Bold=Meister
Italics=Jazz
Both=both
Prowl is dead.
Gone.
No matter how skilled Ratchet may be, not even he is that good.
I look at the closed medbay door again and my spark clenches tightly. I shouldn't have looked. The sight just sends a fresh flow of coolant down my cheeks.
With a small whimper I turn back to face the empty hall and cover my face with my servos.
You shouldn't even be allowed to be here.
I choke back a sob at that.
What the slag are you saying? This is your fault!
Whatever do you mean, dear Jazz?
If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have attacked him!
I still fail to see the logic in your statement.
His tone is mocking. Of course Meister would pull the logic card. Of course he would. Meister isn't afraid of anything, and he certainly doesn't believe in taboo.
Shut up. Unintentionally, I growl in the back of my throat.
You know as well as I do that it is physically impossible for me to do so, Jazzy.
If I didn't have you, I wouldn't have—
A gasp escapes my vocalizer as the still-fresh memory sears through my processor.
I'd asked Prowl to meet me in the cargo bay. The cargo bay was hardly ever used, had minimum security, but was still inside the Ark. It was the perfect location to confess my feelings.
If only I hadn't been so wrapped up in anxiety to notice the door opening, or the soft footfalls approaching me.
Prowl has always been quiet, reserved. It's one of the things I love most about him.
Loved.
When I didn't turn to face him, I guess he thought something was wrong.
The sudden contact on my shoulder struts combined with my nerves had introduced Meister to the situation. He'd told me something was wrong, that I was in danger, so I'd reacted on instinct.
By the time I registered that it was only Prowl, I was feeling the energon dagger pierce his spark chamber. I've felt it too many times to be mistaken.
No bot lives through that.
His expression is burned into my processor. The surprise, fear, and pain branded into my memory forever. But that was nothing compared to the brief flash of betrayal that had crossed his beautiful faceplates before he'd collapsed.
I jerk back to the present, which isn't much better. My breath comes in short, painful gasps.
See? If you hadn't told me I was in danger, none of this would have happened!My servos clench into fists of their own accord.
It was you who deemed it necessary to bring him to such a private place. You who decided to work us up into a frenzy of nerves. You who decided it was necessary to always carry some sort of weapon on you at all times. Don't you dare try to pin this on me, you pathetic slagheap.
If my spark was any heavier, it would sink through my frame right into the ground and never be seen again.
If you had been mech enough to tell him from the beginning, you wouldn't have had to bring him to a secluded place.
I gasp for breath that won't come, try to stifle sobs that won't be contained.
You're the one that thought of all of this. You're the one that thought it would be a good idea. You're the one that was too blind to see what he meant to you until the battle.
I could feel it. I could feel where he was going. He can't. He can't say it.
But he will. I know he will.
"No..." It's a mere whisper.
You're the one...
"Please, no..."
That made...
In a desperate attempt to drown Meister out, I scream at an audio-shattering level.
Me.
But you can't block out what's inside your own helm.
It's not until I feel the heated coolant on the side of my face that I realize I've crumpled sideways to the floor.
I don't even exist. How can it be me, when I am but a figment?
His tone is soft now, gentle.
I killed him. I killed Prowl.
Good mech. But really, what made you think you even had a chance with him in the first place?
It's not enough to make me a murderer. No, Meister has to go all the way. He has to make me worthless. Make me into nothing. He doesn't do things halfway.
Because I don't.
He wouldn't have bonded with you. Don't delude yourself.
He might've.
I still feel a fragment of hope, a delusional hope that if Prowl makes it, then we'd be happy.
No. You are an ops mech. Your kind doesn't get a happy life. You don't get to be happy.
But...
Think about it. Think about it from Prowl's point of view. He sends you on the most dangerous missions.
Because he has faith in me...
Because he knows your skills. Do you really think he would mourn anything other than the loss of the best ops mech if you didn't return from one?
...maybe...
He would mourn the disadvantage that your death would put the Autobots at.
...I'm...his friend...
What makes you think he would want you in the first place? You can't even recharge in the same room as another bot, much less the same berth. Face it. This would have happened anyway, if he was so stupid as to accept.
I can't see anything. Can't feel anything. Even the voices surrounding me hardly register. There is nothing more than the darkness in my own helm.
And face it. We both know Prowl isn't stupid.
...he's not...
He won't make it, we both know that. But if he did...
No...
Even if you still had the brass to ask him, would he accept?
...I...he...
Do you know why he wouldn't?
Because...
He thinks you intended to kill him.
I would never!
You saw the look on his face.
He looked...
You saw the hurt there.
...yes...
You saw the pain.
...yes...
We both saw the betrayal.
...but I didn't mean...
He doesn't know that. He won't listen.
...he will...
Besides, he won't get the chance. He's dead.
No! He'll make it!
Listen. What do you hear?
I listen. It's hard to feel anything outside of my body, but I manage somehow.
There is nothing to listen to.
With a miraculous moment of clarity, I open my optics.
I see him.
Surrounded by silent machines.
Surrounded by no one.
Everyone's around me.
Because Prowl is dead.
I told you. You don't get a happy ending. You don't get anyone who cares about you.
Everything fades again, leaving just me and Meister.
Because...
We aren't worth caring about.
We aren't worth...
Living.
The Prime looks at the still bodies lying in the medbay. Both offline. His Second and Third.
A wave of pain and loss threatened to drag his spark into the Well also.
Jazz had told him of his intentions earlier. He'd had to get approval. The Prime had simply laughed then and demanded to know what had taken so long. They were perfect together, after all.
And now they would never get the chance.
My angst muse hit. It wouldn't give me back my fluff or humour muses, so I did what it wanted, and this was born.
I was listening to We Found Love while writing the end of this. Had to go get tissues.