Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers…
Memories
If any question why we died, tell them our fathers lied.
-Kipling
To the rest of the Autobots, Prowl was an emotionless bot, a workaholic, master of paperwork, Head Tactical Commander and Optimus Prime's second-in-command. He was known to have a battle computer and occasional glitches due to illogical things. He was a very reasonable mech, but even he was a sparkling once, or at least what he was led to believe. Granted there were most likely rumors that he didn't possess creators, but either way, he would still hold onto those few memory files that even Jazz didn't know about.
These files, he had long ago stored within the deepest crevices of his processor in hopes that the likes of those who wanted to break his mind back then would most likely be unable to reach them. They were about 0.00001% likely to be found. With the knowledge of it being Jazz doing the searching, the outcome was boosted to 0.1%.
It had been long ago that Jazz wanted to break his mind, but in Jazz's defense, Prowl wanted to break the saboteur's mind as well. It was a mutual thing, but that race had ended some time ago, with neither of the two truly winning.
Those memories had been so precious to him, and yet here he was, sitting in his office, thinking about showing them to Jazz anyway. A smile broke through his emotionless mask as he played through one of the memory clips.
Prowl remembered as a youngling asking his sire whether or not he'd ever die. He could distinctively hear his sire answer, assuring him that both his creators and he wouldn't die. They'd always be together.
A single tear rolled down his faceplates as his smile was once again hidden behind his emotionless mask. His sire lied. Both of his creators had been killed while living in Praxis while Prowl had been doing what he did now.
Working for the Autobot cause.
He wiped his faceplates off with his servo as soon as he sensed someone at his door.
His sire lied. Many creators must have lied. They probably didn't think that a worldwide war would one day happen. Or perhaps they just didn't want to think about the possibilities.
Prowl tensed his slacking posture, doorwings stiff, optics gazing directly at the door as it slid open without even a knock. He knew who it was. He always knew who it was when they were that quiet.
To tell the truth, he was surprised that Jazz was entering his office through the door and not via air vents or the window for that matter in order to sneak up on him. Locked door or not, Jazz would always manage to show up in any room Prowl happened to be currently inhabiting.
Prowl set down his datapad that he had been holding looked at Jazz expectantly.
"Prowler, it's nice outside. Let's got outside before the acid rain starts up again!"
Prowl found himself being dragged out of his office. He internally sighed, knowing all too well that Jazz seemed to be in one of his moods to want to spend the entire day with Prowl regardless of what he was doing. There would be no escaping Jazz today.
