Chapter Text
So he waited and watched Knock Out sink into stasis. The process taking almost a full half hour. Magnus couldn't imagine taking the brunt of that much energy and being pleased by the outcome. He liked the afterglow of an overload as much as any mech…but not that long.
With full faculties and just a bit woozy from low levels Magnus pulled out. He felt Knock Out's gasket seal with a hiss, aperture shutting tight as soon as it could. Denying him the chance to clean Knock Out up. Hopefully his depravity wouldn't doom his reputation. They hadn't facilitated any sparkplay…but it was not always necessary.
"Are you done?" The soft call startled Magnus but thankfully in the doorway it was only Zamu. The minicon had his optic dimmed. Magnus felt a bit ashamed. How long had he been out there?
"Yes. All…clear" Magnus mumbled as he packed away his mess of a cord. "I hate to impose but fuel and the direction of the washracks would be appreciated."
"Yes, yes. Understood. First I just-"
"Knock Out is unharmed!" He barked out, terrified that the mech was making a beeline for the Con. Zamu only nodded.
"Yes, yes. Not the first time. For me or Gura." The minicon raised on his haunches to nuzzle Knock Out’s back.
Dread washed over Magnus. "Oh…oh no. I thought he was with you. Will they be alright?" Frantic now Magnus slid his digits along Knock Outs frame, smoothing out panels and plates until he found the catch tab for Knock Outs staff. As soon as he pulled it free the weapon hummed and buzzed in his servos. Miniscule plates shifting and transforming until the prod was replaced with a limp legged crab. It's small underbelly pudgy and the mech hissing something unintelligible. Magnus laid them on top of Zamu’s back. "He seems to be in a daze."
"Fine, fine." The minicon assured, trotting in an almost gleeful circle with his partner. "Gura's hunger for energy is insatiable but hits like this leave him tender…and mild. Good for cuddles." Zamu whispered his selfish secret. "Gura never cuddles."
"I see." Magnus sighed in relief, more than ready to leave the minicon to his own devices. "A washrack then?"
The solvent was cold. Usually Magnus would have no gripes being the utilitarian mech he was and certainly it pleasantly relieved his overheated internals but…it turned something in his thoughts he couldn't place. He stared into the consistent spray a melancholy in him.
He tried to break it, turning to care and duty. Taking care to clean Knock Out as thoroughly as he'd likely clean himself. Finding it just a bit difficult with how stiff Knock Out was. Stasis had turned him cold, face placid but not with the demure beauty of powerdown. The shower pooled solvent on his frame in dewdrops, holding to his metal until Magnus wiped them away. The melancholy only grew.
Magnus could not look away from Knock Out's face. So white, near featureless with his optics shielded. Just a thin black line from his paint. Almost like a mask Magnus could just pull off. The longer he stared, the deeper the fog of dread fell over Magnus until it was no longer the Con's helm held so gently in his servos. Gone was the calm patter of the shower in a washrack. Mechs were screaming, traffic,alerts, alarms blaring, thunder booming above. It almost never rained on Cybertron, it burned acidic and polluted beyond safety but Magnus could not move. Could not stop sobbing as he held a dying mech in his arms. They'd thrown him to the street like trash. A single corpse among a hundred. His darling Neonstreak.
“It’ll be alright, Magnus. They need you, Go.” The bot’s soft voice echoed on loop in the back of his dreams on his worst nights. Magnus could feel the phantom touch on his face, the smeared energon leaking down his neck, the tremble of Neonstreak’s failing frame. He would not be alright and Magnus would never see him again.
“Primus-” Ultra Magnus had not thought of Neonstreak in a while. It had been even longer since he sobbed. Frame heaving and quaking as he crushed Knock Out tight and battered the Con with frantic desperate kisses. Magnus knew this night would be his undoing, that he would never be the same. Even as he mourned another mech the thought of leaving Knock Out made him sick. He wanted to take him back to base, he wanted to lock the mech away till the war was nothing but a chapter in a history book. But Knock Out was not Neonstreak and he in turn was not Keystone. He wasn’t even Breakdown. They were a flashfire, an unfortunate head on collision.
Still Magnus stayed when Knock Out did not online. He helped to keep him fueled, he kept him clean, he helped Zamu and Gura prepare. Watching them scurry off to the Nemesis day after day to keep up the ruse and to make sure their dying master lasted another night. At night he held Knock Out, more brazenly than Knock Out had ever tried to be with him. He spoke to him for hours, only taking moments to train in the recovery sector or to check in on forces in the distant sectors of the universe, answering calls when dire. Demands for supply money here, weapons there, rescues and prisoner trade offers. Never a dull moment. And yet despite his attempt to command the siren call of Knock Out’s cold frame drew him back. Anything to ease the blanket of sorrow that plagued him, refusing to leave. A hypocrite just as Knock Out had snarked, a sad excuse for a leader who wanted nothing more than to hide away in a simulacrum of peace. Languishing in the arms of the enemy.
It was a morning as any other when Magnus woke up alone. Knock Out nor his minicons anywhere to be found. He bore no restraints, no wounds, no orders. Just a long set of numbers slightly smudged on his palm. He spared himself a moment of grief he could not suppress, had himself a fine glass of energex, and called Ratchet. As he strode into the base through the bridge, he came across to a scene of calm. The children were playing with Bumblebee and Smokescreen, Arcee and Bulkhead were training, Optimus was at the computers deeply concentrated. The only thing that stood out was Wheeljack, fairly battered and scorched but still grinning and bothering poor Ratchet who was tending to his injuries.
“You see! I told you and Bulkhead you were being reckless! Ultra Magnus is perfectly fine and now you’ve gone and lost his ship to the Decepticons! You’re lucky they didn’t take the Jackhammer with it! We’d be stranded!
“I’m telling you he had the key! He got the jump on me.” Pulling himself from Ratchet, wild grin still plastered across his face as he moved to meet him, Wheeljack pointed to Magnus demanding, “ Commander, you care to tell the court why Knock Out of all mechs had a key to your ship? And where you’ve been for the last month?”
His ship…his working spacecraft. It was all the information Knock Out needed. And what to say? Knock Out was known to favor electric weaponry, easy enough to override a simple door lock. Skeleton type keys for ships as old as his were common, Bulkhead could corroborate that Knock Out had taken them both by surprise their last mission…all were viable arguments but only misdirection would confuse Wheeljack.
He stiffened his posture, standing tall. “Soldier what foolish notion had you leading a dangerous Con to the direct location of my starship?” The fight that ensued was just as Magnus calculated but Wheeljack had something up his rotator cuff.
Late into dawn the mech found him on the edge of the desert plateau, mourning the comforts of his prison. “You ain’t fooling me, Commander, if I can even call you that.”
Magnus could only sigh and accept the moment gone. “You’re wise to be suspicious. One of your admirable qualities, despite your attitude and reckless disregard you do consider all possibilities.”
“You’re no shifter. Optimus would have clocked that the moment he looked at you. But I knew loyal Bots that turned sides for uglier aft. Knock Out left these.” Wheeljack proudly dangled a set of keys. “I have a feeling you know what ship they go to, considering you’ve got his number.” Magnus fought the reflex to curl his servo. The damage, already done due to his sloppy maintenance.
“And are you not a loyal Autobot, Wheeljack? Yet you claim to know a Decepticon’s personal frequency?” The mech’s lewd grin was answer alone but Wheeljack did like to talk.
“What can I say, he used to be close to Soundwave. Mech knows things. Ain’t a bad medic per say. Listen this can stay between us…but I just need to know if you’re still with us.”
Magnus looked to the distant desert and the rising sun; glowing just as handsomely as Knock Out had when the morning’s light would slip through the windows. “‘Till all are one.”
Wheeljack gave as proper a salute as a mech like him was capable of then turned back to base. “I hope you got what you needed, Commander.”