fateandfortune

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.

Knock Out wished he knew how better to approach this whole issue. He didn't know where Rogue's pitfalls were -- and in all fairness, she didn't know where his were either -- but despite the last few days being technically a success, he feels like they'd been communicating on two different channels. But their current predicament is so tenuous, and their partnership so inexperienced, that he is left unsure. They had been fast friends in the Porter world, but they hadn't spent a lot of time together, and almost none of it in stressful situations. This is new to both of them.

He considers for a moment, then drags the side of his pede across the ground at the base of one of the floor-to-ceiling support beams to push aside dirt and leaves before lowering himself to a sitting position, back to the joist. His shoulder tires fit neatly on either side of the vertical beam, giving him something to lean against, and his legs are stretched out in front of him.

"Come here," he says, patting the ground next to his side. "I do need to know, but it can be at your pace. If you'd rather just sit and not talk at all for a while, that's fine too. We have all day."

She watches him sit, marveling at how easily he moves while being so large and powerful. It's like with the Sentinels except not the least bit terrifying. With Knock Out, she can appreciate what he is because she knows who he is and doesn't have an ounce of fear of him within her. (The ocean of fear for him isn't something she's willing to openly acknowledge yet.)

Stepping over to the area he'd indicated, she pauses partway down to the ground, peering up at him in consideration. He really is so much larger than her...

She straightens up again and instead moves over to pat his leg. "You mind if I sit up here?" she asks, not wanting to assume he'll be okay with something like this. He's not a jungle-gym, after all.

Mildly surprised by the request but not put off by it, Knock Out nods agreement. Rather than make Rogue hoist herself up, he flattens his hand and rests it halfway between the floor and the top of his leg, so that she can use it as a step to climb up.

The lower part of his leg -- the red armored portion that as a whole was his pede -- might be too bulky to make much of a seat. But the thigh area was unarmored, mostly flat and silver, suitable for sitting. Like his chassis had been when she'd touched him before, the metal had an ambient warmth to it.

"Better?" he asks, once she's found a secure spot.

The step up is much appreciated; if she'd had to get up there on her own, there likely would have been a good deal of flailing and she might have tipped right over the other side of him before she'd gotten a good hold. This way, she's settled in no time, stretching her legs out like he has and leaning back on her hands to look up at him.

"Much," she confirms with a bright smile. "You're awful tall, sugar. If I'd sat down there, I'd probably have gotten a crick in my neck."

His warmth feels amazing against her hands, the indescribable comfort of it seeping up through her palms and fingertips. After a few moments of it, she feels infinitely more prepared for the conversation ahead.

"What was it like for you on your Earth? Did you have to hide what you are from humans or could you live openly?" It seems as good a place as any to start. Better to know what she's working with than just starting from scratch.

Knock Out laughs a little at her observation. "I'm only tall compared to humans," he replies. "I'm on the shorter side compared to most other mecha of my frame type."

It's as good a question as any to start them off. "We hid. The Nemesis was shielded so it couldn't be detected in orbit, and we took Earth alt modes for when we're planet-side. That's not to say that no one knows about us - the Autobots have government allies, as well as their--"

(No, don't call them pets.)

"--friends. Children. Most of them. And the wretches that are part of M.E.C.H., however few of them are left now. But as far as humanity in general, they don't know about us. The military somehow managed to keep Megatron detonating the entirety of a Nevada town under media wrap, so that was impressive."

She nods every so often as he answers, a sign that she's paying attention, processing his words to fully grasp their meaning. It's only when he's finished that sighs quietly.

At least they're not starting from zero.

"It was like that for us at first," she explains, considering her words carefully. "Mutants have been around for a long time, but we were such a small part of the population that no one really knew about it. Eventually, the government found it, but our existence wasn't really public knowledge until around my generation when more and more kids started turning up as mutants. Then they started talking about what to do with all of us and how to handle people with powers."

She reaches up to run a hand through her striped hair, pulling it back from her face. "The ones who could pass as normal had it easiest. They could hide in plain sight and no one was the wiser unless they used their powers."

So mutants in Rogue's world were fairly in line with imPorts then; Knock Out supposed he'd never really drawn the parallel before, but it made sense. Some of them were indistinguishable from the natives of that world, able to easily pass in the cities. And some were distinctly inhuman (Knock Out himself was an odd outlier to this category, if only because he technically had a human form that he'd never used) and instantly identifiable on sight.

As imPorts, they'd been treated (on the whole) positively. There were some distrust issues, certainly... normally dependent on whatever upset the Porter was providing them with on a given month... but nothing like the harsh discrimination focused in this world on mutants.

"So they started separating mutants from the general population?"

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