Knockout rubbed at his chest, hoping (and kind of praying) that the scratches and blemishes in his finish would somehow come off under his digits. They didn't. He slowly reached for a detailing buffer, staring down at his scratched plating.
He ran the soft pad over his finish and the scratches slowly began to fade under it. He remembered the reason why he had the scratches and a smile pulled at his lips, making him then grumble and throw the bugger of a buffer at the wall. "NO!"
He refused to remember how things were, but he couldn't help it.
It was tempting to drift back to the past, where things sort of made since.
He worked in the MedBay, trying to get better at stitching wounds. He had master cosmetics and he was hoping to improve his own paint job, which was a dull red that could look great if he cared for it more.
The femme beside him was failing the cosmetic part, but she was doing great as a medic. He watched her deft servos work the needle until the "wound" was stitched perfectly and neatly. She caught him staring and she blushed a bit.
"How do you do that?" He tapped his claw on the stitch-work, smiling slightly. "It's perfect."
"Not really... It's pretty easy, actually." She pushed him back gently, and she showed him how to stitch properly. She teased him a bit, her false wings trembling in amusement. "I suggest you don't become a medic until you learn how to stitch. You won't get a lot of respect."
He chuckled softly, nodding as he tried to finish her job. There was a distinct difference between her part and his part that he was finishing. "Maybe I'm more of a cosmetic-medic."
She laughed and shook her helm. "With this war coming, I don't think everyone is worried about getting their finish properly buffed by Doctor Knockout."
He nudged her playfully with his shoulder. "We could be a team."
"I've actually been drafted as a soldier," she murmured. "I won't be a medic. I just thought it owuld be helpful if I knew how."
"I was drafted as a medic," he confessed. "Needless to say, I suck. Who drafted you?"
"The Autobots," she smiled. "You?"
He hesitated. If he told her that Megatron had requested him, she would not like him and he would have no chance with such a lovely femme. He bit his lip as he nodded. "Same."
"Maybe I'll see you..." She looked back down at the "wound", picking at the fabric that represented skin.
That was when a mech with a big grin on his face came up behind her and kissed her cheek. Knockout watched jealously, moving aside so he wouldn't have to hear her giggles and purrs.
"Tailgate," she protested. "You're supposed to be my partner..."
"I am," he pointed out. "I've still got your back, and I'm always going to save your aft from trouble."
"I will be your downfall."
"It will be my honor to get hurt by loving you, Arcee."
Knockout watched them, sighing softly. He picked at his peeling paint as he walked away, but the small femme stopped him.
"Hey, let me help you. Don't pick at your paint. No one likes to see picked-at paint."
Arcee would be a terrific medic. When she was finished with him, he was hardly recognizable. He was totally repainted and she had added a gloss to his finish that made his paint shine. He turned to smile and thank her, but she had already skipped off to be with Tailgate. He sighed softly, wishing she never had the chance to grow up.
He sighed and he pressed his face into his servos, remembering their latest reunion. He had been sent to retrieve a relic. Easy enough. But he hadn't counted on Arcee being there. She had hardened, and she obviously did not remember him from when they were younger by the way she delivered blows to him. He returned them back to protect the gift she gave him.
His paint job.
Everything had been going smoothly, he recalled, until he chased her down a tunnel and instead of wrapping his arms around her, he got a kiss from a speeding train that ruined his paint job.
He had ran out without the relic and with no respect from Megatron. He even had to fix Soundwave's visor, was almost blown up by a live grenade, and completely humiliated when a drone caught him trembling in fear just moments ago when he heard Megatron roaring for him.
He did not want to see the angered warlord.
He would rather grip the past for all he was worth. He began to realize some things.
He missed Breakdown.
He missed Cybertron.
He missed Starscream ranting at him all the time.
He missed the way things were.
But most of all, he missed the little two-wheeler that taught him how to stitch wounds.
The war robbed him of everything.
It would not rob him of the most precious gift he had been given: his finish.
So that's kind of why he freaks out whenever someone scratches it. He growled lowly and he retrieved the buffer to finish his job.
He thought aloud sadly.
"Detailing was so much easier when Breakdown was around."