Chapter 2
"Awk-ward," Miko muttered in a sotto voice after Knock Out walked away.
"Bulkhead, I swear a rampaging Terrorcon has more tact than you do." Ratchet pinched his noseguard.
"Aw c'mon, I apologized, didn't I?"
"In a way."
"Maybe you should go talk to him?" Miko asked. All three of them looked after the red mech, now standing distant with his arms crossed, staring at the sky.
"No," Ratchet said, to Bulkhead's obvious relief. "Leave him be."
Miko nodded. "I guess you're right. We'll let Doc Knock cool down with a walk 'round the block."
Ratchet groaned. "Is the wordplay really necessary?"
"Sure is!" the girl said. Her smile widened as Bulkhead chuckled. "That's my bot! Hold me up, Bulk. I wanna take some pictures."
Sliding onto his massive hand, she held up her cell phone, centering it on the twin moons. But the pictured turned out grainy and the moons, so visible to her eyes, were no more than tiny dots on the screen. Miko zoomed in on them, trying to capture their opalescence, trying to keep her hand steady.
Bulkhead was in the process of carefully returning his human partner to his shoulder when Knock Out slid back into the circle of light. He didn't acknowledge or even look at Bulkhead, just picked up another cube of high grade as he went by.
"Oh no. I'm cutting you off." Ratchet held his hand out, palm up.
Knock Out regarded him coolly. "Do I seem drunk?"
"You know as well as I do that that the signs aren't always apparent, and—" You're a Decepticon, you know how to hide things. "— I think you've had enough."
If Arcee or Ultra Magnus had been wearing that expression, Ratchet would have said it was neutral. Knock Out set the energon cube in Ratchet's hand. Didn't slap it down or toss it at him, just set it in his palm.
"I'm going to get some recharge," the red mech said, and without another word he somersaulted into vehicle mode. The acrobatics were possibly a little more shaky than usual, but he didn't swerve or waver as he drove a short distance away and parked.
Bulkhead exchanged a look with Miko, who was still sitting on the green Autobot's shoulder. "Does he really sleep like that?" Miko asked her partner.
"Yup. Same with Smokescreen. Must be a sports car thing."
"Huh."
Ratchet said nothing. He just gathered up the scanners and datapads scattered around the clearing, occasionally casting a glance at the Aston Martin sitting with its tail lights towards them.
True to her word, Miko slept in the tent. Or rather, she laid in the tent, staring at its thin nylon ceiling. Sleep was proving impossible in the spacesuit. It was so awkward, not to mention getting kind of sweaty and gross. Scratch that—REALLY sweaty and gross. But she was sleeping under an alien sky, in a tent, and how jealous would Jack and Raf be when they heard that?
She wished they were here too, though. Just figured that their spring breaks wouldn't line up. Next year, she was sooo getting back on the exchange student program, even if she had to get Raf to hack name onto the list. And until then . . . well, until then there was Skype.
And ground bridges, she thought with a smirk.
Ugh, this spacesuit! She turned over on her stomach. Then over on her back. Then over on her stomach. If only the air on Cybertron was breathable . . . If only her squashy sleeping bag weren't soaking up her body heat . . . If only she had agreed to bunk in Ratchet's vehicle form . . . But it was too late now, he'd be asleep. Or would he? Well, it wouldn't hurt to check . . .
She pushed herself off her sleeping bag and stepped outside.
It was funny how Cybertronians all slept—recharged—differently. Bulkhead was sitting upright, his body tilted forward slightly and his head bowed towards his chest. Ratchet was on his side, all curled up. It reminded Miko of the way a little kid would sleep—sooo not what she would've expected from Ratchet. And then there was Knock Out, a European muscle car hunkered under an alien starscape. Wouldn't that be a claustrophobic way to sleep? But less risk to his paintjob than robot mode, maybe.
Miko walked out to the charred piece of wood, dusted with white ash—all that was left of the fire. As she pushed it over with her foot, she noticed something. Both the Aston Martin's turn signals were on. Did that mean Knock Out was awake?
As she walked over to the car, a side mirror shifted towards her. The turn signals abruptly cut off.
Miko stood there for a few minutes. The mirror didn't move. The car didn't move.
Finally Miko said, "What're you doing?"
The mirror tilted a little. Somehow the small action successfully conveyed a raised eyebrow.
"With your blinkers on," Miko clarified.
"I like the sound." Knock Out said. His voice was a little stiffer than normal, a little more formal. Through the driver's side window, she could see the ring of light around his steering wheel glowing and fading to match the rhythm of his words. "Any other monumental questions that just can't wait till morning?"
"Will you take me for a spin?"
"Absolutely not! Ugh. Why would you even ask that?"
"'Cause I want to take this helmet off. I can't scratch my head and it's driving me craaazy. Besides, you let Vince ride in you."
"Who the slag is Vince?"
"That kid you kidnapped that one time. Not to mention Jack's mom and Agent Fowler—"
"Those were all hostage situations. Hostages who weren't wearing filthy spacesuits which have a distinct odor about them."
"But I'm dying in this thing!"
"Not my problem."
She crossed her arms. "You don't like me, do you?"
"Hmmm." He seemed to think about it. "You're . . . sometimes tolerable. For a human."
"Gee, thanks. You sound sooo enthusiastic."
"Lack of enthusiasm isn't the same as dislike, is it now?" His voice had that sing-song quality again, purposely annoying. He fell silent, and when he spoke again he just sounded irritated. "Go away, fleshie. I'm recharging."
"Nuh uh, you're sitting here clicking to yourself. Click, click, click."
"Go away."
"Click, click, click."
"Now I'm beginning to dislike you."
"Hey." Miko reached out to tap on his driver's side window. The door handle beneath it flexed, offended. "You shouldn't be so hard on Bulkhead."
"Oh, shouldn't I?" The reply, when it finally came, was a whisper, almost a purr.
Miko took half a step back, then caught herself and straightened. "Y'know, just because they were rivals doesn't mean . . ." She knew what she meant, knew she was right, but couldn't find the words. "Ahhh, did you know . . . did y'know that Bulkhead rescued Breakdown once?"
"There is nothing about Breakdown," the low-pitched voice thrummed with and through the car's engine, "that I don't know."
"Look—" Miko made a sweeping gesture, pleading for understanding. "They were arch-enemies, they had to fight!"
The silence seemed to curdle.
Suddenly the car's paneling bristled, shifted, and the driver's side door slid backwards, rolled outwards, and lashed towards her almost before the clawed hand erupted out of what was now an arm. Miko only managed three stumbling steps backwards before she was surging upward in a cold grip, and when the world unblurred, she was in his fist. His eyebrows were drawn down, the corner of his mouth drawn up to reveal the flat plane of his teeth, in an expression that was not quite a sneer and definitely not a smile.
"Put me down right now, Doc Knock!" Miko said, punching at the index finger wrapped under her arms. He didn't seem bothered, either by the nickname or the violence.
"Don't you like being picked up, human? Bulkhead certainly lugs you around enough." Miko's knees bent as Knock Out set her on his other hand with a little too much pressure; she staggered and windmilled her arms as he released her.
"Yeah, well, you're not Bulkhead!"
The immediate, worrying difference was that unlike Bulkhead's wide, secure servos, Knock Out's hands were long but thin, mostly made up of cylindrical claws that made Miko feel even more unsteady. As the wind whipped around her, she felt like a tightrope walker balanced on a tiny platform, except there wasn't even a rope in front of her. Just a very visible twenty-five foot drop and a former Decepticon whom she had specifically, repeatedly been told to stay away from. She dropped into a crouch as she glared at the red medic but refused to clutch at his fingers for security.
"Are you afraid of heights?" he asked.
She didn't answer.
"Or maybe you're afraid of me."
"Ha! As if!"
He dismissed her answer with a shrug; the girl was uncomfortably aware of just how much the movement made his hand shift. "I'm giving you the courtesy of an explanation, human—"
"Miko."
"—because you're young, and ignorance can be forgiven in the young." His optics narrowed as he brought his servo up to stare at the human eye-to-eye. "There is no such thing as an 'arch-enemy.' There are just enemies. You can destroy them or ignore them or make them suffer, as it suits you." His optics half-closed as he rolled out the word, suffer, and just for a moment he looked radiantly happy and utterly terrifying. The moment passed and his tone became more business-like. "Having one special enemy who you like to fight is just fragged up and stupid."
"Oh yeah?" Miko was on her feet, despite the height, despite the slight swaying of the medic's hand. Nobody called Bulkhead stupid. NOBODY. "I guess no one told that to your beloved leader, Megatron!"
"Beloved leader . . . Oh yes, we 'Cons just adored him," Knock Out snickered. "Megatron is exactly what I'm talking about. As much as I hate to agree with that treacherous fragger Airachnid—" His mouth twisted. "—she was right when she tried to leave your mudball planet. We were only there so Megatron could fight Optimus. And fight Optimus. And fight Optimus some more. And where did that get dear Megsy? Skewered by Bumblebee, that's where. Because 'Bee," Knock Out waved a finger in front of her, admonishing, "doesn't believe in that arch-enemy scrap either. He didn't punch Megatron fifty times on fifty different occasions and pretend like it was special. He punched him once—through the gut, with a sword. Do you get what I'm saying, Miko?"
Before she could answer, a roar split the night.
"KNOCK OUT!"
The red mech turned with such a jerk of surprise that Miko nearly fell off, and now she really was clutching at his fingers. A grin split her face when she saw Bulkhead poised for action, his mace glowing.
"Put Miko down," Bulkhead ground out. "NOW."
Knock Out's expression shifted rapidly from startlement to indignation to a calm, glossy suavity. "Relax, Bulkhead. I haven't hurt your little pe—friend, and she's not afraid of me." He gave Miko a too-sweet smile. "She told me that herself." She stuck her tongue out at him in reply.
"What's all the racket? Why are you even awake?" Ratchet grumbled, stalking over. He stopped dead when he saw Miko crouching on Knock Out's palm. "Knock Out . . . what are you doing?"
The red mech's optic ridges drew down. "I'm talking to someone. Last time I checked I was allowed to do that."
"I'm sure setting Miko on the ground won't disrupt your conversation." Ratchet crossed his arms. "Now, Knock Out."
"You know, it's not like I wanted to be harassed by fleshies tonight!" he snapped. He could read the writing on the wall, oh yes, here came another tedious meeting with Magnus and more footnotes to his slagging file. "But fine, have it your way."
He started to set the human down, then paused in mid-motion.
"What are you waiting for, huh?" Miko wondered if she should jump the rest of the way, but it was still pretty far. "New Year's?"
"I was just thinking," Knock Out said thoughtfully, straightening up again, "I've never had an arch-enemy before. Just the normal kind, as I was telling Miko here. But since my partner was your arch-enemy, Bulkhead, there would be a certain symmetry, wouldn't there, if my arch-enemy was, ohhhh . . ." He corkscrewed a finger before snapping it towards the teenager on his palm.
"Damn it, Knock, that isn't funny!" Bulkhead choked out.
"What's the matter, Bulkhead, don't you feel honored that your partner makes a worthy opponent? Aren't you happy, knowing someone's just waiting to tear out her circuitry and gutter her spark?"
"Knock Out," Ratchet took a step forward, hands upraised in a calming gesture. "We all worry about loved ones during a time of war—"
"It wasn't war," the red mech spat. "It was a stupid, asinine grudge match. Where this MANIAC—" Knock Out swept a finger towards Bulkhead, "—pounded my partner down to his base components every time they met. In the street! In the market! Anywhere!"
"You make it sound like Breakdown was a, a helpless little glitch mouse! You think he ever passed up an opportunity to throw a punch? You think he never attacked first? He was a warrior, for frag's sake!"
"That's—" His servos were shaking and his fingers kept curling like he wanted to make a fist. "That's not the POINT!"
"Then WHAT IS? Knock . . ." Bulkhead put his hand to his forehead in frustration. "Just . . . put Miko down and we can talk. All right?"
Knock Out turned away, sullen, absently cupping his other hand over Miko as she almost slid off.
"Knock Out . . ." Ratchet's voice held a warning, but Bulkhead nudged him into silence.
"Listen, I said I was sorry. I am sorry. I just don't get where all this is coming from. You know that I didn't . . . offline him, right? That was M.E.C.H."
Knock Out had never corrected the Autobots on the specifics of Breakdown's demise before. Nor did he now. "That isn't the point," he said quietly, and then louder, "That isn't the point! This isn't about how he died, it's about how we lived."
He dropped to one knee and rolled Miko off his palm. She stood up, dusted herself off, and crossed her arms at him before walking past with deliberate, defiantly slow steps. But he heard her break into a run once she was past him.
"Miko . . ." The relief was plain in Bulkhead's voice.
There was a crunch of pedes and a hand lightly touched Knock Out's shoulder. He shrugged it off with a jerk as he stood.
"Knock Out—" Ratchet began.
"Don't," he hissed. He folded into vehicle mode and tore into the night.
