Pairings: None
Rating: K+
Categories: General
Warnings: Allusions to violence, spoilers
Status: One-shot, complete
Summary: Torn apart and feeling like scrap, Breakdown makes his way to the only 'Con who he knows will buff first, demean him later.

Notes: Yeah, it's another one of those stories. ;) Because it's the duty of everyone and their grandmother to write a deleted scene involving Breakdown receiving repairs from Knock Out after the events in Operation Breakdown, I decided to give in and try my hand at it. This was intended to be a short little thing, but pleasantly got out of hand.

This story owes its completion thanks to my editor's assistance, Cassandra Cassidy, who graciously took the time to brainstorm with me, point out inconsistencies and provide an excellent summary. Any mistakes in grammar or canon are my error alone, and you're welcome to point them out! I'm still learning about the Prime continuity and would appreciate the insight.

Breakdown's visit to the labs on the Nemesis was a perfect testament to the walk of shame.

After his confrontation with Bulkhead had turned lackluster, the less-than-pleasant introduction to MECH, and being coerced into owing Starscream a debt of gratitude, his return to Decepticon territory continued with the downward turn of his day. Normally, he would report directly to his superior, Lord Megatron, but in this instance he abstained. After the drive back to base, his injuries had worsened and he was in no condition to present himself.

It seemed as if the hallways were only bare when there was no reason for them to be, and right then it would have been too convenient. Drones passed him on his way to what served as the vessel's medical ward. Each gave him varying stares toward his mangled appearance and when he got fed up with the unwanted attention, Breakdown raised a fist to clobber the first Decepticon unfortunate enough to be within reach. He had busted more than a few heads by the time he reached his destination.

Knock Out was already present upon his arrival, a spray gun in one hand as he touched up the silver-painted pin striping on the opposite arm. He glanced up at the sound of the automatic door opening, double-taking so rapidly that he lost control of what he was doing and sent a spritz of the wrong color across his wrist by mistake. At the sight of his ruined paintjob, Knock Out grimaced and made a disgruntled noise as he unceremoniously tossed the tool on the table.

Attention refocused on Breakdown, he rested his chin in one hand and asked, "Dare I inquire about…?"

He waved a digit around the vicinity of his own red and black eye.

"No."

"What of…?"

He transferred his gesture to his chest, over the same areas where Breakdown showed wear and tear.

"I don't want to talk about it," Breakdown grumbled.

"Right," Knock Out said dryly and waved him over to the flat bed in the back-center of the room.

Breakdown approached the bench, aligning his frame and placing both feet on the bottom rest. When he was situated, the table was adjusted back to allow Knock Out a closer inspection and easier access to his afflictions.

"You reported that you ran into Bulkhead, correct?"

The question was rhetorical. Knock Out didn't wait for his input as he hooked Breakdown to the appropriate wires and tubes; the lab computers stirred as scans appeared on the range of screens.

"He couldn't possibly have done all this, could he?"

In particular, Knock Out examined the scattering of missile wounds and abrasions caused by bullets that covered his armor. He was speculating, Breakdown recognized, which could only mean that Knock Out wasn't wholly aware of the predicament that had led to his condition. When he moved to start work on Breakdown's chest, Breakdown motioned for him to stall.

"Don't bother with that just yet. Turn the pain receptors back on and fix my face, first."

"Turn back on-? How were you able to switch them off? And why?"

Breakdown ground his jaw as Knock Out reset his sensors, despite his persistence on learning about the matter. Warnings popped up to notify him of compromised sections, and damage reports bombarded his peripheral vision. Not that Breakdown needed the notices – he could feel every ding, tear, and broken part of him.

"You think this is bad, you should see the other guys," he managed to grind out.

Knock Out paused in his work and Breakdown ceased talking, regretting even that much of an admission. The other Decepticon didn't comment, though, and instead resumed his examination.

"Aside from missing your right eye, there doesn't appear to be any permanent harm done. It's strange that you would lose such an imperative piece of yourself. You wouldn't happen to have it in your possession, still?"

He didn't rise to the bait.

"Ah, I'll take that as a 'no'. Well, lucky for you that there's a stockpile of spares at our disposal."

Knock Out moved over to the console and brought up a list of suitable replacements.

"There isn't an exact match, but yellow is so passé, anyway. There are one or two pairs, if you want a complete exchange, or I can install a single, upgraded model," his associate suggested, scrolling through the selection.

"Not interested," he said.

"There's one here that's made from rare alloys – more aesthetic than resourceful," he continued, not listening. "Oh! And this model shoots lasers-"

"I don't want a replacement," he said snappishly, startling Knock Out from his reverie.

He gave Breakdown a sidelong glance, then the screen, and lastly rested his gaze on him.

"But lasers, Breakdown," he pressed, gripping the edge of the screen and bringing the readouts closer for him to see. Indeed, a schematic of the optical unit showed it had the capacity to shoot lasers.

"I only want it covered," Breakdown said, firm.

"…An eye patch?" Knock Out asked, aghast. After receiving confirmation, he persevered with, "What about an eye patch that happens to shoot lasers?"

"Knock Out!"

The red Decepticon tossed both arms in the air, releasing a sigh that bellied the suffering of misunderstood medics and artists everywhere.

"Fine, but as your physician I want you to realize how uncouth you're being and that you're cheating yourself of an excellent opportunity to arm yourself."

He walked over to a storage container and rapidly typed in a series of security codes to unlock it, wrenching the drawer open and retrieving a standard, protective covering. He set it aside, within reach, and readied repair instruments that would smooth out the damage to the plating surrounding the socket where Breakdown's yellow eye had once resided.

"I'll never comprehend everyone's aversion to a minor improvement here or an overhaul there. Sentimental, the entire lot of you," Knock Out continued, settling in to work.

Despite his testament to the contrary, Knock Out could fix as well as he destroyed. He had an affinity for understanding the complexities of Cybertronians, which was most likely a byproduct of his interest in keeping up his own appearance. His vanity tended to demand that he change his look and install the highest quality mods and accessories, as popularity demanded.

Breakdown let Knock Out talk as he worked; it was a small price to pay for being able to feel what was happening to him. While Knock Out's treatment was by no means gentle and his bedside manner could use improvement, he was efficient. In a way, Breakdown reveled in the pain that he felt. Both hands fisted as he remembered being forced to watch as his vitals were tampered with. The lack of control was as bad as the lack of sensation he felt as he was broken down piece by piece.

A whirring noise caused Breakdown to jump, Knock Out's steady hand the only thing keeping him from having an additional hole placed in his head. His right hand had shifted into a drill to secure the eye patch, the sound of it simultaneously sending Breakdown into the past and jarring him back to the present.

"I'm finished," Knock Out said, unnecessarily.

Breakdown could tell that the socket was covered and the surrounding metal repaired. He observed himself in a nearby, flat surface – the paint had been stripped from his face and charred in some places, making a mixture of blue, silver, red, and black. He felt along the edge of the eye patch with a finger, the larger piece in contrast to the yellow eye positioned on the opposite side.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Knock Out said. "Reducing your vision will result in a severe drop in acuity, not to mention your depth perception-"

Breakdown shrugged and said, "I'll readjust. No big deal."

Knock Out frowned, but for once didn't push. This would no doubt come back to haunt him, but at the time Breakdown didn't care. Knock Out resumed his work, moving on to Breakdown's chest. He had to strain to get the plates to separate, and when he finally did there was an awkward silence in which Knock Out openly stared into his torso.

"What," he started, "is this?"

He motioned with both hands to the open area in a flurry, opening and closing them as if unsure where to even begin.

"What is what?" Breakdown asked, genuinely confused. He tried to lift his head off the berth, but still couldn't see far enough to identify the problem.

Knock Out reached inside and, pinched between two points of his sharpened digits, he lifted a tangle of wires. He seemed adverse to even touching it.

"Oh. Is it not supposed to look like that?"

"Don't be absurd!" Knock Out said, and scoffed.

He set the bundle aside and braced both hands on the edge of the opening to peer deeper inside.

"How are you even functioning right now? It looks as if one of those Earthling pests nested in here and rolled around-" Knock Out cut himself off and slowly lifted his head to regard him.

Breakdown braced for what he knew was coming.

"No way. Tell me there is no way you were actually apprehended by one of those fleshy ingrates."

"Okay."

He flung Breakdown an exasperated look as he said matter-of-factly, "Megatron is going to strip you for spare parts when he finds out about this!"

"He already knows I was…detained."

Knock Out sighed and pressed the tips of two fingers to his helm, as if to soothe an incoming headache.

"Why do I sense that there's a story behind this?"

"I told you, I don't-"

"Want to discuss it, yes," he said, resuming his work. "Breakdown, I am elbow deep in your scrapped internals. You owe me the juicy details, at the very least! And a portion of your Energon rations after this repair session, if we're being honest."

As he spoke, he pulled out more parts to examine. All were in a state of disorder – some were mangled beyond recognition, torn open or fell apart even in Knock Out's delicate hands. Breakdown winced, both at the other Decepticon's words and the sight of his disrepairs.

He thought of what to say while Knock Out continued to work, taking scans of the individual components. On the nearby screen, a diagram of his insides gradually loaded next to a full body schematic, the new one covered in red notices, with words like 'missing' or 'damaged' and accompanied by percentages. Knock Out really had his work cut out for him this time.

With a resigned huff, he told him everything. They were on no shortages of time, so he began from when he fought Bulkhead and was about to take his deserved victory, to being jumped by MECH and the resulting 'reverse engineering'.

"Classless hacks. Whoever did this job had no finesse to speak of," Knock Out said of their attempts.

When he reached the point of the story where he made his escape, Breakdown rushed through the explanation in a single, ineloquent rush. Though he tried, nothing got past Knock Out. In his surprise, he almost lost hold of the metal part he was investigating.

"Bulkhead – and then Starscream? They both came to your…rescue?" he asked in pure disbelief.

"Yes," Breakdown said, unable to prevent the sulking note from entering his voice.

"The Autobot was bad enough, but Starscream as well? Do you not understand the repercussions of being in his debt?"

"Hey!" he protested and started to sit up. Knock Out promptly pushed him back down, narrowly preventing the risk of throwing off his fragile repair efforts. "I didn't ask either of them to show up! And how was I supposed to know Megatron wouldn't send help? I'd rather you would have come to pick me up. Didn't anyone try to contact you?"

"Hardly. I wasn't even onboard until a short while ago. Apparently our esteemed leader doesn't consider abduction a noteworthy priority."

Both fell silent as this dark fact sunk in. Knock Out applied his full attention to the task of fixing his patient and, for the first time since the event, Breakdown contemplated the seriousness of his situation. As grudging as he felt toward Bulkhead's and Starscream's involvement, the fact of the matter was that he would not have survived the encounter were it not for their interference and secrecy. Megatron had standards, and it boiled the Energon in his systems to know that he did not meet them. Not even basic survival was within the realm of possibility for him.

This was exactly why he hadn't wanted to relay this event to anyone – especially so soon. The shame and horror was almost too much for even a seasoned warrior such as himself. Never had he been reduced to such a degree of helplessness, not to mention almost being reduced to his bare components, too, and by humans of all the ludicrous things.

Never again, he swore to himself, concentrating on the pain once more, and the fact that he only had one good eye. It would serve as the ultimate reminder.

Shaking himself from his reverie, he tried to lose himself in anything not dealing with his predicament.

"So wait, if you weren't here, where were you? On a mission, or something? I don't remember active duty on your roster for today."

"Hm?"

Breakdown cringed as Knock Out winched something back into place, jostling his entire frame in the process. When he didn't receive a response, he lifted his head to regard him intently.

"You were street racing again, weren't you."

Knock Out visibly tensed, fingers tapping on Breakdown's armor.

"I…may have rotated my tires and test driven them to gauge their continued dexterity."

He wasn't buying it. Though it was difficult to give a skeptical stare with only a single optic, he hadn't lost the capability altogether, if what followed was any indication. Knock Out released an exasperated growl and relented.

"One race, mind you, only one race! There was a cheeky upstart in this electric blue Dodge Charger with the gaudiest decals just begging to be taken down a notch or three."

"You think they're all cheeky upstarts, though."

"Because they are," Knock Out said, raising an eyebrow. "Although there was a quaint Shelby Mustang GT500 to die for. Pity those organics are too insecure to play for pink slips."

On the contrary, Breakdown reasoned as Knock Out went to retrieve replacement parts from the vessel's supply vault. Who knew what a hoarding nightmare Knock Out would be if he had that kind of access to spare equipment?

"Did you at least win?" he asked as soon as Knock Out returned.

"Naturally."

Breakdown grunted and said, "Glad one of us had a good night."

"You're alive, Breakdown. I'd consider that a 'good night'," Knock Out said dryly, though lacking in his customary sarcasm.

He finished with what repairs he could, warning that extensive combat was out of the question until he could rebuild what was left to do from scratch. Though it wasn't strictly necessary, Knock Out began repainting his armor. Breakdown was disgusted with himself for accepting the delay in the inevitable, but accept it he readily did.

"So I take it you'll be reporting to Megatron after this."

"Might as well get it over with."

"I could always accompany you to the command center – I've been stuck back here too long and could use a good stretch."

He was quick to respond, but not so quick that he couldn't stop himself at the last moment. Breakdown had almost missed the offer hidden there.

"This is my mess – I'll deal with it on my own."

"Hn."

Knock Out put the finishing touches on his face, slapping Breakdown's hand away when he instinctively tried to touch it in inspection.

"Then do try not to get yourself sent back here too soon."

"No promises. You know how the boss is."

He sat up as the bench rotated into the upright position, allowing him to leave.

"Quite. Assuming you're not met with Megatron's touching welcome, I'll contact you after I've completed your remaining components. You should function fine without them, since none are connected to primary systems, but you'll be at eighty-five percent capacity until then," Knock Out explained.

"Yeah, yeah," Breakdown said, rotating his neck to work out the remaining kinks. "I'll be sure to lay off demolition and being heavy machinery in the mean time."

Reaching the exit, he paused at its threshold. He glanced back, catching Knock Out examining his readouts rather keenly. A hand rested on the spray gun he'd discarded earlier, and Breakdown was surprised he'd resisted – and continued to resist – fixing the error on his finish for this long.

"Thanks for the check-up, Doc," he called back, in farewell.

Knock Out seemed to return to himself.

"Mm, consider yourself fortunate that all you'll owe me is some Energon," he said, waving him away and finally going back to detailing his door arm.

Breakdown left him in peace, preparing for his confrontation with Megatron. If he was fortunate, he'd be permitted to live because of his successful escape and survival of recent events. Starscream would most likely be present at the meeting, and Breakdown wanted nothing to do with him at this time – he didn't even want to so much as look at him.

Despite his efforts, Breakdown predicted that he'd earn Megatron's ire, and it would be directed at him without reprieve. The degradation that'd follow would leave the normally proud warrior meek and troubled – but this punishment, he knew, was under his control because it was his choice. This, he could handle on his own.

-Fin-