn’t hear him and then he wouldn’t have to hear an answer and maybe he’d never have to find out-

“Flashy, red speedster.” Bulkhead spat each word out in anger, each word piercing Smokescreen’s spark. “Breakdown was smitten with him from the moment he laid eyes on him. I told him a mech like that was only going to get him in trouble. But he was stubborn as Pits and scrap at listening.” Bulkhead covered his optics with his servo and leaned back. Another heavy exvent rattled his frame before he continued, the anger absent from his words and replaced with solemn resignation. “Guess they were happy for a while. I didn’t think a mech like Knock Out would stick around long term but from what I gathered they never parted since. I’d almost feel bad if he weren’t a ‘con.”

Knock Out…K.O.

There was no more convincing himself of this being purely coincidence. Not anymore. There were too many points of connection, too much evidence stacking up. Smokescreen wasn’t sure what was worse: unknowingly, unwittingly befriending a Decepticon this whole time or feeling the painful grief in his spark knowing the loss K.O. was experiencing. 

Befriending. 

They probably were never friends. The Decepticon probably knew who he was the whole time and was just playing him like a fool. Probably was hoping Smokescreen would be dumb enough to drop some key intel. Who knows! Maybe he would have too, a couple more races there, a few more sentimental conversations there. Smokescreen probably would have played right into his servo like the bumbling fool he was.

“See kid, too trusting. It’s going to bite you in the aft one day, just you wait.”

K.O.- Knock Out - had even warned him. Smokescreen wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. Strangely enough, neither option felt particularly worthwhile. 

He wanted to feel worse about it. He wanted to be angry; he wanted to be hurt; he wanted to feel the acidic sting betrayal…but all Smokescreen felt was sympathy and sorrow. Even if Knock Out was playing him this whole time, the mech still lost his partner. Smokescreen could still remember the pain in his field, the ire, the isolation, the loneliness. Knock Out may have fabricated his relationship with Smokescreen, but his feelings for his partner, for Breakdown , had been real and earnest. 

“You think he knows?” Smokescreen finally asked. Last time they had talked, Knock Out didn't know where his partner was at all. No one else had seemed to even care. 

“You know what’s funny? You are the first one to offer, to even ask.”

“If Knock Out didn’t before, he is most definitely aware now,” Bulkhead grimaced. “I’m sure the ‘cons are dealing with it as we speak.”

“At least, he can give him funeral rites.” 

Smokescreen remembered reading about them all. Each city had its own traditions from the flypasts of Vos to ceremonial recordings of Iacon. Whatever the city, they all boiled down to the same thing: a time for mourning and remembrance. Surely, Decepticons would still uphold those values. Especially in regards to fallen partners. 

Bulkhead laughed, surprisingly jovial despite the grotesque monstrosity they had witnessed. “I’m sure Knock Out will give Silas and Breakdown what they deserve.” Upon seeing Smokescreen’s confusion, Bulkhead leaned in. “Knock Out is a possessive, controlling, selfish glitch. If anyone was going to give Silas righteous punishment, then it’ll be that horrible, violent chop-shop medic.”

Smokescreen grimaced. He tried to imagine Knock Out as an evil surgeon, saw in servo and manic glee in his optics. Instead, all he saw was a lonely mech, crushed with a loss Smokescreen hoped he would never understand. 

“You think it’ll help him?”

Bulkhead raised an optic ridge, meeting Smokescreen’s gaze for the first time since this conversation began. “Should we care?”

It was a pointed question, asking something deeper than the words stated. Smokescreen simply shrugged, ducking his helm. 

“Doesn’t make what happened right.”

Bulkhead’s field softened. A heavy servo made its way to Smokescreen’s shoulder, squeezing comfortingly. 

“No, it doesn’t. Breakdown was a lot of things but he never deserved that. No one does. And as horrible as Knock Out is, they were close.” Bulkhead gave his shoulder another squeeze. “Ain’t much we can do about it. At least, despite everything Knock Out is, he’ll put Breakdown to rest. I have got no doubts about that.”

Smokescreen nodded his helm as silence came once more. His spark still hurt. He could hear Knock Out’s words echoing in his helm.

“He’s not dead.”

Knock Out had been so sure, so furious at even the mere suggestion. He must be devastated. 

Smokescreen wished there was a way he could contact Knock Out. Even if they were to never meet again, to just let him know he was sorry for everything. He knew his words were meaningless. 

 “I don’t need your sympathies .”

Nothing he could say would make things right. Nothing he could do would turn back time. Nothing he had to offer would fix what was beyond repair. And even if he had the chance to see Knock Out again, Smokescreen had the sinking suspicion the red speedster would be on the other side of enemy lines.

--

Rage could only carry him for so long. Knock Out peered down at the parasite living in the husk with his partner with complete and utter disgust. 

Oh, he had been more than tempted to cut the infestation away. The buzzing urge beneath his plating to take the rotary saw and cut and cut and cut until it was all removed. He considered disposal by fire, burning away any lasting attempts the disease may have to survive. The airlock was also tempting. Rumor had it the flesh bags didn’t dwell too well in the cold grasp of space.

Revenge, however, kept his servos at bay. If the human got to see what the inner components of a Cybertronian really were, it was only fair Knock Out was allowed reciprocal exploration of the organic frame and there were many, many tests to run.

What was the earthly saying? “What’s yours is mine, body and soul.” Well, the soul was the human’s spark and Breakdown’s was long gone and snatched away. But Knock Out still had ownership of the body and all it possessed. A stale kindness from Megatron after accepting this gruesome nightmare into their fold.

The very thought of it burned in Knock Out’s spark chamber. Megatron had allowed this festering sickness into their rank, welcomed it with open arms while it puppeteered Breakdown’s corpse in a sick and twisted mimicry of life. Megatron had left Breakdown for dead before, and hadn't even been concerned when he had gone missing again. No one had. No one had even spared him a second thought. Only Knock Out.

“Want to look for him? I could help! I know the area pretty good and two mechs are better than one.”

And a lone, foolish Autobot.

Knock Out could still feel Smokescreen’s field, too honest and earnest in his emotions. He can’t help but wonder if he took the kid up on his offer if things may have been different. Emphatically, he knew that was not true. The human’s integration into the Cybertronian form was weeks old. By the time Smokescreen had offered, Breakdown was already gone. He would have been too late either way, but at least then he would have had agency. He wouldn’t have had to watch the corpse of his partner ambulate and move. He could have ripped out the pathetic, weak flesh and blood spark right then and there and then-

And then.

Knock Out felt a full body tremor rake through his frame, his plating shuddering. He was alone either way. 

“You have me too.”

The overly optimistic and earnest image of Smokescreen centered in his processor. He’d only see the naive little Autobot in his root mode once, but he could picture it well enough. Classic Paxian frame with every idealistic Autobot propaganda drenched in his processor. 

According to Silas, Smokescreen had aided good Ol’ Bulkhead in sending him to his defeat. Knock Out wondered if the kid had realized who he was yet. For all his naivety, Smokescreen was smarter than he gave himself credit for. Foolish and perhaps a tad too excitable, sure, but once he took a moment to think, Smokescreen would piece it all together and then…well, he definitely couldn’t continue meeting with the kid now. 

If he turned up now, he’d surely find Arcee or Bulkhead waiting for him instead. Or worse, Smokescreen would be waiting with yet another offer to join the Autobots. He could hear him now, feel his warm field of genuine sympathy. “You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

Knock Out let out a hollow, empty laugh. 

It echoed in his lonely medbay. Knock Out had temporarily gotten used to the still quiet during Breakdown’s disappearance, but now that Breakdown’s absence was permanent , the silence was unbearable. Gone was the deep rumble of a warm, familiar engine; absent were the deep laughs and the gruff words, the whispered jokes and the murmuring of sweet nothings. Nothing remained of his partner, except his shell, tainted and destroyed at the hands of meddling skinjobs. 

They should have never landed on his vile planet, just ignored Starscream’s call and continued gallivanting across the stars. Breakdown had suggested it once, a quiet midnight musing about maybe taking off on their own and fending for themselves. Knock Out had waved it away instantly. The protection and security of the Decepticons was too great an offer to pass out. How foolish he had been to put trust into that. 

“That naivety of yours is going to get you killed.”

He should have heeded his own advice. Instead of getting himself killed, it-

Knock Out stopped that train of thought immediately, shuttering his optics and forcing air to cycle through his vents. 

It didn’t matter anymore. 

Nothing did.

[noodleblade]

Chance and Unlikely Circumstance 2/6

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Dread clung to Smokescreen like a fresh coat of wax. Everywhere he turned doom and destruction stared back at him; faceless and coy, saccharine words whispered in his audials. It hid in the heavy exvent from Ratchet, in every news article that popped up on Raf’s teeny-tiny monitor, in every dark corner of the base. The unseen human optics watched him and knew. Every klik that passed left Smokescreen balancing precariously on the precipice of a full-blown panic attack. 

It was only a matter of time before his mistake became public knowledge and there was nothing he could do but wait. His careless little joy ride and subsequent blow of cover hung over him like a dark cloud as he readied himself for the fallout. Smokescreen couldn’t imagine an outcome where he came out unscathed. He could barely meet the optic of anyone on the team. He knew with one glance they would see his guilt and know. 

The red vehicle haunted his recharge cycle. He couldn’t get the image out of his mind: sleek red finish reflecting back at him, the interior filled with a thousand human optics; small, dark, shiny and all knowing of what he was, the mistake he had made. He could rationalize all he wanted that a human had been in the car and not a creature of nightmares but the image refused to leave his mind. 

Every time Raf would mention finding something on his small Earthling computer, Smokescreen was certain it would be mention of his blunder, that the little grace he had with Team Prime would sharply come to an end. Not even Optimus’s trusting leniency could possibly excuse him once more. He knew he was on thin ice with Arcee and Ratchet barely tolerated him as it was. Bee was nice and Bulkhead was opening up, but as the new guy, Smokescreen felt the distance between himself and the rest of the team. No amount of rushing was going to make up that distance. He had to be patient and play it slow, even if it conflicted with his instincts. All Smokescreen knew was he couldn’t afford a mistake, not just for the sake of his own security on the team but for the safety of the mechs that had graciously let him into the fold. He didn’t want to let them down. 

But the days passed by with nothing. No mention of talking cars, no word of high speed races. Nothing. Ratchet had even praised Smokescreen for his restraint and discretion, awarding the young bot with a rare, small smile and a pat on the shoulder.  

It was undeserved. Beyond so. But Smokescreen took the praise with a beaming grin, ignoring the way it corroded in his spark. Even if his secret never came out, the guilt was eating away at the enamel of his tanks, chewing at his wires in the knowledge he could have ruined everything. He couldn’t let anything happen like that again. The risk was just not worth jeopardizing the lives of people that put their trust into him. 

When his next scheduled patrol came, Smokescreen had come to the determination he was going to do everything by the book. No straying from the path, no joy riding. He was going to take it seriously, even if it was still dull as rocks out here in the middle of nowhere. The old Smokescreen of last week was gone, obliterated by the grievous error. The Smokescreen of now was going to take this lucky break and use it to do better. Or at least try to.

He drove through the dead streets of Jasper, even mentally counting the 5 seconds at each stop sign before moving despite there not being a single other soul on the road. He kept to the speed limit, never once daring to go a mile over. He even managed to remember to use all his signals when turning, something he always forgot to do. It wasn’t until he reached the final stretch of his patrol that he felt his engine stall. 

All he had left to do was take the lengthy stretch of asphalt to the city limit; the same road as the initial incident. Simple. Easy. Yeah...

Smokescreen slowed to a near stop as he reached the intersection. Trepidation locked his wheel in place, the brakes engaging without even thinking about it. Internally, his chronometer was counting the seconds as he sat there in indecision. He had to finish his patrol and the only thing worse than reliving his mortification was completely skipping out on this part of his route. He already fragged things up enough, leaving a blind spot in his patrol was beyond negligent. His ego could withstand a little more bruising, even as fear clutched his emergency brake systems. 

Turning onto the state road, he barely gained speed when a pair of headlights flashed in his rearview. Dread coiled in his fuel lines but he resolved to retain speed, just like any human driver would. It was probably just a late night traveler and not-

The rev of a supercharger V8 engine rang in his audials, causing his own engine to hiccup at the sound. Despite only hearing it the one time, the taunting rev had haunted his recharges, the echoing sound of his own stupidity. He dared not react further as the sleek red sports car matched his speed and drove next to him. 

Terror gripped his spark. Smokescreen didn’t know what to do. Alone here, on the open road, there weren’t many places he could ditch and run. The stretch of highway went on for miles with no landmarks, no crossroads. Just empty desert and open sky. 

Smokescreen kept his optics forward, even if the driver couldn’t see this. Maybe if he ignored them, they’d go away. Maybe they wouldn’t remember him, though he knew that thought process was hopelessly stupid. 

The red sports car sped up and slowed down demonstratively; the unspoken question blatant. 

Up for a rematch?

He couldn’t do this again. It had already been risky without the end result of last time but now that the human in the car was more than aware of who and what he was, he had to disengage and leave. He had to find a way out without raising any more suspicion. If that was even possible. 

The car continued to egg him on, inching forward before falling back into pace. At one point, the driver even swerved towards Smokescreen forcing him to speed up and avoid. 

The window cracked down and Smokescreen felt his spark all but stop.

“Scared to lose again?” the driver’s voice pierced through the rushing wind, jeering and taunting. “Race me again and if you win, I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

The driver didn’t give him a spare second to consider, already taking off and kicking up dust behind him. 

Smokescreen didn’t have time to think; he just pressed on the gas and chased. Despair clouded his processor as he pressed forward. The red, rear lights were too far away and what remained of the road before hitting the city limits was too short. He still had to try as hopeless as it would seem. He floored the gas pedal and sent a quick prayer to Primus that he could make up the speed. 

Luck, and evidently Primus , were not on his side. Too quickly, the city limits were approaching and what little distance Smokescreen had been able to make up was not going to be enough for him to overtake the red car. The blow of eminent defeat was crushing, but no more so than watching the humans stop their vehicle at the city limits, waiting eagerly for Smokescreen to join them. 

Headlights shone brightly on the green “Now Leaving Jasper” sign, flickering in a teasing gesture as he was forced to stop beside them. He slowly pulled beside them, processor frantically thinking of how he could turn this all around, how he could fix this.

Nervously, Smokescreen cracked his windows down. Maybe he could just pretend the incident of the night prior was a trick of the eye. Maybe they hadn’t even noticed Smokescreen’s blunder. Maybe it could all be passed off as a misunderstanding. 

“Congrats on the win,” Smokescreen threw out. He’d play it safe and reserved; hopefully he could make it out without completely ruining things. Again. He doubted it but he at least had to try and-

“Ahh, you remembered to lower your windows this time, hot shot,” the human from the red car taunted in a teasing purr. 

Scrap.

Smokescreen’s field surged with embarrassment. Not that the human could feel it. Ratchet had repeatedly lectured Smokescreen about him and even if humans could sense EM Fields, this human couldn’t locked up nice and safe in their car with the windows up-

With the windows up!

“Wait!” Smokescreen darted ahead to turn and face the red car fully, their noses nearly touching. He flashed his brights at the vehicle and- yep, no driver - the seats were empty. “ Wait! ” Without any hesitation, Smokescreen shifted to his root mode, standing over the red car in awe. “You're Cybertronian. You're one of us!”

The red car did not move, did not shift, did not transform. However, he did laugh, low and mocking. Smokescreen could only blink in confusion. 

“ Wow , excitable aren’t we?” The red car disengaged his brakes and slowly circled Smokescreen, still staying in his alt. “Not much of a thinker are you. How certain you are to trust a bot you just met.”

Realization quickly crawled up Smokescreen’s plating like Miko’s sticky fingers after getting into the sour candies she stashed around the base. 

The other mech was right. He had no idea if he was trustworthy. They’ve raced twice, barely had spoken and yet here Smokescreen was putting him at risk and everyone else on Team Prime. For all he knew, the other mech could be a Decepticon and Smokescreen had just handed himself over on a silver platter. If this mech didn’t kill him, Ratchet would and then Arcee, then Bulkhead, then Bee and maybe even Optimus would want in on the action. Afterall, there was no way anyone else on Team Prime was as stupid as him and-

“Hey, hey,” the red speedster honked his horn, rolling to face Smokescreen head on. “I can see your processor melting, smoke is coming from your audials. Relax.”

Surely if he were a Decepticon, he would have started shooting....right?

“Who are you?” Smokescreen finally asked, glossa stiff in his mouth. Nerves still squirmed in his tanks but he resolutely maintained his composure. At least his Elite Guard training hadn’t gone to total waste.

The red speedster revved his engine. “Oh, just a mech passing through.”

“Yeah?” It wasn’t the most unbelievable story. If anything, Smokescreen’s own tale of crash landing on Earth was more far-fetched than a mech in hiding. “Hiding out?”

“I wouldn’t go as far as to say hiding ,” the mech said. “But certainly better at staying low than yourself. Are there more of you?”

Smokescreen hesitated. He definitely knew better than to outright reveal the location of Team Prime…but, if there was a lost mech that needed sanctuary, wasn’t it their duty to provide that? With their kind scattered across the universe, wasn’t it an imperative to bring them all back together? 

Unless he was a Decepticon. 

Smokescreen couldn’t out right throw that possibility out, even with his ground based alt-mode. The line of questioning could be seeking intel on Optimus’s location, or trying to get a glimpse into their scant few numbers. Torn indecision, Smokescreen decided to play the middle road.

“Yeah,” Smokescreen admitted. If he was a Decepticon, then he would already have an idea of the autobot base being located around Jasper and would already know the names of their members. If he truly was a lost and lonely mech, then simply knowing there could be a place for him should be enough. “There’s not many of us, but we have a small group.”

“Sounds cozy,” the mech drawled bored, uninterested.

Smokescreen frowned. If he was a Decepticon, he should be asking questions, striving for more intel? If he was just a lone mech, wouldn’t the prospect of knowing there were more be…exciting? Neither scenario fitted the mech’s indifferent reaction. 

“Are you…alone?” Smokescreen asked. The mech’s finish looked pristine, glossy and well-taken care of. Certainly better than anyone in Team Prime which either meant the Decepticons had a wealth of luxury at their disposal or this mech was very good at staying low. 

The speedster laughed. “You know, in the middle of war, it's not good to reveal all your cards. You’d be a terrible gambler.” The all too recent familiar sensation of dread coiled in his fuel lines once more, but before he could speak, the mech was tutting. “Calm down, kid. I’m trying to help you. Even amongst friends you should never let your guard down.”

Smokescreen frown, sadness replacing the dread. “If you can’t trust your friends, then they aren’t really your friend.”

The mech was silent for a moment. In his alt mode, it was difficult to get a read on what the mech was feeling. His field was expertly contained. Even now that Smokescreen knew, it was still difficult to see the car before him as anything other than an earthly vehicle and not a Cybertronian in disguise. 

“That naivety of yours is going to get you killed.”

There was no more humor nor jest in the mech’s tone. Absent were the teasing words and coy undertones. All that remained was cold, biting words. 

“That’s why you need allies,” Smokescreen muttered. “Friends and people you trust.”

The mech snorted. “Sure.”

Slowly, the mech rolled forward, engine humming as he pointedly swerved around Smokescreen’s form. Something wasn’t right. Smokescreen had thought the conversation would be a joyous one, a happiness in finding someone like him out there. However, the air was sullen, tension making his spark constricted in his chassis. The conversation didn’t feel complete, it didn’t end right. 

“Wait,” Smokescreen spun on his pede.

The mech didn’t turn around, but Smokescreen watched the red flare of the brakes engaging the the slight rock of him coming to a complete stop. He didn’t speak though, silently waiting for Smokescreen to continue.

“Are we going to meet again? To race? You at least owe me a fair chance.”

There was a pause. For a moment, Smokescreen was sure he was being ignored, his request childish and probably desperate. Of course the mech wouldn’t want anything to do with dumb, idealistic Smokescreen. He had made it very clear he wasn’t looking for friends or peers so he certainly didn’t want to continue meeting with Smokescreen just to spin their wheels-

“Eager to lose again?” came the teasing remark. A taunting rev followed with a flashing of his headlights. Smokescreen couldn't help grin at the display. The air was still tense but there was something also charming about the jokes and jests. They didn’t feel mean spirited like Smokescreen had experienced with some mechs in the past. It felt friendly . “Same time tomorrow?”

He’d probably have patrol then and if not…well, he’s been on his best behavior the past couple of weeks- almost blowing his cover aside -he could probably ask for the patrol slot easily. 

“You bet. You’re going to love the taste of my dust.”

“Big words for a mech on a two count losing streak,” came the dry reply. “I’d say see you tomorrow, but it's so difficult to see you in the rearview mirror.”

Smokescreen couldn’t help it, he was grinning, doorwings fluttering in delight. Banter. He missed it. Team Prime was always so serious and stout. He knew, rationally, they had good reason to be, but there was something so comforting to have fun without worrying about the entire fate of the world crashing down. It was nice.

“Can I get your name?” Smokescreen quickly asked. “You can call me, Smokescreen.” Wait.  He probably shouldn’t have used his actual designation. Scrap. “I mean…uh, well-”

“See kid, too trusting. It’s going to bite you in the aft one day, just you wait. But don’t worry, no one I know cares who you are.” The mech disengaged his brakes, slowly beginning to roll forward. “You can call me, K.O.” With a final rev off his engine, the speedster, K.O. peeled out. 

Smokescreen stood and watched as the red back lights faded in the night. K.O. Probably an alias, something Smokescreen should have done. Somehow, he’s not too worried about throwing out his name. Decepticreep or not, Smokescreen found himself trusting K.O. 

Maybe it was the blunt way he spoke to Smokescreen or the light, teasing japes that felt more friendly than half the time he patrolled with Arcee. Maybe it was just the idea that he wasn’t the only outsider out there. Team Prime was close knit and he felt like he was always outside the circle, desperate to get in. 

With K.O., it was more even footing. 

At least he hoped .

--

The medbay was cold and empty. Knock Out dragged the microfiber cloth across his plating, wiping away the desert dust from his finish. His back was more difficult to reach alone. Tending to his frame used to be a job for two.

Knock Out threw the rag to the ground, optics slitted as it didn’t quite slam down but flutter limply. Breakdown was still missing and there was no trace of him. Dreadwing hadn’t said a thing, Airachnid was MIA, and the High Command couldn’t seem to care any less. 

In a move of desperation, Knock Out had finally broached the topic to Dreadwing, pulling the seeker aside. Dreadwing had simply raised an optic ridge and shrugged. “Who's to say?” Knock Out had nodded his helm congenial until he was finally alone. After that, well, his tools needed sorting anyway. Throwing them to the ground in a fitful fury only helped clear their containers quicker. 

He needed to spin his wheels after that, melt the frustration bubbling in his tanks and feel the crisp night air whistle against his sleek frame. There was no small part of Knock Out that was hoping in racing down the same desert road every night that he’d run into his partner. Breakdown was more than familiar with his proclivity for street racing and had even watched his races from the sidelines from time to time. He was hoping running the same path each night would eventually lead him somewhere.

He wasn’t expecting to find the kid again. Still hopelessly naive and far too trusting. His root mode was far more bulky than he had expected but the earnest way his optics glowed in trying to find common ground with Knock Out was… endearing . It had been a long time since Knock Out had met someone who was looking at him without thinking how to monopolize his value, someone that had nothing in gain in judging him by his worth.

Breakdown would like him. Woefully innocent but cockier than he had any right to be. Breakdown would be eager to bust the kid’s bearings only to slap a servo on his helm affectionately. Knock Out could see it now, the delight in Breakdown’s faceplates, smile nearly splitting it in two. His partner always did have a soft spot for young, dumb racers. 

A tired sigh slipped from his lips. 

Where was he?  

Knock Out should have received a comm or a message by now. Something. Anything. It wasn’t like Breakdown. Initially, he had wondered if the Autobots had gotten to his partner but as annoying as they were, they were too high and mighty to take hostages. Not for this long, not so quietly. Knock Out was certain the bright optic’d kid wouldn’t be so chipper if his group was imprisoning rogue mechs. The only other option Knock Out could think of was one his processor refused to fully map out, shutting down the thought-tree every time it threatened to download. He didn’t want to go down that path.

He would just have to keep looking. Knock Out was a lot of things- lazy, superficial, vain -but he was also determined and cunning. He would find Breakdown. 

One way or another.