"ANGRY."

Breakdown didn't expect to feel anything human again.

He was a soldier. A Decepticon bruiser. Pain was routine. Scars were trophies. And losing an eye? Just another statistic in the war effort.

But when he stepped into the med bay and saw Y/n, hunched forward on the berth with her head supported by her hand, crutches at her side and her eyes dimmed behind those dark lenses... he felt something flicker in his spark.

Not pity.

Recognition.

She didn't look up when he walked in, even as the ground trembled faintly under his heavy footfalls.

"...Back already?" she mumbled.

"Yeah. Knockout's idea," Breakdown grunted, leaning a shoulder against the wall with a soft clang. "He says I 'connect better with you.' Whatever that means."

Y/n tilted her head slightly, arm still propping it up. "Because I'm broken."

Breakdown paused. His optic flickered. "...You're not broken."

"You are." she said bluntly, then added: "Missing an eye. Big dent in your chest plate."

He grunted. "Fair."

There was a beat of silence. But it wasn't awkward. It was... calm. Shared. They both knew what it was like to be stared at too long, whispered about too often. She couldn't walk without help. He couldn't see depth the same anymore. They both tilted toward the side they could trust—the side that worked.

"You know," Breakdown said after a minute, "Decepticons never let me forget what I lost. Even Knockout—he jokes about it. Says I should just get a shiny new optic and stop complaining."

Y/n's eyes flicked toward him behind her lenses. "But that's not the point."

"No. It's not," he agreed, quietly. "It's not about what you lost. It's about how everyone else treats you after."

She nodded slowly. "Like you're less. Or worse—like you're an inconvenience."

Breakdown looked at her with something almost gentle in his lone optic. "Yeah. Like that."

Y/n reached down and tapped one of her mechanical knee braces, then lifted her arm to show how she always had to keep her head up with her hand.

"My spine is loose. My legs shift out of place. My balance sucks." She said it as if reading a shopping list. "People think I'm creepy because I don't act right. I mimic. I speak my actions."

"...But you're still here."

"So are you." she returned, monotone. Then—just faintly—her voice softened. "That's kinda cool."

Breakdown chuckled, a low rattle in his throat. "You think I'm cool, huh?"

"Miko does. And she's stupid. So maybe she's right."

He let out a surprised laugh. A real one. And to his even greater surprise...

Y/n smiled.

A tiny, crooked thing. But it was real.

And Breakdown—this massive, battle-worn mech with only one optic left and a thousand dents he never bothered to buff out—felt seen for the first time in a long, long time.

"...Thanks, kid," he muttered.

"You're welcome, Cyclops."

"...Okay. I take it back."

late—well past midnight in Jasper, Nevada. The desert air was still and dry, wind whispering through brush and sand like old ghosts humming lullabies. The distant glow of the town lights barely touched the edge of the horizon.

Breakdown crouched carefully behind a line of trees near the outskirts, his plating faintly gleaming under the moonlight. Cradled carefully in his servo was Y/n, bundled in a loose sweater that hung off her frame like a curtain. She didn't say anything, arms looped loosely around the support strut on his thumb, her head resting against the side of his hand for balance.

Her lenses flicked with dull light. She was tired.

But still very much awake.

"I ain't supposed to be doing this," Breakdown muttered quietly as he reached her house. "You know that, right?"

"Mhm," Y/n responded absently. "But you're doing it anyway."

He gave a small grunt—half amusement, half guilt. "You've got guts, kid. Or a death wish."

"Mm. Probably both."

Carefully, Breakdown knelt down and set her at the edge of her porch. She picked up her crutches, adjusting them under her arms in silence, moving with that same careful, off-kilter gait of hers. Once upright, she turned back to look up at him—small, inhuman in her posture, expression unreadable under those black lenses and faint yellow X-eyes.

She raised her hand. Slowly. Then gave a flat, robotic "wave wave."

Breakdown blinked, then chuckled. "You're weird."

"You're blue."

"...Touché."

Without another word, she turned and walked into her house, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

The Nemesis loomed in the sky like a storm cloud waiting to collapse.

Breakdown transformed the moment he was back on the flight deck, metal plates shifting back into his bipedal form. He moved fast, tried to avoid the main hall—unsuccessfully.

Knockout was already waiting outside the med bay, arms crossed, one optic narrowed suspiciously.

"Back late, aren't we?" he drawled, tapping a manicured claw against his hip.

Breakdown rolled his optics. "I had a thing."

"A thing, huh?" Knockout leaned closer. "And did that thing happen to involve a certain unnerving human girl with brown-yellow eyes and zero concept of sarcasm?"

Breakdown didn't flinch. "Maybe."

Knockout stared at him for a long beat, his expression unreadable.

Then he sighed dramatically, turning on his heel. "Well. If Megatron finds out, you're on your own. But between you and me?"

He looked back.

"She's less creepy when she's not here. Good luck, champ."

And with a swish of his perfectly polished armor, Knockout disappeared down the corridor.

Breakdown exhaled slowly and leaned back against the cold wall of the ship. For a moment, his mind wandered to those weird little drawings on Y/n's walls. The X's. The overlapping symbols. The fact she never really smiled—but looked at you like she could.

He rubbed the back of his neck.

"...Yeah. She's weird," he muttered again.

But he didn't say it like it was a bad thing.

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