fateandfortune

She does put her gloves on before stepping close again, carefully removing each pesky piece of chaff that's still stuck in his seams. There's so much of it, she's sure he must have been uncomfortable the past two days from it all.

"I've never met anyone it doesn't work on," she says as she tugs on an especially long strip. "Even mutants who could turn their skin to metal." After a moment, she hesitantly adds, "But I've never actually tested on it on someone like you. I didn't have to before, the nanites gave me control of my powers."

And now the nanites were gone, along with the rest of the Porter world. Knock Out falls silent, platelets opening and closing for Rogue's now-gloved hands. He hadn't realized quite how much debris he'd picked up during their short trek through the cornfield until it was starting to make a small pile at her feet. What he wouldn't give for a washrack right about now...

"Is that something you can do? Test it?" he finally inquired. He wasn't overly thrilled about the prospect, but it bore relevance. As Rogue had said, they'd been inextricably close the past few days, and that was unlikely to change any time soon based on their predicament. It would be a smart thing to have confirmation on, if they could get it.

She pauses in her work, reaching up on tiptoe to grasp another piece between her fingers. Test it. Just the idea makes her nervous, but she has to admit that it would be better to know for certain. If for some reason her powers don't work on him...

"Yes," she says simply, tugging that piece and settling back on her heels. "All it takes is a few seconds of contact with my skin. Just two or three and I'd start absorbing you. Your energy, thoughts, memories. I'd end up with a whole copy of your psyche in my head that would never go away."

There's a clinical air to her words as if she's given this explanation a hundred times before.

Knock Out realizes only now that he's had a very incomplete understanding of the way Rogue's powers worked this whole time. They had never discussed them in detail as imPorts, the topic never moving much beyond a cursory explanation of why she frequently wore gloves, and he'd thought it limited to absorbing others' powers.

"I see," he says slowly, and the smile he gives her is something somber and rueful both. "Perhaps we'd better not, then. The last thing you need is to go through everything I've seen and done, to say nothing of inflicting my psyche on you."

It's rare for her to so fully explain her powers anymore, the necessity of it no longer an issue thanks to the nanites. But now... She hasn't missed this conversation in the slightest.

Examining the strip of chaff in her hands, she pointedly doesn't look up at him, not sure she can keep her warring emotions out of her expression. "I only get bits and pieces, just a memory of two when it's a brief touch like that. And I've got hundreds of psyches in my head already, sugar. One more wouldn't bother me any."

It would only take one, Knock Out thinks. And while she might get something innocuous -- a snippet of daily life aboard the Nemesis, some random space world on a routine mission, a drive-in movie that he'd particularly liked -- she could just as easily see something heinous. The experimentations in Shockwave's labs. The grisly aftermath of a pink alchemy attempt. Silas, in his medbay, cut apart and screaming.

Knock Out can live with those memories. He views them through a particular sort of indifferent lens that only comes from existing with them for so long, and an inherent selfishness that protects his own interests at the expense of others. For the most part, he never gives them a second thought. It's not like he's ashamed of them.

But the idea of Rogue knowing, and the possibility of seeing that unconditional trust in she looks at him with turn to fear or revulsion, sets his spark clenching nonetheless. Not shame, but dread. What if she wanted nothing to do with him once she knew what he was really like? It's not like he'd blame her for it.

"You can't know that."

She can practically see the proverbial and literal gears turning in his head, cycling through thoughts she knows others have had when faced with knowledge of what her powers can do. It's one thing to just have your energy drained or powers copied, but your memories? Copies of yourself locked away in someone else's mind? That's a hard concept for anyone to accept.

Especially if they've been through even a fraction of the things she knows he's endured in his life.

Looking up at him now, she gives a little shake of her head. "Armitage Hux is the best friend I've ever had and he killed billions of people before we met, thinking it was the right thing to do. I didn't judge him on his past and I wouldn't judge you either, Knock Out. But if you don't wanna take that risk, I understand. Believe me, I do, and I don't blame you for a second for wanting your privacy. We'll just have to be extra careful from now on to make sure any accidents don't happen."

He ex-vents softly, but Rogue's words evidently have some effect on him. She acts like the risk is his, as always putting others before herself even at the cost of her own comfort. And that is why he takes her claim that she won't judge him at face value, when from anyone else he'd scoff it aside as mere platitude.

It's not a guarantee - fear is an irrational, wicked, pervasive thing - but it's as close as anyone can reasonably get.

And he owes her, at least to try.

It feels unseemly to tower over her for this, so Knock Out bends down into a crouch, balancing easily on wide pedes so that he's closer to her. "All right," he consents. "We'll try. Go ahead."

She hadn't realized how much she been hoping he would say yes until he actually did. In an incredibly short time, she'd been overwhelmed by holding on to the tiniest glimmer of hope that maybe she'd been wrong, that things could be different between them. He owed her nothing and she felt so much in his debt for his agreement to this crazy plan.

It's a relief when he crouches down, his usual towering height worrisome if she did accidentally took too much. Being crushed by a toppling mountain of metal isn't exactly the way she wants to go out, you know? And it makes this more personal, letting her be close enough to watch his expression as she tugs off one glove and reaches out. Her hand hovers over the beautiful rich red of his chest plate, just an inch of space between them, and with a steadying breath, she presses her skin against him.

One. Two. Three. That spark grows brighter as she strains to feel any stirring of her power where it would usually be kicking in full force by now. Four. Five. Her fingers spread out and she presses harder against his metal. Six. Seven.

"Nothing's happening," she says in a hushed voice, eyes wide and expression etched with wonder.

There are still faint traces of unease in his expression despite his agreement, but he obediently holds steady so she can proceed at her own pace, working herself up to the actual motion. Under her hand, the metal of his frame is (perhaps surprisingly to her) not cool to the touch. Rather, the metal has a sun-warmed feel, diffuse and gentle.

Seconds pass, and Knock Out feels her increase the pressure of her touch against him, but whatever she's waiting for has yet to manifest.

Cybertronian physiology strikes again, he almost says, but seeing the awe in her expression stalls his frivolous quip.

"Nothing's happening," he agrees instead, but beyond that he's waiting for her cues.

Nothing's happening. It's like she's in a dream, the best dream of all where she can touch her dear friend without her powers ruining everything. Their shared world had spoiled her by granting her control over her powers and she'd been terrified upon learning the nanites were gone from their bodies. But now... It doesn't mean a thing for the billions of humans in this world, but she can touch him and that means everything to her.

A wavering smile breaks out across her face, giving only the briefest notice before she's launching herself at him, leaning up as much as she can to try wrapping her arms around him in a hug. She laughing and crying at the same time, overcome by a swell of happiness as she presses her bare cheek against the warm metal of his body.

"I won't hurt you," she murmurs, the words both a fact and a promise, and holds on to him just a little tighter.

He definitely isn't expecting that and his gyros shift to compensate, but then Rogue is reaching up, her arms wrapping around his neck and clinging there. Her mixture of laughs and cries is a strange chorus, but she radiates joy and pure relief, resting her face against his chassis and he has no inclination to move her. Instead, very carefully, he folds one arm behind her. Not too tight, not enough to pin her, just a slight pressure.

It is, Knock Out thinks, the most he's been touched in quite a while. He doesn't necessarily disapprove.

(He is, inappropriately opposite of her happiness, glad her powers did not work and that he remains kept to himself.)

But for the moment, he just appreciates the affection as it's given. "No, you won't."

It feels so good to hold on to someone. She'd hugged people in their shared world, of course she had, but things are different now. Everything is different... but not all of it in a bad way. This is the very best kind of different.

Giving him one last squeeze, she loosens her hold and leans back, staying close but wanting to be able to look at him properly. She reaches up with her bare hand to gently touch the side of his face and says with an affectionate, grateful smile, "Thank you for trusting me."

The reaction is instinctive and ingrained: when Rogue touches him, he tips his head down and against, pressing into the touch. Though his faceplates are smooth, they don't feel metallic like the rest of him, but rather instead porcelain-like. His reflex only lasts a few seconds before he seems to catch himself doing it, and stops.

"You're welcome," he answers after a beat, looking oddly ruffled by his impulse. "I'm glad it will be one less thing for us to worry about."

Though he does wonder, academically, what constitutes a viable target for her ability...

That immediate reaction to her touch does not go unnoticed but she doesn't say anything about it. He'd stopped like he was catching himself, and she decides not to bring attention to it right now.

"Me too," she agrees, smile still firmly in place, before stepping back out of his way and letting her hands fall. He's been cooped up in his other form for so long, she doesn't want to keep him crouched down like this now that he's finally able to stretch out properly. "Is there anything still stuck in your seams? It'll be a lot easier for me to get out now that I don't have to be so careful."

Once she's moved back, Knock Out straightens up again and at her question, shifts his weight experimentally from pede to pede, armor platelets flexing and shifting before he shakes his head. "I can't feel anything else, no. Thank you for cleaning them out... hopefully there's no more cornfield treks in our near future."

Rogue was right about him about him appreciating the opportunity to move around. Pressing one clawed hand to his opposite shoulder, he rolled it to loosen tension there. Although their drive had not been hard - no rough terrain, all smooth highways for the most part - Knock Out had gotten used to being in bipedal mode most of the time since being recalled to the Nemesis. Aside from the few minutes on the country roadside to address Rogue's panic attack, the last 48 hours in his alt mode were the longest stretch he'd done in the last few years. He wasn't sore, just a touch stiff.

"If I'd known we were going to hang out here," he said wryly, looking back at her. "I'd have suggested you get a tray of coffees instead of just one."

If they end up back in a cornfield, they'll be in a really sorry state. She can't even think of a circumstance that would lead them to that situation, but she also knows full well how little that means to the universe. She's gotten stuck in plenty of jams that no one ever saw coming before.

His comment makes her laugh and she shakes her head, striped hair going a bit wild with the energy. It feels so good to laugh and not be afraid for just a little while. With everything they'd been dealing with the past two days, she'd already started to forget those wonderful months of living like this all the time.

"I promise I'll try not to bite," she assures him goodnaturedly. "Besides, it's better I get used to going without again. I don't think my usual five cups a day is going to be sustainable out here, especially if we stay on the move."

Edited 2020-03-03 05:59 (UTC)

"If you bite me, I imagine you'd regret it more than I would," Knock Out needled in return, at the mental image of Rogue gnawing on a metal limb.

"Maybe not that much," he concedes. "But I'll try to keep you supplied above none at all. There are plenty of service stations on the highways, and coffee shops in towns. Speaking of staying on the move... since we have some time to pass--"

Since they had agreed that, no matter how slim the odds were, there remained a chance that this could still be a Porter hallucination that would end. Nearly all of them wrapped up within two weeks. If they were still here after that, then... they'd know.

"--I don't suppose there's a minimally populated state you've always wanted to visit?"

And then, in a less flippant tone, added carefully, "And any other information you can think of, about keeping a low profile... would help to share. We can make better plans that way."

Oh, she most certainly would regret it more than he would, there's no doubt about that. Though he'd probably get a kick out of it in the moment. She's just about to laugh when he suddenly turns sweet, even if he doesn't realize it, and then—

And then.

Her smile freezes along with the rest of her, everything in her mind going very still. It's time, she knows it is, but there had been something so comforting in pretending. For just a little while, she'd lost herself in it. But reality always does come crashing back in.

Taking a deep breath, she nods, her smile softening sadly. "I guess that is something we should talk about, huh?" she replies quietly, before clearing her throat and nodding. "We're pretty lucky, actually. In my version of this world, we'd already have been locked up in a lab by now, but it looks like they aren't that far gone yet here."

It's impossible not to notice the change that comes over her; anyone would see it. He thinks that he should have put off the question longer. Given her whatever more time to enjoy that fleeting happiness following the revelation of his immunity to her powers. But it's too late to take it back now... the moment is gone.

"I don't want to make the kind of mistakes that can be avoided," he says carefully instead. "Yesterday on the roadside, you said I had no right to make decisions for you when I didn't know."

Among other things she'd said to him. But it had been the absolute terror and panic that had gripped her so strongly that she couldn't even stay on her feet that had fazed him. Because just then, on a deserted lane with no one around, he'd been able to help her through it. What if the next time it happened, because of him, and it wasn't safe to do so?

A few more minutes of happiness wouldn't wipe out the need for this conversation. As much as she'd like to live in a fantasy of everything being okay, that won't help either of them survive this place.

She wraps her arms around herself, suddenly feeling very small next to him. Of course, she's small compared to him, that's always been more than apparent, but... she'd never felt it before.

"I've always tried to be the type of person who would never regret saying or doing something out of fear," she tells him after a moment. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to be that person for you yesterday, sugar. You didn't deserve that. You didn't know."

Knock Out didn't so much move as surged down to her eye level with astonishing speed, his platelets clicking into new formations to support the movement, hands braced on the dirty factory floor so they were very nearly face to face once again.

"Don't," he bristled, his voice unyielding. The dozens of tiny red lenses that made up his optics were clearly visible from this distance, focused on her intensely. "Do not blame yourself for being frightened. For acting based on experience. You have nothing to apologize for."

If she didn't know him, that sudden movement would have scared her senseless and sent her screaming out the door. But she does know him. She trusts him with her life and so her only reaction is to take half a step back until he's settled at her level. There's no spike of fear or stress within her, and her expression remains set in some semblance of sadness.

"I'm scared out of my mind, Knock Out," she says in a steady tone, looking straight into those red eyes without hesitation. "Every minute we've been here, it's all I can do to hold myself together and not fall apart. But that's no excuse for my actions toward someone I care about. People letting fear get the better of them is what started this war and I refuse to be like that myself. We both deserve better than that."

If she'd said just about anything else in that instant, he would have admitted to his own fears. That humans of this world would start hunting him the moment they knew he existed. That even if they still did all the right things, made all the right moves, picked all the right places to hide... his time here was going to be limited. Far more than she had yet to realize. That the dull realization of what might come after terrified him more than four million years of battlefields ever had.

But Rogue cared so much. She would take it as some failing, find some blame to put on herself, as if it were somehow her fault that he was stuck here alongside her. He wouldn't do that to her.

Letting his own indecisions and fears dictate his actions had already cost Knock Out the one dearest to him. He carried that guilt as best he could because there was no other choice. But he couldn't bear to lose someone else to those same weaknesses of his.

No. He wouldn't add to her burden.

"We're allowed to be imperfect once in a while," is what he says instead. He pushes up with his hands, getting back to his feet again. His tone is deliberately light, easy. "You're wrong if you think I'm going to hold it against you."

Imperfect is all she ever has been, but she can't tell him that. He knows nothing of her life before their shared world. If he did... Would he pity her? Would he second-guess all his words and actions in an attempt to not dredge up more pain from her past? That sort of reaction is what she's always hoped to avoid, along with the worry of burdening someone else with her lifetime of heartache.

It feels wrong for him to stand again so soon, though she knows she can't ask him to stay down at her level. It wouldn't be comfortable for him, and what reason would she give? That she finds his eyes fascinating and wants just a little more time to memorize the way they watch her before he leaves her forever?

"I've never thought that," she assures him with a shake of her head instead. "That's not who you are. Not with me, anyway." Because she knows he's different with others — she doesn't hold that against him either.

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