Chapter Text
Put simply, war is not a gentle thing. If Knockout had it his way, the war would’ve never happened.
Not only because of the seemingly endless suffering and destruction that a war like this one wrought, but, well… Knockout was a selfish mech. Not to the extent of someone like Starscream, but in the deepest corner of his spark, he knew what made him loathe this war the most.
It’d taken his conjunx from him.
The specifics of it had been flushed from his mind by high-grade energon and the tides of time, but bits and pieces survived to haunt his empty processor. It was during a territory scuffle that’d evolved into something more, and you and Knockout had tried to escape amongst the rubble, with no faction or plan other than the tether between your sparks.
When the dust had settled, Knockout had emerged a Decepticon, and you… hadn’t.
Knockout could’ve dealt with you being an Autobot (cross-faction relationships weren’t exactly uncommon), hell, he would’ve left the Decepticons if you’d so wished.
But after that day? He hadn’t seen you since.
He hadn’t been back to Cybertron in megacycles, but he knew he wouldn’t find you there online.
He’d be lying if he said he’d accepted it wholly and moved on since. His processor knew that you were long gone, but he couldn’t ignore that ache in his spark when his thoughts turned to you.
But there wasn’t time for reminiscing. Knockout had a job to do, quite a demanding one as he was the only trained medical professional aboard The Nemesis (even though his specific expertise wasn’t in repairing energon bursts or melted processors, but who was he to turn up such a prestigious job?)
His commlink crackled with Starscream’s voice; “Knockout? I will not repeat myself, you are needed in the south wing medical bay at onc-“
“I heard you the first time, ‘Screamer. I’m on my way.” He answered, closing the frequency just as Starscream began his usual indignant squawking at the (increasingly very apt) nickname.
He was indeed on his way, the sounds of his footsteps bouncing off the empty metal walls of the ship. The route to the south wing medical bay was one he knew well; he practically lived there, more so than the habstitute he’d just left.
With a quiet click-wurr, the doors opened, and Knockout stepped inside to be met with an uncharacteristically serious Starscream and, for once, each medical berth with a patient laying prone on it in various states of disrepair.
The witty quip died on Knockout’s glossa, and he rushed into the med bay.
“What happened?” He asked as he surveyed the state of his new patients.
“They’re refugees from an old Decepticon warship that came back online recently. They got shot down by Autobots and sent out a distress signal, which we intercepted. None of them are registered on the Decepticon database, however…”
And that’s when Knockout stopped paying attention. To Starscream, to the other patients, to everything but the one thing he never thought he’d see again.
It was you. It had to be. Battered and worn but still the same paint job, the same optics, the same build.
His conjunx.
He didn’t register when he started moving. The tunnel vision only broke once you were in his arms, his EM field surrounding yours, face plate pressed to your shoulder joint and the ridges in his body sliding into yours so perfectly like a puzzle piece, like he was meant too.
Knockout broke down once you started to embrace him back. The two of you held each other, babbling nothings and ‘I love you’s and kissing through the tears (once he could stand parting even that slightest bit from you).
He didn’t care what Starscream thought, he could make fun of him until his spark had gone out and his body had long rusted, but he didn’t care. Everything would work out, because he finally had you back, after so long of living without you.
“I missed you,” he said after parting from another kiss, cradling your face as gently as his claws would allow.
You smiled, wobbly yet so sweet and so loving Knockout almost broke down again, “I missed you, too.”