WARNING: CONTAINS SLASH! The pairing is ProwlxJazz and comes alongside a nice dose of Prowl-Optimus friendship.
Other notes: This begins right after the end of In the Shadow, In the Light. The things I reveal here are not being pulled out of my butt- I've been planning them for awhile. I have a big fic planned and this is planting some seeds for later.
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LINK: tiny.(cc)/lightverse
It links to a Tumblr post with all the Lightverse fics I've written so far. I used a URL shortener because Tumblr links get really long and obnoxious.
Here we go!
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Hear the Listener
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"You wanna run away, run away and you say that it can't be so.
You wanna look away, look away but you stay 'cause it's all so close.
When you stand up and hold out your hand
in the face of what I don't understand-
my reason to be brave..."
-Josh Groban, "Brave"
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Pre-dawn wind blew through Prowl's tree. The chill of autumn gave the air a faint sawdust scent to go with the sounds of dried leaves skittering along the ground.
Gentle tremors and a quiet cough brought Prowl back to full attention.
"I need to split in an hour, but I had to come back and talk to ya."
"Two 'I'm going away' kisses in one day?" Prowl perched on the branch that placed him in the center of his four wooden wind chimes. He flicked one, causing it to clatter louder than its brothers. "Jazz, you're getting sentimental."
Jazz playfully pinched Prowl's knee, his words expressing a smile, "You dig it."
Prowl chuckled, "Mmhmm, go on."
Except the kiss he anticipated didn't happen when he expected it to. It wasn't like Jazz to be nervous over a simple smooch. He activated his oscillators, curious about the delay. Unfortunately, it was still dark out and they only offered a vague sense of Jazz's position in front of him, nothing else.
The branch shifted as Jazz leaned forward.
"Prowl, I'm holdin' a red ribbon."
In Tales from the Lover's Spark, Alpha asked Omega to have their bond blessed by offering him a red ribbon. Ever since Prowl read the novel, he often imagined himself and the bot who rescued him from the compactor sharing a moment like this. His practical nature tried to bury those silly daydreams, yet the part of him that never wholly grew up held it tight.
And now it was happening right in front of him. His dream mech and a dream moment came together.
Prowl's growing smile gave his intention away before he moved. He clasped Jazz's hands, trapping the smooth ribbon between their palms, and followed the warmth of his lover's exhales. They exchanged a long, deep kiss as the sun's warmth teased the horizon.
When the kiss ended, the tree quivered and Jazz departed in silence. Just like the novel.
Prowl rubbed the silky ribbon against his cheek. Traces of Jazz's tangy-sweet scent clung to the fabric. He took Yoketron's helmet off, tied the ribbon around his head like a headband and resettled the helmet to conceal his treasure. The ends of the ribbon tickled the nape of his neck. He faced the sun's growing heat with a grin of pure, unhindered joy.
Once the Decepticons are out of the picture, it'll be time to have our bond blessed. The world will know that I am his and he is mine.
That morning, Prowl spent his prayer time thanking Primus for everything.
.o
Months passed. Thanksgiving. Christmas. New Year's. Prowl and Jazz spoke often over long range communication channels. Sometimes, their days and nights coincided. But, more often than not their time zones were out of synch. Cybertron was larger than Earth and took exactly thirty-six hours to complete a revolution. It resulted in some interesting conversation timing.
Stinging iodine vapors surrounded Prowl as he concluded his morning prayer. Dawn's first light warmed his back, a small reprieve from the bleak winter cold. The hole his tree made his ceiling meant facing the consequences of raw nature. He didn't mind one bit. All of his electronics occupied the one corner the wind, rain and snow couldn't reach.
The brief sunbath ended far sooner than it should have, which meant clouds. Prowl rose gracefully from his prayerful pose and used his feet to scrape last night's snow onto the dirt surrounding his tree. The sticky, wet substance left several puddles behind.
Prowl listened for footsteps. Upon hearing none, he brazenly took his visor off and washed his hands, feet and faceplates with the snow. The coldness prickled fantastically on his tactile sensors.
Rubbing his fingers upwards and downwards against his face let him feel his own brow ridges limply shifting. Having no optics or sockets meant they blended with the rest of his facial plating. The wiring for optics also wired brow ridges, and lacking that wiring left his completely paralyzed.
Prowl hardly considered it a hindrance; his visor's ability to change shape did an adequate job of imitating brow ridges. Being blind all his life meant his facial expressions were utterly genuine. He didn't know how to fake a smile, look angry or appear thoughtful when he wasn't experiencing those emotions.
Yoketron spent months teaching him how to keep his facial expression schooled during a sparring match. "Face!" he shouted any time Prowl forgot until such self-awareness became a habit he carried over to his everyday life.
Prowl hated feeling his own lack of optics before he met Jazz. Sometimes, he still cringed in shame. Only Yoketron, Jazz and Optimus knew the truth he hid behind his visor. Ableism was still a rampant problem within Cybertronian society. Keeping his disability a secret would be a life and death necessity until that changed.
No one has the right to dictate my self worth to me. I am worthy because I decided I am, he reminded himself. That little mantra helped restore his self-confidence whenever it wavered.
Two crows squawked. Prowl stopped scrubbing his face and tossed them the remains of a bagel. He always kept tiny scraps on hand to feed the birds. Both buzzards dove for the surprise treat and flew away in a flurry of whispering feathers.
Prowl swiped his visor through the snowdrift to clean it and reattached it to the six pins protruding from the bridge of his nose. Pausing, he held his hand palm-up.
Hm, it's not snowing yet, he mused, though the moist smell indicated it would soon.
The wall console across the room beeped. Its tone cut through the quiet. Prowl launched himself towards it and raised a practiced finger to switch on the feed. The oscillators his visor connected to translated light waves into vibrations that he felt in his face. They let him appear sighted and helped conceal his flaw, but they weren't exactly adept at depth perception.
When the screen lit up to reveal a life-sized image of Jazz from the shoulders up, it was as if he teleported himself to Earth. Prowl nearly stretched out his arms to embrace him.
"Hey, gorgeous," Jazz's creamy smooth voice crackled through the speakers, a cruel reminder of the distance between them.
Prowl's own smile bloomed upon hearing the grin in Jazz's speech.
"Jazz, it's been ages," he said playfully.
"Yeah, twelve hours is too long to go without you," Jazz kidded back. The chair he sat in creaked when he adjusted his position. "Looks like it's cold down there. How ya holdin' up?"
Prowl's expression automatically became neutral even though he felt no less happy. "I'm all right. And you?"
There was a momentary hesitation before Jazz's expression changed. His smile had left and his voice stayed light, "Eh, I'm cyclin' air, so I can't be too bad."
He was trying to sound like he kept smiling, yet forgot one thing- smiles created tension in the lips, and that slightly altered the pronunciation of certain syllables.
Prowl decided not to press the subject. Jazz generally mentioned serious issues without a lot of prodding. So he changed the topic instead and asked, "Mm, where are you? I don't hear a lot of background noise."
"Yeah, I wanted it quiet. I'm visiting Ultra Magnus."
"Oh, how is he?"
"The same. Medics are startin' to give up on him," Jazz creaked his chair again, "If he's gonna go, he'll go, Spark support or not, and his Spark is still goin' strong." His smile came back, "My Spark came outta his, so it's not too surprising. The monitors speed up whenever I call him dad. I mentioned what it means and where I learned it. I think he's diggin' it."
Prowl instinctively leaned towards the sound of Jazz's voice. "He won't leave you, Jazz."
"Yeah, I know," Jazz's tone softened, "Wish I could kiss that bottom lip of yours right now. You're poutin' up a storm."
That made Prowl puff his lower lip out further in rebellious jest. "Do you mind if I make tea while we talk?"
"You ask every time."
"Mmhmm, because I have manners, unlike you."
Jazz's laughter was pure music. Prowl beamed and unfolded from his seated position to gather his tea supplies. He'd fashioned a teakettle out of a large watering pail. After swiping the coiled heating element from his tea ceremony kit, he set the kettle on top and poured in a measured amount of coolant.
"I'm glad you ain't on Cybertron right now. Sentinel's so paranoid he's spinning all his cogs at once."
"Oh? I can't say I blame him. There's no way to know whether or not Shockwave was the only spy."
"Yeah! SP's startin' to spread his fear to the public. I think he's in way over his processor. He's cracking, Prowl. He's preachin' things I don't jive with, and it's sending bad vibes all around."
Prowl leaned sideways and ran his hand along the shelf until he located a glass jar and a metal jug. The jar contained sponges speared on the tips of aluminum dipping rods, and the jug housed strong-smelling turpentine. Prowl grasped a metal rod, lifted the lid off the heavy jug and dunked the sponge in it.
"Let me guess, he's saying flawed mechs are the likely traitors and to turn them in on sight?"
"Mmhmm," Jazz gave a joyless sigh.
"Figures."
Prowl lifted the dipping rod to check the sponge's weight. Not heavy enough for his liking. He left it sitting in the turpentine jug while he reached for his tea bowl. Quiet gurgling noises indicated the coolant coming to a boil. Prowl placed his hand near the spout and mentally counted to five. The kettle emitted a low hiss and wet heat blasted his palm.
"I wish you were here. I would share," he spoke softly as he curled his fingertip over the edge of his tea bowl, let the base of the teakettle spout rest alongside it and poured the steaming coolant. The metal bowl warmed instantly. When the hot tea reached his fingertip, he righted the kettle and set it aside.
"Ah, you're fine. I think I drank enough ammonia tea to knock over an army."
"Ugh..."
"Never gonna make you a fan of it, am I?"
"Definitely not."
Prowl didn't disguise his dislike for ammonia tea. It smelled exactly like cat urine and the bitter taste wasn't appealing to him either. Jazz loved the stuff. He made it indoors exactly once. Prowl ensured he never did that again. The hideous smell hung around for days. And Jazz learned to wash his mouth out with bleach if he ever wanted to swoop in for a kiss after consuming ammonia tea.
Hearing Jazz mention he drank a lot of it at once meant he wasn't recharging well. Ammonia tea was a stimulant that increased alertness.
"Are the nightmares back?" asked Prowl.
"Almost every night. The flawed bots I put down stand up and call me a murderer. An' they're right. Wish I could tell 'em all that I'm sorry."
"You were a scrap yard worker, Jazz...you left it behind when you spared my life. I don't condemn you."
"Doesn't erase that I did it. Doesn't bring those bots back."
"I know..."
Sighing, Prowl lifted the sponge, sniffed it while assessing its weight and pressed it into the bottom of the jug to draw in more turpentine. Then he steeped it in his tea bowl. The clean scent fondly reminded him of mornings in Yoketron's dojo.
Jazz wiggled in his seat again and tried to lighten the dark mood. "Mm, I love it when you act natural."
Prowl chuckled, letting the tea fumes rise around him. He sipped generously from his tea bowl. The stinging, tart taste created a pleasant tingle in his mouth. A little too hot for his liking, but it would cool quickly in the chilly room.
"Ever heard of malignant rust?" Jazz's question shot across the quiet like a trip wire.
"Mmhmm," Prowl responded, mid-sip.
Many eons before modern society, Cybertron was bombarded by gamma rays when the early stars in the universe began to go hypernova. The intense radiation slightly altered the RNA in some of the protomatter on Cybertron's surface. Protoforms molded from the damaged protomatter developed the disease late in life.
Most bots never knew they had this altered genetic information until they became ill, though modern science allowed medics to spot it long before it became a problem. And since bots were functional until the illness debilitated them, they weren't seen as flawed.
Malignant rust had no cure. Like organic cancer, it grew on a bot's internal components and slowly destroyed them. How fast a bot died from it depended on where it began in their body. Replacing affected parts made the rust come back faster. Every replacement sped the illness up rather than slow it down. No one knew why.
Even worse- in all of Cybertron's existence, not one single bot had ever found a way to stop the disease. It only struck old bots in their billions.
"I just found out I have the gene," Jazz said simply. He sighed and tapped on the table he kept leaning on, "Figured you should know, since it's gonna affect our future."
Prowl slowly lowered his tea bowl. Time stood still around him. He felt like someone punched him in the abdomen. The shock left his mouth hanging partly open, but no words came forth. What could he say to something like that?
Jazz quickly continued, "I'll live to be at least as old as Master Yoketron if it starts in my peripheral joints. Sure ain't what I pictured when I think about us getting old together. But, hey, that's six billion years. Somebody might come up with a treatment or a cure by then. I won't stop hoping for that and you shouldn't either, ya dig?"
Leave it to Jazz to see the positive in a seemingly hopeless situation.
"Jazz, I..." Prowl longed to embrace him. Sitting so far away created a helpless coldness deep in his Spark. He took another sip of tea in a failed attempt to quench it. "You're right. It's not tomorrow. But- it isn't the future I imagined, either."
Jazz will die before me, the thought hung in Prowl's processor, a rebounding clamor he couldn't shut out, Seven billion years from now, if I live that long...I'll be alone again.
"You're right, we shouldn't despair over this," He finished his tea and set the empty bowl aside. "It's a long way off."
"Yeah. I think it might be better for me to go first. I won't have to live without ya. I know you'll keep going without me, but I couldn't keep going without you. I almost offed myself when everyone thought Lockdown's explosion killed you. You're my universe, Prowler," Jazz was smiling again, "Life without you ain't a life I wanna live."
Prowl swallowed the dull ache in his Spark. Jazz had a point. Being a loner by nature had its perks, but a life without Jazz in it no longer felt right either.
"You're my light," Prowl whispered, "It'll be dark without you, Jazz."
"I know, but listen. That's why you're amazing, Prowl. You know how to stick your hands out and find your way around in the dark. That ain't something any bot can do without freakin' out."
Quietly, Prowl ducked his head and laid his hand on the cold, smooth screen. His oscillators sensed Jazz doing the same. And for a moment, a single Spark-beat, the light years between them didn't feel so vast.
"I wish you weren't so far away," Prowl murmured. It struck him that Jazz had to keep going about his life and his job like normal with the knowledge of the malignant rust fresh in his mind.
Nothing was guaranteed. They were still dealing with the Decepticons. Prowl knew both he and Jazz could be killed in combat at any time. Few bots lived to die of age-related ailments like malignant rust.
"As soon as I can get time off, Prowler, I'll be down there faster than you can yell that you want my aft." There Jazz went again, doing his best to lighten the load. Quieter now, he continued, "Listen, there's something that's been kept off public records. I think you should know. I'm not the only bot in your life who has the malignant rust gene. Master Yoketron had it, too. He had it bad...it was all through his body."
Prowl froze, reeling under memories of Yoketron's hands. His sacred sensei's fingers never quite straightened. Not due to age, but illness.
"He...he did?"
"Mmhmm. He probably had a hundred years left in him. Could be why he couldn't hold off the ambush. He was too sick. Poor ol' bot must've been in a lot of pain for a long time," Jazz's servomechanisms whirred as he shook his head. "Looks like he forgot to change his post mortem info after the rust started hittin' him. You can't donate a body like that and you can't melt it down to make new protoforms."
The information swirled through Prowl like a blizzard wind.
"What happened to his remains?"
"The scrap yard worker took his non-metallic parts since those won't rust. His body was reassembled and sent off to Ultra Magnus for an alternative disposal. Somebody took good care of him- he had holy symbols painted in all the right places."
Prowl couldn't find the strength to tell Jazz he was the bot who did that. No one really knew the exact circumstances behind Yoketron's demise. And Prowl did not want to layer that knowledge on Jazz when he was still accepting his diagnosis and dealing with a world in flux.
"Master Yoketron never showed any real signs of illness," Prowl gave his head a shake and sighed, "Sometimes he said his joints hurt. His fingers never straightened...and there was the fuel pump incident-"
"You didn't miss anything, Prowl. He hid it from everybody. He had a note from the medibot to see a medic for a body scan, but I think he already knew he was sick. He wanted to finish his life in peace without people pityin' him."
"Jazz, I was with him when his pump went out. I called for help. I sped the disease up because I panicked. Master Yoketron told me he wasn't ready to leave me, but he knew. He would have died that day, and he knew I thought I was saving his life."
"You did," said Jazz, "I guess Primus decided it wasn't Master Yoketron's time, so he kicked your aft into action. That's all. You did the right thing by helpin' him."
And how did Jazz feel, seeing Yoketron's remains and knowing his body would be ravaged by the same disease? Prowl couldn't find it in himself to ask. He pressed his palm harder to the screen instead, wishing time and space would vanish long enough to touch his beloved.
"So what was done with his remains?"
Jazz answered gently, "Ultra Magnus and I melted 'em down into something else. Keep this on the DL- there's a memorial archway where the entry to the dojo used to be. It's actually Master Yoketron. He never wanted a grave to be mourned at, so you're third bot who knows."
The information settled slowly in Prowl's processor. He raised his head, his visor focusing on the screen. "He would have liked that."
"Yeah, he loved art. It's just...man, I stopped in to see him two days before the ambush. I thought he might've drank some bad oil or something. He was laying on his berth, biting his knuckle in pain. I asked him if he wanted me to hang around 'till he felt better. He said he'd be fine by morning and sent me away. Looking back on it, it's probably better he went out kicking skid plate. Dyin' of the rust ain't pretty."
Prowl thought bitterly of Yoketron's last moments. He died so peacefully despite the circumstances. All ninjas were trained to make peace with themselves when faced with death.
Unfortunately, his untimely demise left Prowl flapping in the wind for want of a purpose. It all seemed clear-cut until the dojo ambush tore the future apart. Nothing short of rescuing the stolen protoforms would let Prowl find any peace with Yoketron's death.
And Lockdown played a huge part in the whole thing. Lockdown took Yoketron's final years away. Lockdown was a traitor.
Prowl yearned to tell Jazz all of this. The words refused to materialize. He wasn't a bot who cried easily or often, yet the grief he felt when speaking about Yoketron's death always did it to him. Keeping what he knew about the ambush from Jazz felt horribly wrong. There never seemed to be a proper time or place to spill it all out. Whenever he thought he found one, something came up on Jazz's end. Jazz already had enough on his hands, he didn't need an anguish he couldn't resolve clouding his wits!
"I should have known," Prowl muttered at himself.
"He didn't want anyone to know, Prowler...I looked right at him and never realized it."
A swish sounded in the background of Jazz's communication line.
"Hourly checkup," Jazz whispered. To the other bot, he asked, "How's he doin'?"
Prowl backed away from the screen. He fixed himself another bowl of turpentine tea and collected his rattled emotions while the medibot spoke in complicated medical jargon. The swish sounded again and all fell silent.
"So...?" Prowl hedged.
"His fuel pump is gonna fail soon. They might have to put him on an external one. He's not strong enough to survive replacement surgery. Yet," Jazz tacked the last word on with such hope that Prowl smiled shakily in response.
"Does Ultra Magnus have the rust gene?"
"Nope! Good thing, too, or they'd pull the plug for sure. He ain't ready for the DNR list and I'm gonna keep him off it as long as I can."
DNR...the Do Not Repair list. Flawed bots were automatically added to it before being destroyed.
Prowl sighed into his tea bowl, "I pray for Ultra Magnus often."
A deep yawn briefly garbled Jazz's voice, "Thanks, Prowl, that means a lot. Heh, ya hear that, dad? I- whoa. Prowl, hold on a sec."
"Jazz, what's-"
The chair Jazz was sitting in bumped into the desk with a soft clunk. Prowl heard Jazz's voice, but not his words. He focused on the screen and his oscillators picked up the white of Jazz bending over the larger form of Ultra Magnus, who was also largely white. For a split second, he wished he had eyesight to see what happened onscreen, but the thought vanished with Jazz's footsteps approaching.
"He smiled when I called him dad," Jazz's creamy voice cracked, "Prowl, he smiled, ya dig?"
Electricity jumped through Prowl's back struts. "Is he conscious?"
"Maybe he was for a minute or two. Couldn't get him to do it again. Oh, Primus, Prowl...it's the first time he reacted to anythin' since the attack!" Jazz covered another yawn, "Frag, keep sayin' those prayers. They're doin' the trick."
"I certainly will," Prowl beamed at the good news, which had successfully overshadowed the bad for the time being. "By the AllSpark, Jazz, when was the last time you recharged?"
"Been about thirty-six hours."
"It shows. I can see it," Prowl framed his concern as a joke.
Jazz snorted, "I'll recharge after we hang up. Not that I want to- lookin' at your face is better than dreamin'."
If Prowl had optics, he would have rolled them. He face-palmed instead and shook his head.
"You are hopeless, Jazz."
"And you're sexy."
Grinning, Prowl tossed his head back and bit half of his pouty bottom lip.
"I know," he rumbled, making his voice sound extra velvety.
Jazz's musical laughter was muffled by him laying his head on his folded arms, which rested on the desk he sat behind.
"Jack tease," he joked.
"Hmph!" Prowl faked offense, "Comm me from a more private location next time, and I'll show you a jack tease."
"Ooh!" Jazz's little coo sent joyful ripples up Prowl's back struts. He went on to add, "Hey, look sharp. It's snowing over there."
"Hm? Is it? One moment," Prowl got up and approached his tree. Cold flecks landed on his palm when he stretched it out. More teased his cheeks like icy kisses. He smiled when he heard the flakes gently whispering around him like butterfly wings.
The first gust of wind sent the tree creaking. Frigid air blasted down through the hole in the ceiling.
"It's going to get a lot-" Prowl stopped at the rattle of faint snoring. He approached his desk without a sound. If he called Jazz's name, he would wake him immediately. Jazz was a frustratingly light recharger- a small price he paid for having sensitive audios.
But Jazz never had nightmares when Prowl guarded his rest. Would keeping watch work despite the vast distances between them?
Prowl muted his communication line to prevent any sound from transmitting and prepared himself a third bowl of tea. He perched atop his desk and pressed his free hand against the screen.
"I'll stay right here, my love," he said as the wind rattled his wooden wind chimes. The smell of iodine prompted him to pray aloud, "Primus, let him rest without disturbance. Show him that no one condemns his past...show him however you can. Help him find forgiveness. You brought us together, you know the pain he is in, and you know the pain he must endure. If the rust will be his absolution, so be it...but let me stay at his side through it. Please, let me be with him in the end. Let my face be the last face he sees on this plane. If it is your will that I must stand watch to ensure he finds inner peace, then so be it. I will do what you ask of me. Thy will be done."
He drank deeply of his tea and ensured he'd switched off the heating element under the kettle.
For awhile, all became silent. So quiet he heard the wind whoosh and felt the air temperature dropping. His mods, Yoketron's helmet and the armor he took from Lockdown's ship, seemed to generate their own warmth. The coldness did not bother him at all. Even if it did, he would not move from his perch.
Just when the quietude seeped fully into Prowl's consciousness, his door chime beeped. He drained his tea bowl, put his tea-making supplies away and resumed his position on the desk.
"Yes?"
"It's me," Optimus' tenor voice filtered through, "Is it all right if I come in?"
"Of course."
The door whirred twice without opening. Prowl grumbled and walked over to whack the bottom two corners with the handle of his broom. After the fourth whack, the door retracted as if it hadn't encountered an obstacle.
"Still having trouble with the door, I see," Optimus' voice had a smile in it. "I came to see how you're holding up. The weather reports say there's a blizzard on its way."
"I'm..." Prowl searched for a word that didn't sound like an outright lie, "going to survive just fine. I used to train in much colder temperatures than this."
"I see. Well, Bulkhead is making hot oil shakes. Maybe I can- ohh," Optimus took note of the online communications console, "am I interrupting?"
Heat crawled into Prowl's face, "Is he still recharging?"
"Mmhmm."
"Then no, you aren't. My end is muted. We won't wake him up by talking."
Amusement painted Optimus voice when he said, "You passed out at the console last week. I guess it's Jazz's turn."
Prowl longed to bury himself in the snow and disappear. Last week, Optimus moved him to his berth at Jazz's request. And Prowl, in a tired stupor, had wrapped his arms around his commanding officer and recharged on his shoulder for five solid hours. Optimus didn't dare disturb him. Prowl felt arms around him when he woke and instinctively leaned up for a groggy good-morning kiss. Just before it connected, Optimus had cleared his throat and said, "Uhh...hi, Prowl."
Awkward wasn't even in the same realm. Luckily, Optimus kept a good sense of humor about it.
"I wish I could say I was intoxicated at the time," Prowl replied. A noise from the console speakers sent him straight back to his desk. Jazz moved his arm, nothing more. His snoring remained rhythmic and soft.
"About that oil shake," he went on, half-turning towards Optimus, "I think I'll have one. Are you sure you should be drinking it?"
Optimus audibly shrugged his broad shoulders. To Prowl's oscillators, the movement was a ripple of contrasting vibrations. Blue had a shorter wavelength than red.
"They only keep me awake if I drink one after dark. I think it's the rust content. Gives me a reflux cough when I lay down."
Rust. The word stung Prowl's audios like an acid burn. He flinched, unable to stop himself.
"Optimus, I mean no disrespect, but I don't think the oil shakes are causing your insomnia. You've been having issues with it since November."
Optimus' mood always sank with the approach of Christmas and improved once it passed. It wasn't like him to still seem down and exhausted in January. Prowl concluded it had to be related to the unrest on Cybertron and the various unknowns surrounding Megatron.
"There's so much going on," Optimus sighed, and the wall beside the door creaked when he leaned his weight against it, "But there's something that's been on my mind. This is going to sound weird, but...a few years back, I called everyone a bunch of undisciplined, insubordinate malfunctions."
Malfunction was an offensive reference to flawed bots. Prowl remembered Optimus' use of it slashing through him like a well-aimed blade. Hearing his commanding officer spit out such a rude slur shocked him into silence at the time. But Optimus had been angry- that didn't excuse his language, but it explained it.
"Optimus, sir, you apologized for that before."
"Yeah, but feel like I owe you a personal apology. I shouldn't have used that term...I'm sorry."
He meant well, but his apology unintentionally made Prowl feel singled out and self-conscious.
"I-It's all right," he quickly brushed it off, "I hear Ratchet use it all the time and I tend to ignore it."
"Mm," Jazz stirred, "Slag, dozed off." He punctuated his statement with a loud yawn.
"Excuse me, sir," Prowl hastily un-muted his end of the communication line, "I let you rest. How long until you're on duty again?"
"I'm up in five hours. Hey, OP!"
Optimus' servomechanisms whirred as he waved to the screen.
Chuckling, Prowl faced Jazz's tired voice and said, "You should lay down and get some proper recharge."
"I'm gonna do that right now. All the ammonia tea on Cybertron ain't gonna keep me awake this time. Not sure when I'll be able to get on the horn again. I'm gonna be on duty for the next forty-eight hours."
"Mind sending a few of those recharge vibes my way?" Optimus remarked.
"Would if I could," said Jazz. He grunted again and the chair scraped on the floor, "G'night, OP. Prowl? I'm blowin' ya a kiss."
Prowl smiled at the screen when he heard Jazz do it. No one ever taught him exactly how the 'blow a kiss' gesture worked. He kissed the air and puffed immediately after as if extinguishing a candle.
"Good night, Jazz."
Jazz's grin was so obvious Prowl didn't need to hear it, "Love you, gorgeous. Talk later."
"I love you, too," Prowl replied. He rubbed the side of his neck, his Spark warming in response to Jazz's words. The faint hissing ceased, indicating a closed connection. Prowl switched the screen off before facing Optimus again. "Jazz says things are rough on Cybertron right now. I don't think Sentinel will be able to keep it up much longer."
"Sentinel never really liked being the bot on top," Optimus let out another sigh. Then he seemed to realize how that came out and quickly added, "He panics when there aren't any higher-ups to turn to, and he gets aggressive whenever he doesn't feel confident in himself. I mean, he was never a slouch during his battle training. But that's the problem- he thinks like a soldier instead of a leader, and he doesn't have any real battlefield experience. Good leaders are examples to their men. Good leaders don't need to demand loyalty. You're supposed to admire leaders, not fear them."
"Spoken like a ninja," said Prowl. After a brief hesitation, he continued, "For what it's worth, I think you possess the qualities you describe."
Optimus dipped his head, smiling- or was he hunching his shoulders? His voice suggested a smile. Perhaps he did both.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I'm not leader material, Prowl."
"I didn't think I was ninja material, yet..." Prowl gestured to himself, mods and all.
"Hm, you have a point. And here I am, blabbing to you when I should go get your-"
Gusty wind blustered through the room. Prowl's door slammed down with a resounding clank. Optimus pressed the button. Nothing happened.
"Um..."
"Ugh, blasted door," Prowl muttered. Grabbing his broom, he whacked the bottom edges of the doorframe. The obstinate obstacle refused to give.
"Maybe we can manually lift it," said Optimus.
"Worth a try."
They knelt at the foot of the door, scooted their fingers underneath and tugged upward. Their combined strength didn't yield the expected results. Optimus chuckled at the fifth attempt.
"What's so funny?" asked Prowl.
"Just remembering when I realized...uh..." Optimus' fading smile was almost palpable, "...never mind."
"You never named the bot you have feelings for. You fall apart over that bot every Christmas." Prowl kept Optimus' reflection centered on his visor, "It's Sentinel, isn't it?"
Servomechanisms whirred, their sound nearly lost in another freezing wind gust. Optimus was nodding his head.
"I realized I had feelings for him when we got stuck in a repair shaft because of a door like this one. The door ripped his arm off at the shoulder when it shut on us, and it was up to me to signal for help while keeping him calm. I think we talked more during that than any other time we hung around each other. The more we talked, the more I realized I...but I couldn't tell him. We were best friends- what if saying something ruined it?
"Elita-One came to our rescue, and Sentinel was all over her like a paint job. He was happy, so I tried to be happy for him. I befriended Elita because she seemed like such a nice fembot- and by getting to know her I realized she was definitely a better match for him than I could ever be. But she started to show interest in me...then Archa Seven happened."
Optimus ex-vented heavily, "That turned Sentinel into the bot you're more familiar with. I ruined his happiness, Prowl, and he hasn't looked at me the same way since. He blames me for what happened to Elita. First, we thought she died there, then we found out what really happened. Elita- Blackarachnia now- hated me for leaving her behind."
He elbowed the fussy door, "Now you know why I'm not Magnus material. Hmph, I'm not Elite Guard material. I'm not even hero material. I'm an Academy washout who bit off more than he can chew and it's up to me to defend this planet from Megatron."
Another sigh escaped him, "I used to think being a hero meant fame and glory, but it's not. Heroes do the right thing when nobody's looking, and most go unrecognized. It's not about fame anymore- people are depending on me. I-I don't feel qualified for any of this!"
The reason behind Optimus' insomnia and all of his insecurities lay bare in the cold, drafty air. His willingness to share them rather than bottle it all up was truly a brave act. One Prowl admired.
After a beat, he pulled the brim of his helm down over his optics and grumbled, "Sorry, didn't mean to dump on you like that. It's been a rough couple months."
Prowl faced him and shook his head. He said, "You have a lot of weight on your shoulders, Optimus. What kind of friend would I be if I didn't help you unload once in awhile? I may not be able to fix your immediate problems, but I can listen. And, for what its worth..." Extending his hand, he touched the taller bot's arm, "...I understand how lost you feel right now. More than you know."
Upon sensing Optimus' optics on him, Prowl swallowed his own grief and added, "Master Yoketron often referred to an ancient Circuit-Su proverb when facing the unknown. 'Having faith in the horizon is to be patient with the night. The sun will rise eventually.' It means no one is lost forever, Optimus. Time will reveal the direction you are meant to go."
"Well, you're the one I trust most when it's too dark to see," Optimus remarked.
Prowl grinned up at him, "Let me handle the door. I think- no, I know I can open it."
He bowed his head and hummed softly, letting the shape and weight of the door seep into his awareness. The moment he found the right resonating frequency, he let his voice crescendo. He felt the door shift just before it shot open with a tooth-jarring clank. Sounds from the main living space filtered in- the TV, Bumblebee's laughter, Ratchet's grumbling and Bulkhead's huge three-digit hands stirring the giant vat of thick fluid.
Optimus gave an impressed whistle and stepped through the doorway. "I'll be right back with your oil shake."
Prowl relaxed, audios trained on any sign of the door dropping down again. "Thank you. By the way, let me know when you're ready to retire. I think I might have something to help you recharge."
"You got it."
.o
The blizzard worsened throughout the day. By evening, the wind wailed and whipped across the rooftops. Fortunately, it blew away from the hole in Prowl's ceiling rather than towards it. That helped prevent a massive snow pile-up.
For Prowl, day and night meant practically nothing. Daylight let his oscillators work to their full potential while outdoors. At night, the vibrations softened to reflect the artificial lights and the general activity level outside his quarters gradually decreased until everything became quiet.
Still, for others who needed light to see, Prowl owned four white, rectangular floor lamps and one spherical desktop lantern that acted as a nightlight. Jazz dropped them off before his return trip to Cybertron. The lamps occupied the far wall of Prowl's quarters while the lantern stayed on a shelf by his recharge berth.
The lamps took the guesswork about the light levels away. One needed only to program the percentage of darkness they were supposed to begin lighting up and they came on automatically as long as the 'on' switch remained depressed.
Prowl kept one lamp set to automatic. The rest were on manual. He always knew the sun was setting when the leftmost lamp came on. In fact, it did precisely that while he ran his fingers along the screen of his new data pad.
Jazz really outdid himself with the nifty little device. Not only did it translate text into Braille, it translated websites and images into tactile bass-reliefs, which let Prowl surf the internet and explore web graphics by touch. Three taps equaled a click while the "on-screen" Braille keypad made typing a cinch. The keypad had nine keys- the two outermost keys were the backspace and enter keys respectively, the six in the middle formed the Braille characters and the space bar sat between them. A functional standard keyboard slid out of the bottom for appearance's sake, though Prowl rarely used it.
He typed in the address of his favorite weather website. The data pad beeped to indicate the presence of a severe weather warning. His fingers cruised the screen until he located the correct hyperlink. Hyperlinked text squished down easier than regular text. He tapped the link three times and read the message. Forecasters expected white-out conditions overnight and bitingly cold temperatures until the end of the week. Many roads were closed because not even Sumdac's plow robots could keep up with the current snowfall.
Now I know why the traffic noises are so quiet, Prowl thought to himself. He slurped the last of his fourth oil shake- by the AllSpark they were addictive.
Evening transitioned into night. Like the weather report said, the snowstorm's intensity increased by the hour. The background din in the main living area gradually trickled towards quietness. Other than the wind and TV, Prowl heard nothing. No muffled conversations, no laughter and no footsteps.
His chronometer read midnight when the TV finally fell silent. He recognized the cadence of Optimus' footfalls before they reached his door.
"Prowl? I think I'm going to turn in. Now's as good a time as any to see if your idea's going to work."
"All right. Let me get my tea set."
Prowl chose a room far from the others- it just happened to have the tree and he couldn't imagine calling any other space his own. He had never been inside Optimus' quarters before. The walk to reach his commanding officer's room seemed long. He kept his steps light to avoid disturbing the other Autobots. Ratchet's snoring practically vibrated the floor outside his quarters.
Optimus' footsteps stopped.
"Here we are. The berth is right in front of the door, but make a left and you'll find my desk. I cleared it off for you."
There were a few dim nightlights lit. Bright enough for Optimus to see his surroundings, but useless to oscillators.
Prowl's hand automatically swung left to confirm the desk's location before he lowered his tea set onto it. Swishing it side to side helped him assess the desk's size. It would do perfectly. He nodded his thanks and began taking out the components he needed. The plastic jug of vinegar, another of water, the steeping sponges, a small container of powdered mercury oxide, a matchta stick and a tea whisk were gently laid out in a neat row. He dropped a sponge into the vinegar to soak and scooted it aside
Behind him, Optimus shut the door and sat down on his recharge berth. "So, what exactly are you cooking up?" He rubbed his hands over his face when he spoke, the act both muffling his voice and expressing his tiredness.
"An old cyber ninja remedy for insomnia," Prowl positioned the heating element in the center of the desk, "There isn't anything flammable nearby, is there?"
"No, you're fine."
Prowl activated the heating element and placed his teakettle atop it. The coolant he left in it earlier saved him from having to pour more. He said, "This will take a moment to heat up."
"Perfect," Optimus allowed himself a lengthy yawn, "Okay, I wouldn't be much of a friend if I didn't ask. Are you okay, Prowl? You looked upset this afternoon...and I dumped all my issues on you. Do you want to talk about yours? Uh," he scratched at some part of his armor, "I'll shut up if it's none of my business, just say the word."
"No, you aren't prying," Prowl leaned on the corner of the desk, "Jazz has the malignant rust gene."
The scratching noises stopped. Optimus' optics blinked audibly.
"Oh. Wow, I'm sorry to hear that."
"Thank you," Prowl felt awkward thanking Optimus for being concerned, but he quickly brushed it aside, "We've both decided we won't worry about it until it starts to affect him. He is more likely to die in battle than he is of the rust. Besides, it's six billion years away- there may be treatments or a cure by then. Why worry now?"
"That's a good attitude to have," Optimus smiled, sitting up straight.
"Mm, but Jazz being ill doesn't fit my ideal picture of us growing old together. I suppose that means I have to paint a new one."
The teakettle gurgled. Prowl placed his hand near the spout and waited for the steam. Vinegar tea steeped at a higher temperature than turpentine, so he let the kettle build up to a loud hiss before he poured its contents into his tea bowl. He collected the sponge he'd placed in the vinegar and dunked it in the boiling coolant. The tea wasn't ready until the boiling stopped and the sponge no longer smelled of vinegar.
Prowl offered the hot tea bowl to Optimus. "Try a sip. If it's too cloying for your taste, I'll add the mercury oxide powder."
Optimus wrapped his hands around the sides of the bowl rather than hold it by the bottom like Prowl.
"Okay, here goes..." Then came the slurp from his first sip. He coughed, "Ack, whoa, yikes! Sorr- gack! -sorry."
"No, you're fine. I can't drink it straight either." Prowl held out his hand. Once he had the bowl again, he used the matchta stick to scoop up two parts of mercury oxide powder and made little figure eights with the tea whisk to mix it in. Upon holding it out again, he said, "It's going to taste spicy now, but the spice helps counter the sweetness."
"I like my drinks a little spicy. I discovered that when some joker spiked the Academy mess hall oil trough with mercury. Everybody else was choking, and I wanted more. Heh! It's ready? Okay. Take two," Optimus' next sip didn't include coughing or spitting. "Mm, now that's good. How much do I have to drink?"
Prowl relaxed his stance and smiled, "Two bowls should suffice."
Wind rattled the four hopper windows on the wall opposite to the door. Different parts of the building creaked and groaned. A chilly draft wafted through the room.
"This is really good," Optimus chugged the tea down like high grade. Quite a feat for something that spicy. "Here, I'm ready for the second one." He politely tapped the tea bowl against Prowl's waiting hands. "You mind if I ask you something? It's...kind of about blindness."
"Curiosity is the first step to learning. Ask away," said Prowl as he prepared a second bowl of vinegar tea. The sponge he used found a home in the jar of water, where he left it to soak.
Rustling noises indicated Optimus adjusting his position. He accepted the refilled tea bowl Prowl handed to him.
"Do you see in your dreams when you recharge?"
Prowl almost laughed at the nervousness hidden in Optimus' curious inquiry.
"No, I don't. But if Jazz's dreams are anything to go by, I experience the same oddities as anyone else with the exception of no visual input."
He held his hand palm-up and gestured to himself, "However, I can now say that I've seen. I experienced sight on Halloween when I took destronium. Unfortunately, lacking visual processors means I couldn't retain the images...but the memory that it happened is there."
"Prowl!" Optimus gasped, the sloshing of his tea hinting at his abruptly straightened posture, "That's dangerous stuff. It's practically poison!"
"Only if a bot doesn't know what he's doing. I was very careful with the dosage."
"Why did you do it?"
Prowl plopped down on the recharge berth next to Optimus. Keeping everything in meant carrying a weight far heavier than he could bear alone. He needed to tell someone about everything. Optimus wasn't bound by the ninja oaths. What happened at Yoketron's dojo didn't affect him in such a personal way.
"I was only a hundred-thousand years old when Warpath caught me..."
Once Prowl started to talk, it all came forth in an avalanche of words. He told Optimus about his incomplete ninja training, Yoketron's demise, the protoforms and Lockdown's part in the ambush. The anguish and grief he held back ever since Halloween became an unstoppable force flooding through him.
He began his explanation sitting erect. When he finished, he was hunched forward, his elbows on his knees, fighting the urge to break down. Oh, how he despised crying in front of people!
"Wow...I'm sorry. That's a lot to handle," Optimus said quietly.
Prowl felt his bottom lip starting to tremble despite willing it not to. He heard the empty tea bowl plunk down on the desk. Then Optimus' hand settled lightly on the middle of his back. Its presence was a floatation device in an otherwise impossibly stormy sea.
"I-I don't usually cry when people are watching," Prowl sputtered. It sounded childish and he didn't care. He grabbed his knees in a vain attempt at recapturing his unraveling composure.
"Prowl," Optimus' tone softened further, "I shuttered my optics," his voice shifted when he faced straight ahead, "I'm not watching you."
Those words did it. Prowl grimaced, hung his head and cried as hard as he did over Yoketron's grayed-out corpse. He pressed a fist over his mouth to control the sound. Not having optics meant he shed no tears, but his twisted expression and wheeze-like sobs gave it away. Crying quietly wasn't physically possible for him.
Outside, howling wind and biting snow blasted everything in its path. Inside the room, the same bitter storm buffeted Prowl's Spark. It might have buried him beneath insurmountable snowdrifts if not for the friendly hand gently rubbing his back.
"I won't pretend I can fix your problems, Prowl, but I understand. I understand how you feel right now."
Optimus tried to conceal a yawn by not vocalizing during it. The tea was starting to work.
"I'm sorry- to- burden- you- with this," Prowl murmured between choking sobs. His attempts to control himself increased the intensity of his weeping. Embarrassment almost swallowed him whole. He came here to resolve Optimus' sleeplessness, not keep him awake with his personal problems!
"Shhh, hey, no need to be sorry. This is what friends are for."
Prowl couldn't say anything even if he wanted to. The pain washed through and over him until his grief achieved new equilibrium. He remained bent over while his intake cycles smoothed themselves out. His grand reward for crying so forcefully? A pounding processor ache. Something much easier to handle than the anguish boiling in his Spark since Halloween.
"I'm-" he caught himself trying to apologize again and switched it up at the last second, "-glad to be heard. Thank you."
Prowl remembered feeling intimidated by Optimus a few short years ago. Not once did he imagine them reaching anything close to an understanding between each other, yet it happened.
Master Yoketron used to say unlikely friendships are Primus' way of reminding us that we are all part of him.
"Let me know when you're ready to lay down," Prowl began when he felt the hand on his back slip off, "I'll get my- oh."
Optimus had fallen into recharge while sitting upright. He'd balanced his weight so perfectly that he didn't tip over despite being completely relaxed.
Prowl wiped self-consciously at his nose before sliding off the berth. Slipping one hand behind Optimus' neck and the other under his knees, he gently shifted him to lie back properly. The unlined face his fingertips brushed seemed so much younger than the voice it belonged to. The slumbering Prime wasn't much older than Bulkhead and Bumblebee. He was just a kid determined to find his place in the universe, like Prowl when he began his ninja training.
Nobody that age deserved to shoulder the burden of leadership in a war.
A wind gust sent something on the roof creaking again. Breezy nights tended to be a little spooky. The noise would've driven Jazz to dial his audios down in order to fall into recharge.
Thinking of his bond-mate brought a bittersweet smile to Prowl's otherwise dour expression. He allowed himself a muffled yawn and perched on the stool by Optimus' desk. After propping his elbow up on the desktop, he settled his cheek against his palm and listened to his commanding officer's quiet intake cycles.
I'll stay for an hour. If he remains in recharge, I'll know the tea is working to its full effect.
The lingering scent of vinegar tea promoted relaxation. Prowl yawned again and remembered reading about lavender having a similar effect on humans. He moved his elbow and laid his aching head on his folded arms. Relaxing for a minute or two wouldn't hurt anything.
.o
Be at peace.
Primus' powerful, yet gentle voice echoed in Prowl's mind. His enormity still defied comprehension. Prowl reached towards that kind voice, desperate to touch the some part of the being it belonged to. A moment later, he stepped lightly on a wooden floor without finding the sudden change at all strange. Iodine incense surrounded him with its stinging scent. He kept reaching in the direction Primus' voice came from. His fingertips encountered a smiling metal sculpture sitting cross-legged on the floor.
An odd premonition prompted Prowl to leave the shrine and rush towards Yoketron's private quarters. Even from the hallway he could hear the distinct wheeze of intake manifolds occluded by rust. He burst through the door in a panic. The wheezing grew louder. Faint grunts of pain punctuated each forceful exhale.
"Prowl..." Yoketron's voice was barely recognizable.
"This's it," Jazz spoke from the left. His wavering tone suggested tears.
Nodding, Prowl sat by the low recharge berth and gathered his sensei in his arms. Yoketron's frame felt too hot with the worst heat building in his head. Being unable to properly cycle air was causing his processor to overheat. Any moment now, it would reach the melting point and hopefully end his suffering quickly.
"I'm here, Master Yoketron. I'm here," he touched his mentor's rigid hand.
Yoketron did not have the strength to close his fingers.
"Don't be afraid, Prowl," he rasped, "Don't be afraid of this."
"Shhh, save your strength for the journey," Prowl soothed him. He cupped Yoketron's cheek and spoke over his shoulder, "Jazz, is there anything we can give him for the pain?"
"I think there's-"
Heavy footsteps approached the open door. Something sharp scraped the doorframe. A low, hollow voice cooed in Prowl's audio, "My way didn't hurt as much."
"Lockdown," Prowl growled without turning around, "get out."
"Or what?"
"Beat it!" Jazz snarled.
"You should've let me do it, Prowl!" Lockdown snapped. The scratching sound was his hook running along the wall. He transformed and, against all logic, drove straight down. His voice echoed among the floorboards, "You can't see it like I can! You can't see it!"
Wind whistled through two Eucalyptus trees growing in the same space as the door. Their cool scent filled the room and quickly retreated.
"The trees are witherin'," Jazz said. He slid the door shut. The sound came from the ceiling rather than the wall, but Prowl paid the oddity no mind.
"Don't be afraid," Yoketron croaked. His speech slurred, "Prowl, don't be afraid."
"I won't, Master Yoketron," Prowl replied, "You don't have to worry about me. I'll be fine." A total lie, but he hoped it would ease Yoketron's mind.
Howling wind battered the dojo walls. Prowl tasted frost in the air. Something on the roof creaked.
Jazz resettled at Prowl's side. He grasped Yoketron's free hand. Tears created snags in his otherwise smooth voice, "Everything's gonna be okay. Go on and rest. We'll take it from here."
"Don't be...don't be...afraid..."
"I'm sorry," Prowl bit back a sob, "I'm sorry for losing the protoforms, but I promise to get them back."
Yoketron wasn't conscious anymore. The pungent stench of melting destronium filled the room. Whirring noises signaled his optics rolling back. His mouth fell open and an awful gurgle rose in his throat.
"Sensei," Jazz sobbed. He touched the top of Yoketron's head, "It's okay. Just let it all go. We're with ya."
Static discharged off Yoketron's frame. His back suddenly arched and his arms curled inward towards his chest, a posture common in bots suffering a processor meltdown. Everything in his waste tank escaped, adding to the awful odors already polluting the air.
Prowl bore his teeth and cried out, "Primus, just take him!"
A death spasm contorted Yoketron's expression into something unrecognizable. He gulped air once more and relaxed in Prowl's arms, a colorless shell empty of its life force.
Silence rushed in to replace the wheezing. There was nothing peaceful, beautiful or dignified about any of it.
Helpless, Prowl clutched at his mentor's gray corpse. Shock blunted his emotions. He wanted to cry, yet couldn't. The memory of Yoketron's awful last moments clung to his mind like ice crystals.
"Jazz, we have to clean him off. He's covered in- Jazz, are you there? Jazz?"
The smell of destronium became decay's nauseating dankness. Like an abandoned scrap yard under the burning summer sun.
Prowl took his hand off Yoketron's face to reach for Jazz. But Jazz wasn't beside him anymore. Jazz was in his arms. Cold, limp and dead.
"No," he jerked away, then rushed forward to cup Jazz's gape-mouthed face between his palms, "No, it's too soon. It's too soon! Jazz!"
A hand clamped on his shoulder and shook it. The voice the hand belonged to rang familiar, "Prowl? Prowl...hey, Prowl...wow..."
.o
"...you're a heavy- Prowl?"
"Hm?" Prowl lifted his head off his folded arms.
"Morning," said Optimus.
"Where...?" he asked, disoriented.
"You fell into recharge at my desk."
Prowl groaned and let his head drop right back where he had it before. The frightening dream faded to dust within his processor.
"My sincerest apologies," he mumbled into his arms, "I was only going to wait an hour to make sure you didn't wake prematurely. I must have dozed off."
"Heh, heh, don't worry about it. I just woke up myself, so your tea did the trick," Optimus yawned and grunted, "So how do you fall into recharge without any optics to close? That always seemed like an important step."
"I..." Prowl covered his own sympathetic yawn, "...just relax when I'm tired enough and off I go. What is it like to enter recharge with optics to close? Actually, why do you close your optics to recharge? I never figured that one out."
"It's, uh, well, I um, what a weird question. I never really thought about it," Optimus bent to touch his feet and straightened again, "Closing my optics shuts out visual distractions and makes it easier to power down, I guess. Then I toss and turn until I give up on recharge and get up again. That is, until you gave me the vinegar tea. That really knocked me out."
"Interesting."
Prowl twisted his hands palm-out, interlinked his fingers and straightened his arms in front of him. He arched his back before lifting his linked hands upward to loosen up his shoulders, chest and spinal struts.
"Vinegar tea is simple to make. I can teach you how. Give a bot tea and he will have enough to drink for a moment. Teach a bot how to make tea and he will have enough to drink for a lifetime."
Optimus snickered, mid-stretch, "Is that a proverb, too?"
"No, I made it up."
"Hm...at the risk of sounding like Bumblebee- there's hope for you yet."
Prowl laughed heartily and gathered his tea supplies. The vibrations from his oscillators suggested another cloudy, dreary morning. He heard the wind swish past the windows behind him.
"How does the weather look? Is it still a white-out?"
"Mmhmm."
"Then stop by my quarters in an hour, and I'll show you how to brew your own vinegar tea."
"Why not now?"
Prowl paused in the doorway, "Morning prayer."
"Ah, right, sorry. It's nice to know Primus is real. Wish I got a chance to see him before Sari used her Key on me."
"You will when he decides you're ready," said Prowl, "so don't worry. Faith is to believe in things and people without seeing them."
Optimus started replacing whatever he kept on his desk. He paused to say, "I hope I live up to that faith."
"Don't worry," Prowl beamed over his shoulder, "You do."
"Thanks," the young Prime grinned, "See you in an hour."
Prowl's smile grew briefly. He adjusted his grip on the tea set and padded quietly to his own quarters. Soft beeping from his wall console indicated a text message waiting for him. He downloaded it to his data pad and swiped his fingertips across the Braille dotting the screen.
Morning, gorgeous.
Just wanted to let you know you're running through my mind.
-Jazz
Amused, Prowl positioned his fingers on the Braille keypad and quickly typed a response.
Good morning, my love.
I will run through your mind as long as you continue to run through mine. I do hope you'll have time off soon. There is so much I need to tell you in person.
You are my light, Jazz. Stay safe.
-Prowl
The thick data pad released a satisfying thump when Prowl set it down. He longed to spill everything out to Jazz right then and there. The weight of the whole mess tugged on his Spark like a black hole's gravity well.
Yesterday rang fresh in his mind. It awoke his memories of the night he realized Yoketron genuinely wanted to hear what he had to say. That wise, aged ninja knew how to listen.
And so did Optimus.
Though their backgrounds were almost night and day, Prowl knew their life experiences granted them a strange kinship.
Grief created a small pain in the back of his throat. Optimus did not- could not- replace Yoketron, but his presence proved that great friendships were unexpected treasures.
Prowl lit an iodine stick, exhaled and listened for Primus' wisdom. A feeling of affirmation reached him through rising vapors. An answer, disguised as knowledge.
Many unknowns lurked in the murky future, but one certainty rang clear.
Primus is behind me, my love is beside me and a friend is before me.
He raised his head with a smile.
I am not alone.