Prowl's job wasn't easy. Not in the least. As the Autobots' tactician, he had to think of the best course of action when dealing with Decepticons, who were the best among the Autobot ranks to carry it out, as well as predict the Decepticons' counterattack. That alone could involve up to hundreds of calculations in half a second, which had to be confirmed at least once more so there wouldn't be any slip-ups. So far he had never made any mistakes but, unfortunately for Prowl, there was always the so-called 'chaotic element' that could turn all his calculations upside down.
Then there was the job of second-in-command. That meant he had to share a lot of Optimus Prime's responsibilities: from talks with the leaders of planet Earth to reports concerning everything that happened within the Ark. He even had to assume command whenever Prime was incapacitated. True, Ironhide and Jazz helped him on occasion, but it was still quite hard.
Sighing, Prowl placed a tick on the datapad that contained Huffer's report and then put the datapad alongside twenty more that were piled on his right. His left hand reached for another report.
He was certainly surprised when he only felt the flat surface of his desk.
Odd. When he turned his gaze to his left, however, he had to see for himself that there really weren'tany more datapads left.
That was relieving for certain, but Prowl knew that that didn't mean anything. He still had a lot to do today, and checking the reports of the patrols was just a sample of his duties. He had to run a diagnostic on Teletraan I's functions, for example.
No, wait… that was the first thing he did after waking up from his recharge cycle.
But he had to escort a convoy of military trucks filled with important equipment and protect it in case the Decepticons appeared.
Hmm… no, he did that. And there were no Decepticons sighted either.
Nevertheless, he had to meet Prime and arrange the next training scenario.
No, he did that too.
He hadn't appointed patrols for the next day though.
Prowl slapped his forehead. He had.
Now that meant only one thing. He was done for today.
This doesn't make any sense, Prowl thought. Considering how time-consuming some of his tasks were, it would have to take him all day to finish them all.
"You're still here?!"
Prowl looked up at the sound of the voice. To his surprise, it was Trailbreaker, and he was standing by the door.
"You are supposed to be on duty," Prowl noted.
"Up to 3 o'clock in the morning," Trailbreaker said, his tease quite audible.
Prowl didn't share the humour. "Precisely. And right now the time is--" He froze when he saw the time on Teletraan I's monitor.
It was 3 o' clock in the morning.
Well, that explained a few things.
Prowl's realisation must have been evident, because Trailbreaker chuckled and shook his head in a "why am I not surprised?" manner.
"Go get some sleep," the large mech said. "Primus knows you need it." And with that, he turned on his heel and left, wishing to catch up with a few hours of rest.
That, Prowl supposed, was his own cue to exit as well. He stood up, wincing at the loud protest his gears did after being locked in the same position for what turned out to be hours, and he headed for his own dorm.
It was while he still walked down the corridor in the stillness and quiet which surrounded him that one thought after another filled his processor. Thoughts that, though his logic quickly dismissed as unreasonable, still somehow had the power to return from time to time to disturb him. Thoughts of whether all the work he did was ever worthwhile.
Prowl wasn't the type who shied from work, of course. Whenever Prime gave him an assignment, the tactician would see to it that it was carried out successfully. He was by no means a coward either. If he was needed in the front ranks, he would go without hesitating, offering his help wherever he could. The real problem was that, in spite of all this, there were still Decepticons willing to continue the war.
He stared at his hands ruefully. For more than six million years, all he had ever done was plan ahead and assess battle situations and try to see through every Decepticon manoeuvre. For more than six million years, all he had held was an acid-pellet rifle and fired at the enemy, hoping that there wouldn't be two more Decepticons to replace the one who had fallen. Now, more than ever, he longed to pick up a laser disk and learn about the ancient History of Cybertron and the great philosophers of the universe, just like he used to before the war.
Just how much more a mech could take of this before throwing away his insignia and giving up?
He reached the door to his dorm and pressed the password, his mood severely soured because of his bleak musings. As soon as the door hissed open, he wasn't in the least surprised to see that the light in the room was on. He scanned his surroundings and quickly found what he had been looking for on the berth next to his. Bluestreak was lying there, already in quite the deep recharge.
The tactician supposed he should have expected it. Bluestreak didn't have the duties Prowl had. However, the young mech had encountered Skywarp while on patrol earlier that day, and he had got injured in the process. Ratchet fixed the damage, of course, but he also instructed Bluestreak to get as much rest as possible, something to which Bluestreak complied without much fuss. He wasn't in a position to argue in his condition anyway; he was tired and his circuitry demanded a recharge.
At least you made it to your berth, Prowl thought in a tease. The quarters he and Bluestreak shared were the last in the row of dorms in the Ark's retiring area, which meant the young one had to walk quite some way from the repair-bay till he reached them.
Then again, you know how to keep on walking against all odds. Before he could help it, Prowl's optics scanned the silver door panels that were gracing Bluestreak's back. It seemed like they were always a part of Bluestreak, but Prowl still recalled a time that instead of doors there was just a pair of gaping holes on a deformed body.
Primus, it was such a long time ago. And yet to Prowl it seemed like it was only yesterday.
Sighing, Prowl reached for a small switch on the wall. Seconds later, the room was bathed in darkness, but, fortunately, that didn't trigger any movement from the other berth. Bluestreak's recharge cycle was usually a light one and there were times that he actually jumped when the lights went out. Then, Prowl had to tell him that it was only him and he simply switched off the lights because there was no point in wasting energy.
"I just don't want you to trip or anything when you walk in," was Bluestreak's usual meek answer, and they would both leave it at that. Prowl, however, suspected what was the real reason behind Bluestreak's unwillingness to switch off the lights whenever he was alone. He already had a pretty good idea what had happened to the young mech on Cybertron before he was found bleeding to death and tended by the Protectobots. So he also understood Bluestreak's need to verify in any way possible that he wasn't back on Cybertron; that he was among other mechs; that he was safe.
Sometimes, Prowl wanted Bluestreak to open up and talk more about those dark times. He hoped in this way the young one would be a step closer to healing the wound his spirit suffered. Granted, Bluestreak had made quite an impressive progress among the ranks of the Autobots. Prowl noticed that his protégé had become more confident while dealing with other mechs, more ready to joke around and share a good laugh with his companions. More importantly, he didn't cower in the face of danger anymore, earning in this way the respect of the other warriors; his aiming skills had become quite impressive too, making him almost invaluable as a gunner in battle.
In spite of all that, Prowl still wished there was something more he could do. He didn't want Bluestreak to just be able to smile again and face the unknown bravely. He wanted him genuinely happy; to be able to lead the peaceful life Prowl would probably never reclaim because the war had changed him so much. In fact, he wanted Bluestreak to have a life after the war was finally over. And the faster the Decepticons were dealt with, the more chances Bluestreak had to get that life.
Prowl only hoped he would be able to see that.
Before realising what he was doing, Prowl walked quietly up to the occupied berth and placed a hand on the recharging mech's helm in an affectionate caress. It was a sentimental action that he did whenever he was sure Bluestreak wouldn't stir from his recharging mode easily, and he kept it secret from the other Autobots. Not so much because he was ashamed of such a display of emotion, but because it disrupted the image the others had of him. They wanted to regard him as the collected, always-on-the-ready tactician, because it gave them a sense of security.
After all, if Prowl gave the impression that nothing fazed him, the others could count on him where it mattered the most – in battle.
"Goodnight, Bluestreak," he whispered. And with that, he lay down on his own berth and started placing his circuitry in recharge mode as well.
Yes, Prowl's job wasn't easy. Yes, he had to give up everything he knew in the name of duty. But Prowl also knew that, if it meant ensuring a future for those he cared for, it was certainly worth it.
The End.