This bunny bit me several months ago and I wrote it down but never published it. Since I went cold turkey on ya'll during November for nanowrimo I decided to give ya'll this in compensation.

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers. If I did there would be fewer (read: none) deaths of awesome characters.


The Still

It was well known that Prowl followed and enforced The Rules. It was almost impossible for him not to. The Praxian was willing to do whatever it took to maintain order and compliance amongst the ranks of the Autobots. In return, the mechs called him 'hard-aft', ' sparkless', 'drone', and other less than complimentary monikers. He did not mind though, he would endure the ridicule of billions as long as it kept them alive. For that was the truth of the matter, the rules kept mecha functioning and Prowl wanted there to be as many of his people functioning as possible when the war ended. Regardless of the accusations of only being concerned about losing skilled warriors he truly cared about each and every one of them.

Over time some mechs came to understand and even support his desperate way of thinking. The most important of which was Jazz. His lover and best friend had once belonged to the crowd who thought him emotionless, until a fateful set of events caused the visored Polyhexian to see otherwise. While Prowl's lover was not anywhere near as strict as the SIC, he was watchful and he tenses to use his socialization skills to maneuver troublemakers say from devious pursuits before they landed in Prowl's office for a disciplinary hearing.

Somehow however, Prowl had lost some of that support after they crashed on Earth.

It began shortly after the Autobots realized that A) the Decepticons were not leaving the planet so long as even one energy source remained; B) that even if either faction had been inclined to leave, neither could, due to the distinct lack of operable spaceships; C) that living in the half-crushed Ark would be a trial worthy of the Pit until the majority of the living quarters were cleared of rubble; and D) despite defeating the marauding Decepticons at every turn, they were still not winning the war.

It was true, they were in a stalemate. Decepticons attacked a powersource, the Autobots repelled them, both sides went home wounded, and no discernable advantage was gained by either side. It was depressing, and everyone was trying to cope in their own way.

Ironhide decimated the artillery range.

Ratchet obsessed, more than usual, over chassis check-ups for the crew.

Optimus guilt-tripped himself until the Matrix intervened.

The twins pranked the functioning out of the entire Autobot collective.

Bkueatreak talked faster and was harder to interupt.

And Jazz? Jazz threw parties. And more parties.

Now, Prowl was not adverse to allowing his lovers an emotional outlet, especially when it had the added benefit of serving as a similar release for the other Ark mecha as well. What he drew the line at though, was contraband. Contraband consisted of a good many things, a long list of items that Prowl had all but memorized. At the top of the lost was unsanctioned highgrade, and it was this illegal item that kept appearing at Jazz's parties. Therefore, as SIC it was Prowl's responsibility to shut down the festivities as soon as the disapproved beverages showed up.

It was after the fourth such bust that he realized his lover was withdrawing his support of Prowl's insistence on rule adherence. Culminating in the irate black and white saboteur following the Praxian back to his office to rant at him.

"...and for goodness sake Prowl, do ya want ever'one ra stay depressed?! Cuz tha's where ya aimin' 'em! They gonna start self-destructin' n' fightin' amongst themselves if'n ya don' let 'em have this outlet!"

"I do not mind the partying Jazz, it is the illegal highgrade the twins keep brewing. It is unsanctioned and untested, and I cannot allow this dangerous violation of the regulations to continue." came the righteous, stern reply.

Jazz mined strangling his lover with an equally strangled scream of frustration. "Fine then, have it ya way, but don' blame meh when tha discipline rates go out tha porthole."

The irate Polyhexian stalked to the door, but turned at the last moment to deliver a parting shot. "N' Prowl, if'n tha crew can' have tha twins' brew, wha' 'xactleh r' they supposed ta drink?!"

Jazz stormed out leaving behind a very confused SIC. What did he mean 'what are they supposed to drink'? They were supposed to only use the regulation highgrade provided through... suppliers.

Prowl sat back in dawning mortification. They no longer had energon suppliers thanks to the lack of energon on Cybertron and the Ark's crew had been manufacturing their own sustenance-grade since waking up on Earth. Making the lowgrade and midgrade that served as their food was neither difficult nor dangerous and the majority of the soldiers had small solar collectors imbedded in their systems as part of their self-preservation protocols. It was also impossible to overcharge on sustenance-grade. Therefore neither of those energon forms were regulated and thus the issue of suppliers had never before come up.

Well, Prowl would see to doing something about that. It would be his apology to his lover and the crew for his oversight.

"It's a trick! A Decepticon plot of some sort! I'm telling you to listen to me! We're all going to be deactivated!"

Red Alert's shrill cries could be heard halfway across the Ark and Optimus Prime had to struggle to stifle a sigh. The event with which the Security Director was taking offense was well known to the Prime as he had been briefed ahead of time on both the need for secrecy and the probable effect where a certain red and white Lamborghini was concerned. The individual occurrences were, in truth, rather innocuous which therefore made them more suspicion inducing for Red Alert.

First. Large shipments of raw metals and idea had arrived at the Ark and were quickly claimed by Wheeljack as pertinent to an experiment of his. The science officer had then ensconced himself in his lab for a decacycle. A decacycle with no explosions, no funny chemical clouds, and no finished inventions being gleefully shown around by an addle-processored engineer.

Next, Red Alert documented multiple occasions where Hoist and Grapple had been seen to be secretively plotting with large datapads that were always swept into subspace whenever anyone came near. Now, these two events would not appear to be connected, however, after immediately after Wheeljack finished in his lab he sought them out and told them. "Ah got it done. They're ready wheneva' ya'll wan'em."

Then there had been the incursion on the Decepticons' spacebridge that, while successful, had served no discernible purpose. That was very suspicious. It also indicated a potential breach in the command structure as it had been Prowl who had ordered the attack. He was clearly compromised.

Lastly, there was the unsanctioned appropriation of storage room four and the temporary closing of the rec room. Neither had been passed by security and the fact that the storage room was under the rec room screamed conspiracy. And after two orns of being blocked from investigation by the untrustworthy SIC, Red Alert had taken his issue to the top.

Optimus knew that the only way to soothe the high-strung SD would be to show him what was going on, but he did not wish to ruin Prowl's plan. So, he opened a commline to the instigator of the meeting.

-:- Prowl, please tell me you are ready to reveal your project. -:-

-:- Ah, I take it that Red Alert has finally chosen to go over my helm for his paranoid imaginings? -:-

-:- Yes. -:- was the flat reply.

Prowl chuckled. Chuckled! -:- I have just notified Sideswipe to come to my office if the two of you would like to meet us there. -:-

Optimus was not amused that his Second was laughing at his expense. At least, not that he was willing to show, the Praxian laughed far too little to make a spectacle of it. -:- We shall be there shortly. -:-

'*'…'*'…'*'…'*'

Sideswipe trudged down the hall in dejected abandon. He was in trouble with Prowl. Again. What was odd was that he could not recall having broken any of the rules recently, but he was sure the SIC would enlighten him post-haste upon his arrival. When he arrived at the aforementioned's door he flopped his servo against the doorchime as he resigned himself to another orn of scrubbing the washracks with Carly's old toothbrush. He straightened up and reassessed his level of 'slagged' when he saw who was waiting for him. Prowl, Jazz, Red Alert, Inferno, and Optimus Prime were arrayed around the room like an execution jury.

"Whatever it is, I didn't do it." Sideswipe said, more than slightly panicked. For this many of the senior officers to be present the offense had to be something majorly awful and he knew he had not committed anything of that magnitude since at least a vorn before the Ark launched.

The officers laughed warmly, except Prowl who never laughed, and the Prime motioned him to the hotseat. When he had settled gingerly into place the SIC began the lecture. "Sideswipe, according to the file I possess on you, you have been convicted of twenty-eight possessions of illegal highgrade, thirteen instances of discovered contraband highgrade trafficking, and thirty-seven indictments of bringing unsanctioned highgrade to regulation victory celebrations. Do you acknowledge that this is true?"

Sideswipe nodded, there was no point in denying what was already proven.

The stoic Praxian nodded back and made a notation on a datapad. His cold blue optics affixed the frontliner to his seat ad the next bit was delivered. "Very well. The senior officers have become tired of your repeated offenses and have chosen to enact a more permanent solution. Before we render that verdict do you have anything you wish to say?"

The red mech's spark sank to his peds in despair. 'Permanent Solutions' in the Autobots usually involved multivorn imprisonment or exile, and the thought that his actions were going to cause him to leave Sunstreaker behind, alone, tore his spark. He did not manufacture the highgrade out of any malicious intention nor did he do it for any kind of personal profit. He actually started making it after a particularly harsh battle where they almost lost Prime and everyone needed a stiff drink to help erase it from their processors. And, well, after that everyone started coming to him when they needed to forget for a while. He made sure they did not overcharge too badly and they returned the favor by not committing suicide.

Sideswipe had been a brewer back on Cybertron before the War so he knew how to make the highgrade without any potentially lethal side-effects. His license had expired during his tenure in the Pits and virtually none of his current compatriots knew that he possessed such talent legally.

There was nothing he could say for himself, but he could at least make sure Sunstreaker was safe. "Just, can you tell Bluestreak to take care of Sunny for me?"

Prowl nodded and stood. Sideswipe waited for him to deliver his fate, but the SIC walked out of the office followed by the rest of the officers. The frontliner twisted around in confusion and saw the Praxian motioning for him to follow. Oh. They had set up a tribunal with a court of his peers no doubt, and were going to issue his punishment there. A full court would be the entire ship's complement and he cringed at the thought of having this done in front of all his friends. He knew there was no way out though, so he pulled himself together and strode proudly into place behind Prowl.

'*'…'*'…'*'…'*'

They made a solemn procession down the hall, Prowl and Prime first then Sideswipe a step behind, and the others behind him. For some reason the halls seemed longer than usual to the frontliner and every turn seemed to hold new apprehension for the doomed mech. They stopped in front of a nondescript door in the storage section and the officers turned to him. Prowl indicated that he should approach the door and he did so. Sideswipe braced himself to face everyone he cared about while being shamed, and entered. It… was not a tribunal. In fact, it was not even a storage bay. It… looked very much like a Cybertronian bar?

What… the… frag?

He heard a short chuckle behind him and turned to see Prowl smiling at him. Prowl. Who never smiled, much less laughed. It was a soft smile, a just barely there upturning of the corners of his mouth. It made the Praxian look younger, and just for a moment he could see just why Jazz was so attracted to the stoic black and white. Prowl was speaking to him now so he came out of his do-not-understand daze long enough to listen.

"Jazz brought it to my attention that we do not have any sanctioned highgrade suppliers to deter mecha from seeking alternate sources for their drink, and since you have shown yourself willing to brew the stuff you have been elected to oversee the bar and refinery."

Sideswipe felt his jaw drop and he stared at his superior in disbelief. When Prowl simply continued to look at him with half-concealed amusement he shifted his gaze back to the room and really looked at it.

The bar was situated along the back wall and far corner in a graceful curve. Its top was a glossy black faux stone, that on closer review showed itself to be expertly dyed and textured metal, with chrome trim. Behind the bar there was a brewer's utopia in the unbelievable selection of raw energon sources and additives. Next to the curved end of the bar was a DJ's station and an ample dance floor. The other back corner framed a spiral staircase leading up into the ceiling and the frontliner suspected that its installation had been the source of the rec room's temporary closing. The remainder of the room was filled with comfortable looking tables and booths. The most striking features of all though, were the walls themselves. They were covered in murals of home and Sideswipe felt a pang of longing lance through his spark.

As he gazed at the beautiful creations he realized that he recognized the work. The sound of someone walking up behind him made the frontliner turn, and he saw that it was Sunstreaker. His brother had a rarely shown soft smile on his face and the yellow mech stood there while his brother stared at him in shock. "Sunny you knew?"

Sunstreaker nodded. "Prowl called me in two weeks ago to ask my opinion of the décor." He said in his usual gruff voice.

The golden twin had not done anything even remotely more artistic than a few half-finished sketches in several vorn and Sideswipe had all but given up that his brother would ever paint again. The red mech felt his optics start to pool with coolant and he reached out to grab his twin's servo. Then he led the way into the bar for a closer inspection, never once letting go of the other half of his spark.

After they finished admiring the place Sideswipe turned back to Prowl with a grin. "So, does this place have a name?"

The Praxian nodded, stern expression back in place. "Yes, I picked it out myself. Hoist and Grapple are installing the sign now if you would like to see it."

Sideswipe rushed out the door dragging Sunstreaker behind him and looked up at the construction mechs who were placing the last fastening rivets in the new sign. Sideswipe's optic ridges rose, for there in bright copper Cybertronian glyphs was the name, The Still. The red twin could feel his already impossibly wide smile stretch even further and he started to laugh. He whirled swiftly and swept Prowl up into a huge hug, ignoring how the officer froze in surprise. "Thanks Prowl, this is awesome!"

"You are welcome." The flustered Praxian replied. "There is one more thing though."

The frontliner leaned back to look at the mech he still held in an elated embrace and raised an optice ridge in anticipation. The SIC did not make him wait long. "I knew that you would not always want, or be able, to spend every evening here, so I acquired a staff member for you whose only role will be to work this bar. He dabbled in bar-tending on Cybertron before the War and should be a great help to you."

With that, Prowl motioned to a red and white visored minibot who stepped out from behind the Prime. The small mech held out his servo to Sideswipe, who took it reluctantly.

"Hi! I'm Swerve. I've always wanted to be a full-fledged bartender, so thanks for letting me join ya!" he said cheerfully.

Sideswipe just looked up at Prowl. "A minibot?"

The Praxian smirked faintly. "Would you rather spend all your free time here?"

The red-plated mech turned back to Swerve. "Nice to meetcha. I'm Sideswipe, your new boss. I hope you enjoy working here on Earth."

Swerve smiled big and wide. "I'm sure I will."

Then the twins, and their new minibot minion, walked into The Still to get it ready for its opening night.


I would like to eventually write some afterstories of things that might happen in the new bar, but I have never actually been in one, much less gone drinking. If ya'll have any ideas for what I should add next, put it in your reviews. Thanks for reading!