rekindleme | it's a test to find that silver lining [OPEN]

Entry tags:

it's a test to find that silver lining [OPEN]

Who: Fulcrum & Krok [closed]; there is an [OPEN] prompt available too!
Where: Fulcrum & Krok at Krok's room. Otherwise, marketplace or boardwalk a-go-go.
When: The weekend.
Summary: Fulcrum is concerned about his worrywort of a commanding officer and checks up on him [closed] while on the flipside he's also shopping for some specific equipment [OPEN].
Warnings: Big dumb robots with feelings

[CLOSED TO KROK]

Ever since the medical exams from Ratchet, Fulcrum has definitely made note of one thing: the lack of his commanding officer being around and mother henning the hell out of his crew.

It's not for lack of caring. Primus, if there's one thing Fulcrum knows, it is most definitely that Krok cares! If anything, it has to do with him caring. Caring so damned much and worrying and now it's somehow confined him to his room. Fortunately, Fulcrum has no problem taking it upon himself to worry right back at him.

So, he stands in front of his captain's door and gives it a knock.

"It's me. Can I come in?"

-=-=-

[OPEN]

"Okay, so."

Fulcrum squints down at his paper list. Paper is such a weird concept that just kind of seems to be a big waste of resources, but it's a common thing to use here apparently. Bizarre to him, really. A lot of the habits these organics have is both endearing and frustrating. No, he doesn't think too highly of most of them, but he doesn't entirely dislike them either.

But this paper thing's silly.

"Yeah, I gotta make a data pad," the K-Con mutters to himself.

For now, he's shopping around for some fairly specific material on his list. Mostly, he's looking for equipment, or objects he can make into equipment. Things he can repurpose in some way.

At the very least, he's certainly not unapproachable!

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Krok has, indeed, been largely sequestering himself. He's barely moved off the sofa to eat. He knows better; it's terrible for his health, period. But he's been too afraid to find out how upset they are with him, Ratchet's reassurances notwithstanding, to even look out his door. Spinister's quarters are just across the corridor, after all, and most of them live in this same building. Better to stay in than risk it.

Of course they could just come calling… a point he'd forgotten before he heard that knocking at the door. He tucks his head down into the sofa cushions when he hears Fulcrum's voice and says nothing. Fulcrum will find the door locked if he tries it.

"C'mon, I know you're in there!"

Fine, then. He'll just try the door. The door that's very locked when he tries to push it open. And there's no way he could break it if he tried to convince himself for five seconds that he was at all manly, so forcing it open will not work.

Maybe pleading will.

"Krok, open. Please? I just wanna talk."

Or he'll just get very creative.

He hadn't expected any of them to want to talk to him this soon, if at all. Krok sits up, slowly. Of course, if it's just to yell at him, he deserves that, really. For a moment, he considers just lying back down and leaving Fulcrum to whatever devices the K-con has.

It's almost a full minute later that the lock snaps back and the door opens just enough for a face to face conversation. Krok's expression is deliberately, painfully neutral.

"Sorry," he says, adding the lie, "I was asleep." But not a hint of outrage or accusation in his voice; being awakened is a minor discomfort at best.

For a moment, he thinks of crazy, ridiculous plans of how to get inside. Things like "piss off Ironhide enough and trick him to break down the door" was a little extreme, but he seriously considered the possibility of having to climb up the outside and come in through the window.

Fortunately, he doesn't have to do any of that when he hears the lock disengage and Krok is opening the door.

"Oh." Fulcrum rubs the back of his neck. "Sorry for waking you, then," he says, not immediately suspecting anything. "Can I come in?"

Fulcrum is bound and determined that Krok won't be allowed to just wallow in misery for once, is he? Krok sighs – a shallow thing, quiet and uneven – before stepping aside to let Fulcrum in. It feels just as tense for him as the other night, for wholly different reasons.

"Did you need anything?" he asks and gestures toward the kitchen. He has rations to spare; it's difficult, forcing himself to drink an entire cube in one go. He's not used to such largesse. He doesn't mind sharing.

Once he's allowed in, Fulcrum slides into the room quickly, just in case Krok changes his mind. Best to not test that possibility.

"Ah, no. Strangely enough. It's kind of weird being fed on a consistent basis." Fulcrum cracks a smile. "Thank you, though. Let's, uh. Let's go sit?"

If Krok seems dull or numb, he can blame it on his lie; he's just groggy. He shuts the door – locks it – and follows Fulcrum into the living room. The hab suites – apartments, whatever, are more generous than any military quarters Krok has ever had, and he doesn't get the impression that this suite is even all that large. The distinction between sleeping and living areas alone is novel.

Speaking of sleep, the sofa even still bears creases where Krok's various angles settled into the upholstery. He gives it over to Fulcrum now, sitting in his chair instead.

"What was it you wanted to talk about?" he asks, feigning enthusiasm for a conversation he's sure he won't enjoy. There's a cube of energon, only halfway consumed, still on the coffee table. Not the one Ratchet left for him; Krok at least managed to follow doctor's orders and polish that one off. This one he just couldn't manage before going back to simply existing on the sofa.

Honestly, he feels much the same way about the rooms they've been assigned. Hell, he'd been fine with his room on the W.A.P.; the cells of Styx weren't exactly made for comfort, after all. To him, this is practically luxurious and the furniture is awfully, uh, fluffy.

The K-Con sits on the sofa, but as close as he can get to Krok. He's not about to let his commanding officer out of his sight.

"I just, um." Fulcrum shrugs his shoulders a little bit, looking sheepish. "I haven't seen you since that medical exam, and I was concerned, honestly. You had Misfire and Spinister go through it, too. Right?"

Krok winces involuntarily at the very blunt reminder of the entire reason he hasn't wanted to leave his flat and he can't mask it.

"…I did," he says after a moment to compose himself. "I needed to be sure you were all healthy."

The reaction is apparent, and Fulcrum forms a soft, sympathetic smile. He thought so, based on what Ratchet had to say. He reaches out to put his hand on Krok's wrist.

"I know that. I'm not angry with you about that, you know. You're looking out for us. Right? Like always."

Krok sits very, very still under Fulcrum's hand, looking from it to Fulcrum. How does he answer?

"I wouldn't blame you if you were," is what he finally manages, weariness creeping in.

Oh, he could have told them beforehand, maybe – and then all of them would have found ways to avoid being there, and nothing would have been accomplished, and they'd be wary of him anyway.

"Well, fortunately, I'm not upset with you in the least. Hell, I don't know why you'd think I'd have any right to be."

Contact's always a thing with this crew, and Fulcrum hasn't figured out what exactly works for him. He likes it, he really does. The personable nature of Krok and the others is another reason why he enjoys their company so much. So, he's trying.

He settles his hand down from Krok's wrist to the back of his hand.

"The ambush, dragging you into procedures with an Autobot medic," Krok says, voice turning bitter and wry. "I can't imagine." He shrinks slightly from Fulcrum's hand this time; not enough to withdraw entirely, but enough that tension aches in his arms, shoulders, neck. Not because he doesn't want Fulcrum touching him – but he's baffled at the gentleness, the lack of recrimination.

"You didn't hurt me. Chromedome did," Fulcrum replies, trying to sound as stern about that as possible. "And oh no, you're making sure I'm healthy. How dare you."

When Krok shrinks a little, Fulcrum's grip becomes a bit tighter. Not enough to force the other Decepticon to stay still -- as if Fulcrum was physically capable -- but enough to indicate he'd rather Krok didn't move away.

"I sincerely doubt Misfire and Spinister are angry with you. The situation isn't the best, but you're just looking out for us. You always are. It was. It was hard." Fulcrum looks away, finding the floor suddenly very interesting. "But I'm not angry with you. If you warned me ahead of time, I probably wouldn't have bothered coming. Not because I disrespect you, but... well, you know."

No, maybe not entirely, but hopefully the implication enough about having to see an Autobot will be what Krok needs to believe.

"Besides, I've done way more damage to this crew than you ever could, okay?"

Krok shakes his head once, firmly, and only tries to free his hand so he can rest it on Fulcrum's shoulder.

"You're not to blame." He gives Fulcrum a reassuring squeeze, optics glinting hard. "And don't ever say that again." It's true enough that getting involved with Fulcrum is what brought the DJD to them, yes, but it was and always will be Krok's decision to fight that caused the most pain. They could have left Fulcrum to the DJD – perhaps, Krok thinks, in some other lifetime, because that thought never even entered the realm of possibility – or simply run, all of them. They could have done anything but fight as Krok suggested. That's the only reason Flywheels is dead.

It's a lingering guilt, that one, and it just compounds Krok's worries in the now. Briefly, his grip tightens before he withdraws his hand. Krok's leadership lost them a crewmate and put them under the examinations of an Autobot medic. Any self-respecting Decepticon would mutiny.

"As for the medic, well," Krok goes on, voice much rougher, quieter, categorically dropping any further discussion about Fulcrum's culpability, "he said… he said it was for all Cybertronians. And if the war really is over, you lot are no less deserving than any of them."

The hand slips free from Fulcrum's, resting onto his shoulder now. At this point his optics are locked with Krok's, and he gets a good look at his captain's determination.

"But, I--" Fulcrum winces. "I. I lied to you! I lied to everyone and you all still stood up for me. You got hurt for it and-- and poor Flywheels--"

Anxiously, he wrings his hands. He doesn't know what makes this better, honestly. He'd been prepared ever since he saw Krok again for his captain to be furious with him, because any other Decepticon in their right mind would have been. Any other Decepticon would have thrown him to the DJD. Krok and the rest are so very atypical, and Fulcrum loves that about them.

But it also means that he didn't trust them all completely initially. If Fulcrum had trusted them, maybe things would have turned out differently. He can't take that back, though. He can only live with the fact that Flywheels is dead and Krok was maimed and everyone else was Listed because of him.

He doesn't like that he can't get another word in otherwise. Fulcrum frowns and sighs, folding his arms.

"That sounds like something he would say," he muses softly. "As far as Autobots and the rumors go, Ratchet isn't too bad."

The pain that flashes across Krok's face when he hears Flywheels' name is still acute; the others had their chance to grieve, in true Scavenger fashion, but he's still processing it. Between surviving and dealing with the Galactic Council grabbing Misfire, there hasn't really been much spare time for it.

He swallows it back down, though.

"I'm… sorry." Krok's voice is much, much lower, and thin. "I know it was hard on you – I knew it would be hard on you, and I made you stay." And here Fulcrum is trying to apologise to him for something else entirely. There's no reason any of his crew should be worrying about him; that isn't how it's supposed to work. If he can only keep the focus on Fulcrum, he doesn't have to think about dealing with his own problems just yet.

Krok's reaction makes him flinch, guilt settling in quite nicely. Fulcrum shouldn't have said anything about it, but it bothers him. They've never really addressed it and everyone's just sort of accepted him into the crew despite everything. He's glad for it! But he knows the damage he's caused as a result of his actions.

And here Krok is, apologizing to him for the whole thing with the Autobot medic. He's never had any commanding officer like this, much less one that apologizes to him for looking out for him.

He does look a little startled, then he forces a small laugh. "It's-- nothing. I mean, it's just me being me. You know, the big coward that I am and all."

Even though that's not entirely true, the important part is this: "I know why you had me stay, and I'm not angry with you. I'm not. You don't have to worry about that. And I'm not upset with Ratchet particularly, either."

Fulcrum could be upset with Ratchet all the day long. Ratchet would just have to get over it. Krok seems less convinced that Fulcrum really does forgive him the whole débâcle, bur he nods all the same. He can tell Fulcrum will just keep dwelling on it otherwise.

"All right, all right," he says.

A small sigh escapes him. This is kind of a tough conversation, but it's the way of stubborn Decepticons -- especially ones who, apparently, fret so much about his crew. He doesn't entirely believe Krok when he acknowledges Fulcrum's words.

So, with some determination, Fulcrum cycles his vents and his back plating fluffs out a little before he says, "All right. So. You should come out of this flat with me, then."

"Why?" Krok asks, blunt, simple. It isn't as though there's really anything for him to do.

A niggling little sliver of doubt creeps in. What if something happened while he sat in here hating himself? What if Chromedome attacked again? Is it Misfire? Spinister? No, he tells himself, Spinister wouldn't let himself be a target.

Every new possibility that he thinks up draws him a little more tense until his arms are shaking and his hands are balled into tight fists on his thighs.

"What happened?" He finally forces the words out.

The reaction is almost comical, but Fulcrum still finds the situation serious enough to keep a straight face. He folds his arms and frowns a little more.

"The only thing that's happened is that you've been cooped up in this place since the exams happened. You've sulked enough over something that I'm not even angry with you over. At least-- I dunno, have a walk with me? Outside of here."

Fulcrum has a point, damn him. But Krok has his fears and the last few days have been a fine reacquainting of himself with most of them. He sags with relief when Fulcrum doesn't immediately tell him one of the others is hurt, but doesn't budge and certainly doesn't take up the offer.

He thought he couldn't cry any more, not after all this time. But his face feels hot and his fuel pump seems to twist and unknot itself at the same time. He buries his face in his hands to hide the glow of rapidly overheating optical filaments and cycles air in deep, rattling gusts, shaking from the force of his fans as they stop and start.

"Krok..."

He wasn't wrong, but he honestly didn't know how badly over stressed his commanding officer has been. The determined frown is gone, replaced with a more sympathetic look as he stands up. Carefully, he places his arms loosely around Krok's shoulders, nudging him close -- that is, unless Krok refuses the contact. That's not something he'll fight him on.

"It's okay. We're all okay. I promise."

"I thought – I thought–" Krok stutters into his hands, dignity forgotten. "When you asked me to come out, I thought–" He can't even make himself say it, and just lets Fulcrum hold him.

It's too many things all at once, and all of it accumulated since Clemency, and all coming out in frame-racking sobs.

"Krok, you're always worrying."

Fulcrum doesn't even sound annoyed, more just affectionate and somewhat admiring Krok's nature in general. He doesn't want his commanding officer to be as upset as he is, but he's never had someone care as much about his crew as Krok does. It's Krok's best quality.

It's also his worst.

Gently, he squeezes his arms around Krok, then runs his fingers down his back lightly. It's not the kind of comfort he's personally ever received, but it's something he'd like to have had in the past. So, he hopes it's the right thing to do for Krok.

"Everything's okay. I'm sorry, I think maybe I don't do, uh, 'demanding' very well. But you've been cooped up too long in here by yourself."

Krok would like to stop. He shouldn't be unburdening himself on Fulcrum of all people, who has enough going on in his own life to last another millennium at least. But he couldn't really say anything to Ratchet at the time and Fulcrum… Fulcrum is here and understands. So without even thinking about it, Krok wraps his arms around Fulcrum's waist and hides his face in the lanky 'Con's midsection and just holds onto him.

"I can't," he says piteously, shuddering. "I can't lose another one of you."

As soon as Krok returns the embrace, Fulcrum tightens his hold a little. His hand strokes down his captain's back, slow and tracing, meant to be comforting. His spark goes out to him, it really does.

Fulcrum almost apologies, but he chokes on it. He knows Krok won't want to hear it, but he still blames himself for what happened to Flywheels.

"You won't," he says instead. "We're probably the safest here than we've ever been, right? No DJD, no scrambling for supplies. You won't lose us, Krok. Hell, I think you're kind of stuck with all of us."

The sound Krok makes is a laugh and a sob all in one, but the spasms racking him are slowly, slowly subsiding, and Fulcrum's hand soothing down his back is beginning to ease away some of the tension. Still, he doesn't budge.

"If… if I'd just told everyone to run," he rasps. "If I hadn't suggested fighting…" He can't say the words, but they hang in the air, heavy, accusing. Flywheels would still be alive.

Fortunately, Fulcrum isn't in any hurry to push him away, if ever. The K-Con remains still, willing to be Krok's support this time. Who knows how long he's been supporting others?

"And if I hadn't lied," Fulcrum says flatly. "I know-- I know, you said to not mention it again, but there were factors involved. And we... we can't take it back. We can only do better in the future."

They can't make Flywheels alive again. They can only make sure that the rest of them don't die somehow.

"Nobody blames you. We didn't have a whole lot of options, and we did what we could for what little we had. If we ran, they would have chased us. You know that." Fulcrum settles his hand on the back of Krok's head. "Krok, the only person blaming you is you."

Someone has to, Krok thinks. Someone has to blame him; the others won't. Fulcrum won't. And the others aren't to blame.

"Because it's my fault," Krok finally says, anguished. His arms tighten around Fulcrum and he digs his fingers in, briefly, a spasm that passes as quickly as it came. He's a strategist. He should have been able to find a better way.

"Krok--" Fulcrum lets out a startled vent when he feels Krok's fingers dig in. Mostly out of surprise than anything else. "Krok, listen: it isn't your fault. You didn't kill Flywheels. You didn't hurt me. And the best thing we can do right now is look after each other, which is exactly what you've been doing. It's what you always do."

"I was afraid." The words start tumbling over one another in spite of Fulcrum's reassurances. Even though some part of Krok knows Fulcrum's right – but Fulcrum is listening, and Krok's spark aches to shed some of the weight. "I was afraid," he confesses, "when I realised I was having trouble with fuel… and then you all arrived… I was afraid." He bows his head. "I couldn't afford to say no when Ratchet made his offer. Even if it meant all of you hated me."

And oh, how he'd been afraid of that.

"I'm sorry," he sighs, voice shaking. "I'm sorry, Fulcrum." For the exam, for putting all this on him.

"Hey."

The K-Con wriggles a moment so he can crouch down, closer to how Krok is sitting. He keeps his arms around his captain, as tight as he can make it. "I forgive you. Not I ever blamed you, but I do forgive you. You had to make a choice for us, and it was a smart one."

The hand continues to lightly brush down Krok's back. "Thank you for looking out for us. And hell, if that's what you do when you're afraid, you still make smarter choices than I do. All I do is run away." He cracks a smile. It's meant to be a joke, but it's a bit self-deprecating.

Three little words. Barely anything in the grand scheme. Three tiny words that are exactly what Krok needs to hear right now.

I forgive you.

He slides off the sofa to his knees on the floor, still hanging onto Fulcrum, but it's relief dragging him down, and though his sigh is thin and uneven, it's exhaustion, not anguish. He barely even hears Fulcrum cracking a joke at his own expense; he's too busy saying thank you.

As Krok slides down onto the floor, Fulcrum goes with him. He sits down and gently tugs his captain to lean against him. Not that the technician is particularly strong, but he'll his best to bear Krok's weight for awhile, figuratively and literally.

He smiles patiently and rubs his cheek lightly against the top of Krok's helm.

"It's okay."

Krok sits that way, trying to find his centre again, for a few minutes. Part of him doesn't want to budge, needing the support Fulcrum offers so freely, but he's only too aware that he's probably heavy on the lanky 'Con and can't lean into him too much longer.

Slowly, reluctantly, he loosens his hold and sits back. His hands linger on Fulcrum's arms, though.

He starts to speak, to apologise for putting all this on his friend, but the words won't come. So he just looks at the floor, shame creeping across his face.

Cautiously, he uses his fingertips to touch under Krok's chin, to try to nudge his face up so that Fulcrum can look at him in the optics. He offers a small smile of reassurance.

"Krok, it's okay. No one can be strong forever, and you're allowed to rely on your crew. On your friends. Someone's gotta look out for you when you forget to look after yourself, anyway." Fulcrum gently bumps his forehead with Krok's. "Okay?"

Krok doesn't fight Fulcrum's hand and he can't quite hide his miserable expression. They depend on him; he's not strictly qualified, but they depend on him to be in charge, to have a plan, to take care of them. And he's trying.

And Fulcrum's trying so hard to help him up. In spite of himself, Krok leans into Fulcrum, taking that impossibly gentle headbutt for the friendly gesture he knows it is.

"…Okay," he says after a few seconds, and nods slightly. "Okay."

A satisfied smile remains at the confirmation. This time, he believes Krok's acknowledgement. He places his hand lightly to Krok's shoulder.

"Okay," he replies in confirmation. "I know I can trust and rely on all of you, but you can do the same with me, Krok. I'm not going anywhere, and you can always count on me."

"Some captain I am, huh?" Krok murmurs, but it's with a faint sort of smile and none of the self-recrimination it would have had only a few minutes ago. He pushes Fulcrum to his feet first, then hauls himself off the floor and back onto the sofa with a grunt. He feels… drained, but at the same time, better.

"Yeah, you are some captain," he teases Krok, grinning.

As soon as Krok sits back down onto the sofa, Fulcrum isn't shy about sitting next to him. Krok isn't about to get rid of him anytime soon.

"Honestly, I haven't had a commanding officer I've liked as much as you. Then again, most of the others kind of don't give a damn about their crew half as much as you. You just, um. You need to remember your own limits, that's all. Because you do have them."

Krok has limits, yes. Painfully stretched and run thin, because he's an historian, a strategist, not a captain, and Fulcrum's getting a good look at all the ragged edges today. Still, he warms under the unexpected praise and looks away awkwardly, because he's not above feeling flattered when given acknowledgement.

"I know," he says. He doesn't add that he's not sure he can afford to have those limits any more – or at least not right now, not until things are settled and he knows problems like Chromedome are handled.

At Krok's humble reaction, Fulcrum chuckles quietly and gives him a friendly bump in the shoulder with his own. It's not like any of them are used to praise in the slightest, but Fulcrum's willing to give it when he sees it, especially when it's honest and not in a way where he's trying to save his own plating.

"Just remember that we're here for you. I know you can't really express your limits around Misfire and Spinister easily." Not to pull a Flywheels, but bless their sparks; Misfire and Spinister have their own strengths and limits, and their strengths aren't always going to be offering a shoulder to someone. Fulcrum gets that.

"So. Talk to me, if you have to. I don't mind. You guys mean a lot to me and I know I'm, uh. Not that strong, so. I'd like to do what I can."

It's hard for Krok to accept Fulcrum's offer. He's supposed to take care of Fulcrum, not the other way around. But it's equally hard to refuse, because he's tired and lonely. Normally, Crankcase would let him babble, and just grunt, but it was enough just for Krok to have the ear of someone willing, someone who understood. It isn't as though Fulcrum offering is all that different, he tells himself. But, he counters, Fulcrum is one of his foundlings.

But Fulcrum offers, freely. Krok isn't simply putting this on him unsolicited. And he needs a shoulder to lean on.

"…All right," he says finally, hesitantly.

It's a small victory. Fulcrum smiles warmly and seems satisfied with the answer. His hand gives Krok's a quick squeeze before letting go, and the K-Con sits back in the sofa a little.

There isn't much that he can do here, but he can do this.

"Good. Thank you." Fulcrum gives a little sigh. That makes him feel quite a bit better, actually.

"You're… welcome?" Krok mumbles, not quite sure why Fulcrum's thanking him. The lanky 'Con is the one doing Krok all the favours here.

Still. Warmth that has everything to do with comfort and gratitude, and nothing with internal temperature, creeps through him slowly, and Krok can't quite help the slow smile dimming his optics.

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it's a test to find that silver lining [OPEN]

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