Prowl's optics flickered online and took in the cold, empty hab suite and the cold, empty berth beneath his frame. In most circumstances he was used to it, but he'd spent so long with Arcee next to him that finding her space vacant was a shock to his systems. She was never one to rise early; Prowl would always have to roll her off the berth and tell her time and time again that he was not retrieving her rations for her unless her joints were rusting as they spoke.

But from the stiffness of her stance when he finally found her, leaning on a metal column that might have once supported a Praxian embassy and sipping her energon in Cybertron's sunrise, that might have well been the case. For a moment he regretted letting Ratchet go off to get himself killed or driven mad from company of idiots on some folly quest for the Circle of Light as he meandered over to her, swirling his own ration cube idly- for some reason he found himself unable to orient his optics towards her. As if it made any difference; no matter where he looked he was met with shades of pink. Her armour, his energon, even Cybertron's version of a sky was often softly tinged with carmine as Shaula's light reflected off suspended mineral fragments.

He preferred Arcee's armour over the other options, though, so with that rationalisation he took his energon and peds over to her.

"You don't usually refuel standing." If she was surprised by his appearance or comment she hid it well, barely nodding in greeting as she drained her cube.

"I thought I saw a NAIL hanging around near the radio tower." Prowl suspected that she knew just as well as he did the shoddiness of her lie- if there were any movement near their base the perimeter sensors would have picked up on it long before any Cybertronian optics would have. The hardness in her optics and the grip on her empty cube told him it was wise not to point it out, though.

He turned the subject to more immediate curiosities. "Any reason for the early awakening?"

"I was with Flatline." The explanation came too fast and hurried from her vocaliser, as if she had prepared and practiced it thoroughly beforehand.

"Why?" There was also the logical fallacy of anyone with a decent processor willingly going to Flatline for anything short of a lecture on how cold constructed bodies are easier to dissect than forged ones. And if those didn't stack up enough to warrant scrutiny, her optics averted and finding acute interest in her ration cube dregs told volumes of suspicion as well.

She shrugged her shoulders, scraping them against the column at her back. "I had some... spark pains. EM field glitches. Standard things to expect when you're dodging gunfire half your life." That was true at least- Prowl had felt tinges of fluxing static in her field when they bonded, and experienced an ounce of her pain himself through bond echoes. They weren't full sparkmates, but their sparks had been bared near each other enough that they both experienced muted traits of a true couple bond.

"And what was Flatline's diagnosis?" Arcee reacted to his words like they'd slapped her on the faceplate, from how suddenly she wrenched her neck aside and refused to look at him any longer. Prowl had known her for just a few orns since he reigned Cybertron and its less civilised inhabitants under his control, but in that time they'd pulled together like magnets of opposite poles, and were just as stubborn in staying together that way. He never expected to see her so... scared under the weight of his concerned gaze. Her servos crossed, backstrut compressed and optics lowered; all done to make her look small, insignificant. Completely unlike the Arcee he knew and, eventually, fell in love with.

It all added up to something big and, no doubt, threatening. He took a long sip from his cube to prepare himself and give her time to ready her reply.

"According to him..." The intake Arcee shuddered out sounded like knives scraping against her fans. "I'm carrying."

Prowl spluttered into his cube, but she seemed to anticipate his reaction. "What, a virus? A pathogen?" The panic that erupted in Prowl's processor and voice was dampened somewhat by the incredulous side-glare Arcee directed at him; the fire in her optics gave him hope that she wasn't completely different, but it also made him scared for the helm-smack that usually followed it. Her servos remained folded though, and she kicked at the ground as she spat her explanation out.

"I'm carrying. A... a sparkling."

It was just as well Prowl didn't try drinking any more, as it would have just ended up coughed up all over his chestplate. His eyeridges and door wings twitched as if they were malfunctioning, and his optics threatened to burn out from how brightly they lit up with disbelief.

"There- there hasn't been any sparklings born... or even conceived in centuries!" He seemed to think that if he said it with enough conviction and confusion all would be suddenly right with his crumbling world. "It doesn't make sense-"

"Whether or not it makes sense doesn't change the fact that I've got one inside me," Arcee muttered with iron finality, clenching her hands into fists as hard as her tone. "Leeching off my spark... like some parasite."

It was clear she was less than joyous about the prospect of being a progenitor. Prowl was still trying to comprehend his new reality and fit together all the pieces into a simple pile that he could deal with. They kept slipping through his digits when they reached for them though, so he just ended up looking like a braindead drone with his jawplate flapping- literally.

"Prowl, come on!" The slap on his faceplate sufficiently jolted Prowl back to the stinging situation. "I need you here!" He rubbed at his chin both to prod his processor and soothe the harsh tingling that lingered on the metal.

"What-" His vocaliser closed off in a hiss of static, and he had to cough before going on. "What are you planning to do?"

Arcee spent a few extra moments staring at him with furrowed eyeridges, as if accusing him for putting her in this predicament. But she couldn't keep it up forever, and her optics went dim as their stare dropped to the floor. "I don't know," she admitted in a sigh, slapping her backstrut against the column again as if her legs were about to give up on keeping her standing. "It's already a few solar weeks old. Soon it'll bind to a chamber wall and start building itself a protoform..."

Prowl knew just about as much about growing sparklings as any regular Cybertronian –that was, nothing at all- but it was obvious to even him that in time there would be nothing either of them could do about it, except let Primus' hand do his work.

They still had some time though, Prowl realised grimly with a furtive glance to Arcee. She'd placed two digits on her brow to rub some hollow relief into her pounding temples, and her palm hid most of her faceplate.

"Arcee, if..." Again he had to cough as his throat tightened around his words, threatening to choke him with them. "If you want to terminate it, I understand. Even if there wasn't a war following every day of our lives, I... I know this is the last thing you'd want to deal with. "Prowl pushed aside his own feelings about the subject, whatever they might have been. He wouldn't let a bot suffer just to please his own needs, especially not Arcee.
There was an alien softness in her optics when she eventually dragged their gaze towards him, lowering her hand. "I considered it a lot." Her voice was vacant aside from a slight hint of sullenness. "Hell, it's still tempting me now. I'm not gonna lie and say I'm happy about this, that this is some great miracle..." Her fists clenched again, but only for a nanoclick before she let her digits drop with a sigh. "But maybe I've caused enough death in my life."

"Arcee-"

"I still have some time to make a decision." She said it as much to reassure herself than remind Prowl. "I don't know what one I'll choose, but... I'll try not to regret it, whatever the outcome."

"I'll be with you the whole way, 'Cee. We're both in on this." He supposed it wasn't much different from staying with an injured teammate in the middle of battle- except this battle would result in more lives made than lost. With that thought on his mind he couldn't stop a strange, serene smile drifting onto his faceplate. "I'm... I'm a sire." He'd only read the word in some ancient datapads he came across in the Hall of Records, but he knew it meant something like 'creator'.

Arcee saw the stupid grin on his face and couldn't help but echo it. "I guess so. Did you ever think you...?" She trailed off, letting him fill in the gap as he desired.

Prowl shrugged. "I didn't even know what a sire was most of my fledglinghood. And I never thought I'd be following orders from Orion Pax or camped out in the ruins of Iacon, but... it seems Primus has his own way of shuffling cards of fate."

"D'you think Primus hate us?"

That was the second most surprising thing she'd said that day. It took him a good five klicks to glue together an answer, but she showed no impatience while he did it. If anything, she was more at peace now than he'd ever seen her before.

"I asked myself that a lot during the Golden Age," he started, cringing internally at the part he played in enabling the Senate's shady dealings. "I ended up hating my own species, so it seemed just as likely our creator despised us as well. But now... I don't know. I think everything happens for a reason. Even bad things. The reason for this..." He gestured randomly to Arcee, not knowing where sparklings ended up when they were sucking off their carrier's energon lines. "Maybe Primus is just experimenting. Maybe he's just bored-"

"That sounds familiar." Prowl only realised a few nanoklicks after Arcee's interruption that he'd fundamentally described Jhiaxus' own mindset. He just called her tormentor a god.

"I-I didn't mean that-"

"I know you didn't." Arcee gave a shrug of her own, with no indication of offense. "Go on."

Even with her dismissive tone, Prowl went on more carefully. "Maybe he's trying to improve us. If there are more bots like you out there, and they can conceive... repopulation after the war would be a lot more economical than mass cold construction all over again." That was the most logical explanation he could formulate, without going into the mad intricacies of a god's processor.

Arcee seemed to contemplate his theories for a few long moments, rubbing her digits together to displace stray flakes of paint.

Then she offered her own opinion. "Or maybe he's just an aft that needs a good kicking."

"Yeah. Maybe." Prowl chuckled as his hand drifted to Arcee's. It was warm from the rising midday sun, and for a few klicks he thought he felt a pulsing in the metal.