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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"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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