fateandfortune

"Yes," he answers evenly, despite recognizing that she had not framed it as a question. "I knew. I also knew there was no point in telling you before other needs were met. I prioritized."

"You prioritized," she repeats as if she can't comprehend what he's saying. But she can. She absolutely can. "You made a choice to keep information from me that could have impacted my actions. You let me just walk around thinking everything was fine because that's what you thought was best."

She's getting more upset by the second, as evidenced by her increasingly tight and strained tone of voice.

"Exactly which actions would it have impacted?" Knock Out retorts, his voice pitching with faint reproach. "Saying good morning? Eating real food? Cleaning yourself? Tell me which of those would have been better served with you being upset at the time."

Edited 2020-02-11 05:41 (UTC)

The fear wrapped around her heart is eclipsed by the fury at his having made decisions for her like this. He had no idea what he could have done to them.

"It doesn't matter if I'd have been upset, I would have been smart," she throws back at him, the words sharp enough to cut. "I would have watched what I said and scrubbed the room of my DNA! I wouldn't have stayed long enough for anyone to remember me because all it takes is one goddamned phone call—"

The sentence cuts off and she can't sit there anymore. It's too enclosed, too small, she can't breathe, so she grabs the door handle and pops it open in a frantic rush, practically throwing herself outside as she flings words at him that hurt even just to say.

"But it doesn't matter because they're not looking for you. You have no right to make these decisions when you DON'T KNOW."

And truthfully, he doesn't know. Knock Out is categorically arrogant, he knows that (and even embraces it ot his own benefit) but he's not omniscient. He knows he's working off incomplete data and conjecture, but he stands by his choice even as Rogue is shouting at him.

He doesn't react to the cutting accusation she hurls at him. Verbal abuse is nothing if not common among Decepticon ranks, and Knock Out had correctly anticipated she'd be upset at learning what he'd discovered. He hadn't really expected it to be over the not telling her part though.

Driver's door still hanging open, he rolls toward her a foot, then two, and stops again. "Rogue, you're close to hyperventilating. You have to breathe slower."

He says it but she can't do it. Any attempt at a slow, even breath turns into something horrible and shuddering, her body shaking so much that she ends up on her knees in the grass, gloved fingers grasping at the green strands like they could anchor her there in safety.

"I can't do this," she says between the quick, gasping breaths, not even really talking to him anymore. "I can't, not again."

The car door snaps shut and then Knock Out is expanding, unfolding from the shape of the sports car to height again before crouching down next to her, distress at her state evident on his face plates. Clawed digits rest on her back as she crouches in the grass and then begin stroking downward over the thin material of her new shirt.

"Deep breaths," he says, and the words are accompanied by a minute vibration in the air and through his touch, a calming thrum that's reminiscent of the way his engine soothed her while she drifted to sleep.

"Just focus on my voice. I know it feels like you can't get air, but you can. One deep breath, let's try that... there you go..."

She hardly notices when he transforms, the sounds familiar in a way allows them to fall outside her immediate attention, which is completely on the desperation and panic welling up within her. And then he's there, the touch on her back making her flinch ever so slightly before she tries to focus on it and his voice. That thrumming helps too, though she doesn't truly realize it's happening, the vibration simply sinking into her and working its calming magic.

As she follows his instructions, one deep breath and then another, slow and steady, her body relaxes inch by inch, muscles loosening as tension drains away. She wants to cry, to scream and hit something, but she doesn't. That won't change anything. This is her life now, right back where she'd been before, regardless of how fucking unfair it is that she has to remember what's coming. That hadn't been part of the deal. And neither had his being there with her. Feeling wrung out and drained, Rogue turns to look at Knock Out—

And panics all over again.

"Change back!" she commands immediately, struggling to stand on shaky legs and looking around frantically. "Now, before someone sees you!"

Knock Out's optics cycle once, their mechanical rings nictitating as he studies her trying to get to her feet. He removes his hand from her, and the vibration tapers off, leaving the air feeling more still than it should have.

For a moment he seems like he's about to say something... but then he rocks back on his heel tires and stands, retreating a step to gain clearance, and folds down into his alt mode without a word.

Once he's settled into his other form, it's like her strings have been cut. She wobbles her way over to him and sinks down to her knees before him, hands resting on the smooth red metal.

"I'm sorry, sugar." It's a quiet apology but no less genuine than her earlier anger had been. "I just... People out here've probably never seen a Sentinel before. If they thought you were some kind of new model, it'd end up all over the news and—"

Her voice falters and her hands press a little harder against him. "It's safer for you if they don't know what you are."

Knock Out's EM field instinctively pulses out the glyphs for safety/acknowledgement/forgiveness, even though he knows humans can't detect it, and settles instead for the gentle rumble of twelve cylinders beneath her hands.

"No need for apologies," he replies carefully. "As you said, I don't know. I'll have to learn."

She loves the rumble that gently flows beneath her hands, a sign of the life within him that she still just barely understands. Understanding isn't required to appreciate though, and she is so very glad that he's alive and safe. For now.

"You shouldn't have to," she tells him tiredly. "You shouldn't be here. You don't deserve this."

"It's not about deserving," he refutes, and his tone suggests a frown even without a visible face. "You don't belong here either, whether this is your world or not. Not with things like... this. All of it."

He pauses, because that's a train of thought he's not keen to navigate right now. "I know it seems less likely now, but... there is still a chance that this is a Porter mishap. We know its glitches can last a week or more, based on past incidents."

It's a thin possibility, and they both know it. But Knock Out offers it with practicality, not unkindness. They won't pin their hopes on it, but neither should they completely dismiss it just yet.

Time enough for that later.

"So we can try to wait it out. See if there's any other way to confirm what's going on. I have the GPS coordinates for where De Chima's supposed to be, if you want to go anyway and be sure."

He's letting her choose, heedful of their barely-cooled argument where he'd removed that option from her. Not an apology, perhaps, but acknowledgement.

It's more than most people have given her in her life. She doesn't need an apology when his actions speak louder than the words possibly could. One can offer apologies and cite changed ways that are actually set in stone.

"We've come all this way already," she begins after a moment of consideration. "If you're okay with going, we might as well. Because... honestly, I don't have any other ideas."

If this isn't the Porter, if they're stuck here in this twisted version of the world, she doesn't know what to do. The mutants here won't know her, she has no human friends to rely on, and she can't even begin to guess at how they might get back to the world they'd shared. It's scary to admit but she isn't going to put on false bravado with him.

"We can go," Knock Out agrees, though like Rogue he isn't actually sure what they'll do once they arrive, if indeed his maps have not lied to him and the city doesn't exist.

"It's about nine hours," he advises after a quick check. It will put them back on the interstate, but it's through the mountains. Scenic, at least, though he suspects neither of them may in the frame of mind for it. "But certainly doable today. We'll get there before sundown. I'll swing us south to pick up Route 360 so we don't miss anything," he added, naming the main corridor that ran through De Chima.

He made a mental note to find them an ATM too, as Rogue would need additional funds and supplies. Knock Out didn't say as much right now, not when she was still coming down from her fear's towering heights. He would, with or without telling her in so many words, continue to moderate as many of her stresses as he was able.

She's glad he agrees because at least now they have a plan. For the next nine hours, they know what they're going to do. That buys them time to figure out what will happen in hours ten or eleven.

Standing slowly, she uses him for balance without putting too much of her weight on him — that seems rude somehow, and she tries never to be rude to anyone. Bits of grass and gravel stick to her knees but are brushed off easily enough, though she comes to the conclusion that, if they're really stuck here, she'll definitely need more clean clothes soon. And gloves, because without the nanites... Well, it's good she's been careful already since their arrival.

She moves to open the door again but her hand stills above the handle. "I really am sorry, Knock Out. I didn't mean to yell at you like that." A brief pause. "I did when I was angry, but not after. I love your natural form and I'm sorry you have to hide like this."

"Apology accepted," the medic answers, even though he'd hardly have expected one over something that was ultimately minor in the scale of things. But if apologizing made Rogue feel better, then he was fine hearing it. Injecting a bit of cheeky humour into his tone, he added, "It's fine, I'm used to far worse aboard the Nemesis all the time."

But then more seriously, he amends: "We both have to hide, for now. But at least we're not doing it alone."

---

They return to the highway and drive east, course set, and under the bright summer sunshine and the cheerful zip of passing cars, Knock Out once again takes control of the conversation to fill the hours.

"--laying there on the medical berth and he starts ranting at me: 'Can you imagine my horror?! There I am, minding my own business, when my arm just falls off!'" Knock Out parrots, doing an admittedly decent impression of Starscream's gravely vocal register before adding an insulted huff of air through the dashboard vents. "As if I'd have been so careless as to send him out with faulty welds! Naturally I tried to talk him into an upgrade, but all he wanted was his old arm back on, which he didn't even have the decency to bring with him. Beyond recovery, he claimed! The thing about Starscream, Rogue, is that he swings wildly between the most engaging, silver-tongued liar you've ever met, and not being able to bluff his way out of a mesh bag. This? Was not a silver day..."

Every few hours he stops them at somewhere quiet and out of the way, so Rogue can stretch and refill her water bottles. They leave the rolling hills and enter the mountains, the highway winding through valleys and skirting peaks, overlooking long drop-offs that go down hundreds of feet. The roadway is clean, well-maintained, and light on traffic both commercial and not. Honestly it's a pleasure to drive, and despite the circumstance, Knock Out is at least enjoying that part of it.

---

The sun is low but still comfortably above the horizon as they pass through the south suburbs of Richmond, the last major city between them and De Chima's location.

But no outskirts of the familiar city appear as they continue down Route 360. Small townships and petite communities, but De Chima simply fails to materialize. Knock Out slows, considering, and pulls into the empty parking lot of a church. It seems they need a new plan.

At least we're not doing it alone. Those are the words that sustain her through the long hours of driving, that knowledge that neither of them is facing this by themself. While she'd never have wished this on him, she trusts him, considers him one of her best friends, and is so very grateful he's there with her. If she'd woken up in this world by herself and learned what she has...

Her DNA was instrumental to the Sentinel Program taking down mutants using their own powers. No matter what it takes, she will not allow anyone to use her like that again, even if it means making sure there's no DNA left to experiment with. If the world goes down in flames again, it won't be her fault.

Listening to Knock Out's stories helps to pass the time in the best way. Little by little, she learns more about who he used to be and what his old life was like, information she'd only gotten before on rare occasions. For him to share so much and so readily feels like a real treat even despite their circumstances. She doesn't share stories of her own, instead showing her engagement by asking questions and offering commentary on the antics of the beings who had played such pivotal roles in his life.

It's only when it becomes clear that De Chima truly doesn't exist here that Rogue realizes how little hope she'd had for it. Instead of a crushing blow, it's a quiet confirmation of what she'd already known. This is their life now. Unless by some miracle the Porter grabs them back, this is it.

The empty parking lot is a blessing, an unexpected haven for them to try to figure things out. But where do they even start? Sighing heavily, she leans her head back against the seat. "We can't keep going like this. You need to rest."

"I'm all right for a while. Taking recharge every night is... convenient, but not strictly necessary. I once did a straight deca-cycle of surgeries during an Autobot offensive on Engore VI. Three weeks of non-stop sonic shelling, I thought my audials were going to fall off my frame from the whine of them. That was a long shift."

Knock Out relays it lightly, even though he'd been punch-drunk with exhaustion by the end of it and Breakdown practically had to pour his energon ration down his throat for him. No need for Rogue to worry. He could do with a good stretch to work some crimps out of his struts from 24 unbroken hours of driving, but that's not an option in such open terrain, so close to communities, to the chance of being seen.

Priorities.

"You need to eat again. I imagine breakfast is wearing thin by now. Let's find an ATM so I can get you some money, as promised."

There's a feeling of hopelessness that's been settling within her, eating away at everything else in tiny increments, encroaching so slowly she almost didn't notice it. But then suddenly, there it was, threatening to drown her while bringing forth old insecurities from dusty corners where they'd been hidden.

Knock Out is so much stronger than she is. He can physically handle so much more than she can, and he doesn't need frequent stops for food or a bathroom. He isn't being hunted yet either, so... How long will it take for him to realize she's nothing more than a burden? How long until he decides she isn't worth the effort and leaves her behind? She won't even be able to blame him when he does.

Her breath catches and her heartbeat speeds up as her anxiety sparks anew, but she shifts in the seat and takes deep breaths to force her body to calm the hell down. "You're right, I could use some food," she agrees, keeping her tone even and casual. "Thanks."

Knock Out's sensors, always running, detect the change in her biometrics... but he incorrectly assumes it's a delayed reaction to finding out that De Chima doesn't exist, and he doesn't want to draw further attention to that.

He consults his telemetry once more, a map of their location popping up on the screen inset to his dash, as he weighs the wisdom of backtracking into Richmond. Given that their unspoken consensus seems to be in staying out of major cities, that seems like something avoid, and yet continuing on Route 360 would only take them closer to the coast. The coast meant higher population density, with more eyes both electronic and living.

What they really needed was somewhere to lay low at until they could put together some firmer plans.

First thing was first: money. His engine started again, shifted into gear, and headed back down the road in the direction they'd come. He could stop at Mechanicsville, stay on the 295 Bypass, and skirt around Richmond's city limits. Mechanicsville was large enough that his alt mode shouldn't stand out unduly, but small enough to not be under heavy surveillance.

He hoped.

Outside a gas station, Knock Out pulled up snugly to the curb. "Here," he said, and a long thin cable -- not unlike the one he'd extended to charge the cellphone -- came coiling out of the dash. He instructed Rogue to plug it into the machine and not 30 seconds later the ATM was spitting out crisp twenties with cheerful beeps for her to take.

"And now, fair lady," he pronounced with flair as they beat a speedy retreat from the station, hoping to cheer her up. "What do you feel like eating?"

Edited 2020-02-13 02:43 (UTC)

His trick with the ATM is... incredible. Quick and easy and, she hopes, near untraceable. She'd somehow forgotten just how terrifying it was to need and have nothing, her comfortable life in De Chima suddenly feeling like a lifetime ago instead of just a day. Now, thanks to him, she at least has the means to buy what she needs. Mostly.

The hefty dose of flair he puts into his words has the intended effect, bringing forth a smile that, while tired and worn, is genuine.

"Honestly, sugar, I think I'd rather just stop at a store and pick up a few things," she admits, already running through a mental list of the new things she needed. "I'm guessing you've never been inside one before?"

"I haven't. I just know them from television and movies," he replies. He'd loved Earth media since arriving on the planet, long before the Nemesis made orbit, and indulged in it frequently. It was one of the reasons he'd had so little trouble integrating himself as an imPort. He'd even sprung for cable when he and Riptide had built the Cybertronian-scaled housing in Jeopardy.

Fleetingly, and because it was easier than dwelling on the fact that there was a good chance he'll never see it again, Knock Out laughs to himself while imagining that whomever came to inhabit that building after him would find his DVR full of recorded criminal dramas and reality court shows.

Another quick data consult and he directs them to a discount store chain, one that sells a little bit of everything. There are only a handful of cars in the parking lot, most eschewing these smaller establishments for larger supercenters, but it works better for them.

It's not the best store in town but it'll serve her purposes for now. A few food items and basic necessities from here and maybe a stop at a thrift store soon for some clothes. They'll be better able to stay off the grid this way, and she'll have a better time of finding what she needs.

Rogue offers Knock Out the chance to come along, of course, and not just because she'd rather not be alone. If he's watched tv and movies then he'd probably enjoy getting to experience things like this firsthand. Taking a small plastic basket inside, they wander the aisles with purpose. Toiletries, a hairbrush, a very cheap-looking baseball cap. A loaf of bread, jar of peanut butter, and a single set of metal cutlery. Surprisingly, there's a small selection of fresh produce, from which she selects some fruit.

She's just adding an orange to the basket when she pauses, frowning in distress at the many items that need to be cooked or stored in a refrigerator. After all these years, she'd put out of her mind how difficult it was to live on the run. Well, how difficult one could make it. A few pop-top cans go into the basket as well, items that most people would prefer to heat up before eating but which she knows are perfectly acceptable without doing so. There's no telling what the days ahead will bring them.

Like in the souvenir shop at the service station, Knock Out is clearly taking all the small details in for the first time. While he knows better than to openly stroll around with a look of wonderment plastered on the holoform's face, it's the small things: the quick flit of fingertips over the material of a hanging sweater, the quiet examination at the shelves of canned goods and sundries.

Not because it's new to him, but because it's familiar.

He's not a warbuild; his spark wasn't brought online during the war like others had been. Knock Out had been alive almost a million and a half years before Cybertron fell into strife, and lived on two different planets in that time. He'd had a full range of civilian life. And even though this was nothing like the sprawling markets of Tesarus and Praxus, it evoked the same reaction. It was strongly, startlingly domestic.

Something that Knock Out had wondered, more than once, if he'd ever get the chance to feel again.

Scrap. He had no time to be maudlin, not in their current predicament. It seemed disingenuous in any case, when Rogue was so obviously struggling to come to terms with being here. Outside, undetected, Knock Out's EM field wavered in something like chagrin.

He spots a rack of backpacks on the wall, picking one in a neutral colour and bringing it to her in mute suggestion. "Will this help?"

Edited (it ate one of my sentences) 2020-02-14 05:14 (UTC)

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