Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers: Prime and make no money off this. It's been written for fun.
General Warnings: Smut (sticky), continuous mention of spikes, self-servicing, crack (seriously), mech/mech, self-servicing, bad spelling.
Old Dog
Prologue
"You there! Pass me that clamp! And you! Get him out of here; I can't do anything for him!"
The medbay was in hysterics. The small room filled to its brim with drones as they raced to save their comrades and themselves. Drones littered the room, the more serious looking cases laid on the few med-berths Knock Out had available. Many more were scattered on the floor, leaning against the berths and walls and each other, limp puppets with their strings cut. Others, the more mobile, though still dented, bleeding and aching drones pressing rags and wrapping wounds as best they could.
Knock Out understood their panic; there was only one of him and many, many more patients than his hands could reach. Breakdown wasn't available to filter out the more serious cases, leaving the cherry red mech to check every patient as he could.
He hid his welder with a flick of his arm, giving the drone on the berth in front of him a light smack on it's uninjured shoulder joint, a 'get out, you're done and you'll live' gesture they'd all come to understand, already focussed on his next patient and assessing damage with narrowed optics.
"You," He jerked a energon smeared hand at one of the standing Eradicons standing next to the bed, hurriedly stating, "Keep pressure on that wound." He flung his head to his left, barking, "I said get him out of here! I can't do anything to fix him and we need the room. Get him out!"
His hands smoothed along dark armour as he assessed the wound on the eradicon in front of him. A hint of admiration colouring his gaze as he took in the damage; he could always appreciate destruction. This work consisted of several shots, scattered all over the drone's dark form. Only two were grave enough to catch his attention: the drone's neck was charred, his energon lines severely burnt with energon leaking through the now too thin metal. It was like paper, giving way with the medic's touch. Knock Out called for new tubing, his hands disengaging the damaged area with ease as he ordered his patient still.
He called across the room again, optics glancing up as he accepted the offered tubing, a conductor standing amongst his orchestra, comfortable to lead and order them as he saw fit, even if they were terribly out of tune. The drums that pounded reached his spark, adrenaline speeding like high-grade through his systems.
Today's battle had gone as well as he'd expected. It was obvious their leader's wits were abandoning him, though no one dared confront Megatron on it. Many of his more recent plans had been poorly plotted, with little to no creative flair, with nothing to set them apart from the hundreds of previous battles. They were predictable, mere actors caught in the same act of the same play. The Autobots could follow and read them like fanatics.
Something was distracting their Lord and it was making him reckless.
Knock Out tore at a drone's torso, sending sparks flying as he cleaned out the oozing, grey gunk that had built up in the eradicon's rib struts, clogging the lines that lead to his fuel tank. The drone wheezed, hands curled around the edges of the berth as Knock Out needlessly drew a pointed finger down the damaged area.
Megatron's army wasn't infinite, though he did have hundreds of drones at his disposal. There was always a limit. Knock Out could only fix so many, could only fix them as quickly as they would heal. There was only so much a medic could do before self repair systems had to take over, before a patient needed more rest than surgery. Megatron was bowling through his army so fast, no one could keep up with him, least of all his medic.
Something had to be done or he'd find his pretty aft in an Autobot holding cell, with no cleaning clothes or wax.
"Knock Out."
The medic's optics flew to the door, his hands pausing where they were buried in a vehicon's chest at the low hiss. Amongst the noise, he hadn't even heard Megatron's heavy steps as he limped into the medbay.
Immediately the room started to empty, the wounded drones also staggering out, their energon spewing from their wounds as they hurried to get out of their Lord's way. Knock Out wiped his hands, they knew their place, just as he knew his. Megatron was always top priority, even if half of his army was torn to shreds.
Knock Out raised an optic ridge. One thing had to be said about Megatron: he was stubborn. Extremely stubborn. There was no doubt that his current display of strength would be remembered by all the troops that had witnessed it, such determination looked up to. Knock Out wasn't even sure how their esteemed leader was even standing – hunched, though he was – let alone limping into his medbay. Not with how his right hip joint was burnt away right down to his protoform, the armour surrounding the wound shredded and melted, with the scratches and dents that came with a fight with Optimus Prime.
"My Lord," Knock Out acknowledged, he gave the vehicon on the berth a rough push, sending the now offline drone tumbling to the floor. Breakdown would pick him up when he arrived, just as he would clean out the rest of the trash. Hastily he wiped away the energon it had left.
"I was not aware the Prime was fond of such violence." He remarked as the warlord settled himself, his exvents sharp, hips twitching minutely he settled on his backside. His armour was dulled, scratched up all over.
Megatron's fiery optics focussed on him, watching his every movement, tracking it like a predator under the careful watch of another. He didn't acknowledge Knock Out's words. This wasn't unusual. Megatron never spoke whilst he was laying on one of his medical berths. His expressions ranging from a disgusted sneer to angry glaring, his voice spared for the medical questions Knock Out threw his way.
This didn't require any questioning. A heated blast held for no more than a few moments, not enough to go right through the warlord, but enough to do major damage. Megatron's sensornet would be singing with pain. The only upside to the injury being the heat had melted closed the severed energon and coolant lines keeping Megatron from too much energon loss.
But the leftover metal was cool, brittle, snapping with the simplest touch. They'd been fighting near water, perhaps the Lord had fallen into that soon after his injury? Perhaps landing on his injured side, smashing whatever had run?
Or the Lord had clawed it off because it had inhibited his movements; judging by the remaining drips the metal had run down his leg, seeping between seams.
Knock Out could only admire the wound for a short period, before he had to look on with a more professional eye and begin to assess the damage. It was like a switch, one moment he was a critic admiring another's art, the next he was a medic, all business even as his servos twitched to press and see the mech beneath his hands writhe.
He drew up his plan of action, his tools and supply lists. New armour would be needed. New energon and coolant lines (they were usable, though damaged, but Knock Out wouldn't count on their lasting this operation). Knock Out's crimson optics narrowed, as his eyes moved towards their Lord's interface equipment, a pointed finger lifting away fitting under and lifting damaged metal. He could see his Lord's equipment, tucked away though not as safely as all mechs wished. The pressurising tubes were scratched and dented, but they were fairly easy to fix. It was the cog beneath those, that he knew swept under and around the mech's spike that had Knock Out frowning.
Sadism aside, this was not going to be pleasant.
He started talking, the list of damage rolling off his glossa in much the same way his flirtations would, a subtle purr permeating his voice. The hip joint could be replaced, repaired, it would be tedious, but doable a day or so in operation, but the rest...
"I'm afraid that the damage to your interface equipment is not so simply undone, my Lord. I can replace the tubing, but your interfacing cog – the one that allows your spike to pressurise – is not something I would allow myself to remake. It is a very specialised piece of equipment. I will need a mould to make it."
"And do you have this mould?" Megatron's voice was raspy, his optics burning into Knock Out even as his venting rasped through his systems.
"No, my Lord. I do have an acquaintance I can talk to who should be able to acquire one, but that will take time."
"My movements?"
Knock Out fingers were clearing out the cavity, preparing it for repairs, "You will be able to function perfectly well without it. However, you will not be able to use your spike during that time."
Not that Knock Out had heard that the Lord used it much as it was. Gossip was inevitable on a ship like the Nemesis (the crew seemed to run on it, most days), it raised morale and provided much entertainment for each of them. The drones, surprisingly, knew more interesting rumours than anyone else, Breakdown draining them of every morsel and feeding it to Knock Out's keen audios. But despite even the drones' ability to find gossip, it was most disappointing how little revolved around their esteemed leader. According to the drones manning the security feeds, no 'con had entered the Decepticon leader's sleeping chambers in well over a vorn.
Megatron's optics seemed to blaze, "And without the mould?"
"I wouldn't dare try, my Lord. If I were to fail to replicate the cog – even by a smidgen, you understand - it could hurt when your spike pressurises, if it manages to at all. It could also pain you to be mobile, my Lord."
Megatron sneered, sharp teeth glinting in the sterile light of the medbay, "Then get rid of it. I will survive without it." Megatron threw a huge hand his way, clasping at one of his shoulders, pulling, scratching, denting, "Contact this acquaintance of yours. But Knock Out," His growled words crept through the medic's plating, vibrating and threatening and making Knock Out's fuel tank roll, "Keep this confidential."
Knock Out nodded, his hands reanimating themselves, "Of course, my Lord."
Megatron snorted, his intakes hitching, hips twitching minutely under Knock Out's fingers. He seemed to make himself comfortable, eyes hardening as he turned towards the ceiling. The Lord's eyes leaving him for the first time since he'd entered the room. Knock Out knew better though. He was keeping tabs on him. Paying close attention to the medic's fingers as they slipped over already aching sensor points, mending, cleaning, righting what was wrong.
"I would like to put you in stasis, my Lord. I'm afraid these repairs will hurt."
Megatron's deathly glare was all the answer he needed.
TBC
Woffy: You can shake your head at me, but that seriously happened. Megatron broke his spike. :I Yep. (How far I have fallen.)
I've only seen the first season of Prime, plus a few tidbits of the second, so I'm making up most of this crap as I go along. I'm not going to pretend to know all the Transformers jargon, though help is greatly appreciated as is any critique or any feedback at all. :D
Thanks for reading~