A/N: Wow, thanks to all the people who reviewed! I know, I'm a horrible person for not updating, but bear with me please.
Anyways, Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays to all and to all Happy Readings and Writings!
Warning(s): Fluff, angst.
'italics' - flashbacks
Chapter 2 - Tiny Servos
"Hey Prowler-...ah."
The sight was quite comical, really.
Jazz had entered Prowl's office, expecting the usual cold greeting, and small talk for a breem if he was lucky, then a brief dismissal before he was practically forced out of the room. No, seriously, the tactician's glares were really that bad.
Instead, he had found the tactician sitting rigidly at his desk, while Bluestreak sat in the background, babbling randomly to two happily trilling and chirping sparklings. The sniper seemed tired, though, if his exhausted posture was anything to go by.
And still, Jazz almost laughed outright at the looks on the sparklings' faces. Optics wide and mouths open in gleeful grins - all because they were amazed at the sounds coming out of the grey Praxian's mouth. They were so fast and... different from what everybot else says!
...And those large metal things fluttering on the mechs back were mesmerizing as well.
Recovering from his shocked haze, Jazz took a look at the obviously tired SIC. Chuckling, he questioned, "Hey Prowl. I was gonna ask if you knew where lil' Blue was, but obviously mah search is over." Gesturing his head over to the younger in the room, Bluestreak merely waved noncommittally before continuing to spew out random babble, much to the sparklings' delight. "'nyways, 'was gonna ask whether you guys wanted ta come 'nd go celebrate wit' the rest o' us after our victory over the 'Cons last week."
At this, Bluestreak's helm perked up, expression hopeful. Prowl sighed, before nodding curtly.
"You're dismissed, Bluestreak. You have deserved it, after all."
Giving a cheerful whoop and Prowl a hug in thanks, he ran over to Jazz who told the mech to wait outside for him for a sec while he briefed Prowl on a recent report.
As the door swooshed shut, Prowl picked up the two sparklings he still stubbornly refused to call his own. As the black and white had quoted, he was merely 'looking after' the two until they find a better guardian for them. He was SIC, he didn't have that much time for both his duties and looking after sparklings and their needs.
Giving his long-time friend a suffering look, Prowl stared at the other occupying his office. "Now Jazz, if I recall the duty roster correctly, and I should because I was the one who constructed it for this week, today is your off-day."
Jazz merely replied by grinning widely, "Yeah, ah know Prowler-"
"Prowl, Jazz. My designation is Prowl."
"-but ah wanted to know how the whole sparkling situation is going. Ah mean, you can't leave 'em in here forever."
Prowl's right doorwing flicked in aggravation, "I do not just permit the sparklings to only this particular room."
A sigh, "'Raj's, Blue's, and ya're quarters don't count, Prowlie."
And there it was. Prowl's doorwings sagged, and not even bothering to correct the nickname, the SIC huffed. His stoic mask disintegrating too easily for the Praxian's liking and he looked at Jazz with weary eyes.
Jazz looked back with a determined face, small grin still in place as he set a servo atop of Prowl's shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. "Ya wanna talk 'bout the situation Prowl?"
The look on his face told Jazz he'd much rather be getting to other activities, such as that word load Prowl kept claiming never ends, but went against his better judgment and sat down, arms packed with two tired sparklings.
"It's a long story."
"Ah got the time, Prowlie." Jazz grinned, sitting in front of Prowl on one of the guest chairs, planting his feet comfortably up on the desk (yet, not before sending Bluestreak a comm. to meet him in awhile outside the base).
"Well, where do I begin?"
It was earlier that morning, and as Prowl mused, he figured it to have been at least four days after he 'temporarily-adopted' the two sparklings, and honestly, it wasn't fun.
Prime had taken away half of his workload and divided it equally to other mechs that would meet the expectations needed for it somewhat. And let me tell you, it really was wearing down on the mech.
Of course, it was a little bit of a well needed break from routine and logic. And Ratchet had been telling him he needed said break. The CMO had even threatened, 'And so help me Primus, if I catch you working when it's not necessary, I am going to take that battle computer of yours away and turn it into something useful that doesn't work itself into stasis... like a toaster.'
How the medic came up with such colourful and creative threats (or how he knew what a toaster was) was beyond Prowl's understanding.
Now, though, it was 4:00 in the afternoon - Earth time - and the mech had nothing to do, having finished his workload for the orn in the morning. Sighing in defeat, he supposed it would be better to go get the little femmling and mechling from Mirage instead of wasting time by sulking in his quarters.
As he walked through the corridor on his way to Mirage's quarters, he occasionally nodded to those who greeted him during his walk. Doorwings flickering as he did, Prowl mused about the past days, seemingly have gone by so fast since he picked up the two chirring bundles.
Optimus had given Mirage and Bluestreak as Prowl's helpers or substitute babysitters when the black and white really needed it. Not only because they just had that natural feel when they were with the young ones, but also because the sparklings seemed the most comfortable around those three mechs the most.
The sparklings weren't scared of other mechs, no, their processors made sure of that, but they were merely more comfortable in the proximity of those they met here first.
Familiarity was comfort.
And Mirage didn't seem to have a problem with taking care of the young'uns, despite popular belief. It turns out that at the Towers, the elite mechs took great pride in their sparklings and were known to pamper them. And Bluestreak, on the other servo, was just happy to help two cute, young lives.
Though, why the sparklings made it clear that they liked Prowl the most was baffling to himself.
Finally reaching the Special Ops mech's room, he pinged for entrance and the door swished open in reply. Stepping in warily, Prowl was greeted with the vision of Mirage fussing over the crying mechling while the femmling recharged.
Snapping his head up, a rare, albeit small, relieved smile adorned Mirage's face.
"Hello Prowl. I have to admit I'm glad you are here, this tiny mechling here has been fussy ever since at least half an hour ago." Yet, as he said that, the small one was staring in awe at the SIC, then, after a couple cooing sounds, made grabby hands for the doorwinger.
Complying, Prowl bent at the waist to pick up the small being, cradling him close to his spark (as Ratchet had ever so helpfully instructed him to), and awkwardly patted the small one's head, trying to soothe wounds that the sparkling didn't even know he had.
Picking up the femmling, Mirage offered, "Would you like me to help you carry her to your quarters?"
Giving a curt nod in appreciation, Prowl thanked the blue and white. Then they both headed off to their destination.
An uncomfortable silence followed, giving Prowl some time to think.
Again, why were the sparklings so attached to him?
"Well, perhaps they just like you...or..." Mirage trailed off. Prowl jerked, he hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud.
"They say sparklings can sense a good mech when they see one, Prowl. Perhaps there is just something more about you that the rest of us can't figure out, but the sparklings can."
Prowl nodded at this, it was a logical reason for the most part. And even as they reached Prowl's quarters, he just couldn't help but feel as if he was missing something.
Jazz had listened attentively, to which Prowl was grateful for. It wasn't often he was able to voice his true feelings out to another.
And by the end of it, the two sparklings in his arms had come out of recharge. Their optics glued onto the one holding them in strong arms, as if in a trance. It was flattering almost, albeit uncomfortable still to the socially-awkward SIC.
Thanking Jazz and bidding him farewell, Prowl stood, sparklings in arms, and trudged to his quarters. There were a couple mechs lingering in the hallway, as many mechs were off duty by this time of the day, and they stared at the SIC with various expression ranging from amused to creeped out.
Prowl was used to the less-than-nice jabs being sent his way, whether behind his back or to his faceplates, but it seemed worse with having the sparklings in his arms.
"I heard those two sparklings were 'Cons." There was a snort of disgust, "Pathetic. Mechs can't even take care of their own offspring."
Yet despite his mixed feelings about the comments to himself, it was indeed quite inappropriate to be making such comments about the sparklings he held. It hadn't been a public announcement about the little ones until recently, and still there were mixed reactions from his fellow comrades.
The sparklings didn't deserve this however. To be discriminated against merely because of optic colour, or who their creators were. It wasn't like they could control it, and Prowl could relate to how growing up like that was. Maybe, too well for his liking.
So turning around and glaring at who'd uttered the comment, probably some minibot who needed an attitude adjustment (the ex-Enforcer wouldn't be surprised if it was Cliffjumper), and glared. His doorwings flared as to make himself seem larger and more intimidating. And the black and white mech, in an uncharacteristic show of anger, felt his control slipping away as he was about to snap a retort to the comment (which no doubt, was not supposed to have reached his audios) on HIS charges.
At least, he would have made it that far if it wasn't for the tiny servos prodding at his chest plating. Tiny palms squeaking against his armor as they patted his chest in an attempt to get his attention. Prowl obliged, indulging the two in a calming, small, smile, before sneaking a glance at who he glared at merely a moment ago. Satisfied with having turned the mech into a quivering pile of goo from his glare alone, he turned on his heel and into his quarters.
Inside, the stoic mech allowed his cold exterior to melt away. He knew there was no need to keep it up when there was nobot he needed to hold it for.
Seemingly pleased at this, the sparklings giggled in his arms. He smiled slightly at them. It wasn't as if he was angry at the sparklings or irritated at the fact he was assigned to take care of them, but he was confused as to his earlier problem.
Even if the sparklings saw him for who he was, who was he exactly?
He lay down on the recharge berth with the sparklings curled up to either side of him, and they snuggled happily into the now-familiar arms that encircled them.
And as they did, Prowl couldn't help but reminisce. The feeling was familiar, but not in a good way.
He just couldn't put his finger onto when he'd felt this way.
...
He could hear the yelling voices from outside the small room he was in, doorwings quivering as they were forced flat against his tiny back. He had two frames on each side of him - one slightly larger than his own, and the other smaller.
He remembered whispering haunting words of reassurance to both on each side of him, only to have whimpers answer his own hoarse voice.
The yells were getting louder outside now, and he could hear things crashing - the distinct sound of crystals shattering made him flinch. His crystal garden!
"No..."
The forms he held curled even tighter into his sides, and Prowl wanted to do all he could to protect them. But... what could he do against those large presences outside?
The screaming outside was so loud, his audios ringed with the sensation, yet it got harder and harder to think as they did. A strange fog clouded his processor, and it consumed him no matter what he did to stop it.
And then light flooded their previously dark space as two large, clawed servos grabbed the others from his sides.
"No!" His only sources of comfort! They couldn't take that away from him! It was the only thing left-
And just as he finished that thought, a hand striked him across the face. Sadly, the only thing he could remember before he fell unconscious was the emotional pain and the physical pain of a dented bottom lip, energon leaking to his chin. His fists clenched angrily before he was forced to succumb to the darkness around him.
...
Prowl, startled, shot straight up from his berth. He panted from the bad memory-purge he relived in his recharge, and swiping a servo across his lip, he was relieved to see that the phantom pain he felt was only fantasy.
Wait... He swiped a digit across his lip again and was horrified to notice there was indeed a small dent there. Shocked, he was about to comm. Red Alert, before a small chirrup sounded, demanding his attention.
It was the small femmling, holding an empty energon bottle (one Ratchet specially designed for the purpose of these two sparklings), and was repeatedly hitting it across Prowl's shoulder.
He winced as she hit him hard enough to produce a very small dent, it was nothing compared to what happened out in battle, but imagining what damage she could very possibly do as a youngling had him grimacing.
Well at least that explained the dent on his lip.
He picked up the small one and sighed, heading over to a storage cabinet in his room where he had stored two weeks worth of sparkling-grade energon and filled the pouting femme's container. Adjusting his hold on her and raising the bottle to her lipplates (as Ratchet had, again, so helpfully instructed three days ago), he watched in an almost awe-like state as she sucked on the end hungrily. She purred happily as the energon started to flow into her tanks.
Prowl took a deep invent as he watched this. He was tired from the day's events and confused as to why a horrible memory had been brought up during his recharge cycle. Yet, even as the small femmling finished her bottle, and the sound of the mechling's systems starting up reached his audios, the doorwinger couldn't help but jerk at the small tug he felt in his spark. It was so swift and short, but it had still been there.
Smiling, Prowl just chuckled as the mechling whined in jealousy from his spot on the recharge berth, and made his way to pick him up. Gathering the materials necessary for the young mech's own meal, a thought crossed his processor...
"I really need to give these two names."
ANY SUGGESTIONS ON NAMES FOR THE LIL' CUTIES? And yes, next chapter's where we really get rolling, so expect longer scenes and a little more fixation on the sparklings.
Review please?
