Author's note: This chapter was kinda meant to poke fun at the ambiguity of the infamous "sex scene" between Optimus Prime and Elita-1 in the episode "The Search for Alpha Trion". Things here might make a bit more sense if you've seen it.
Acknowledgements: Lots of thanks to hydraling110 for betaing.
Warnings: Just some crackiness.
Disclaimer: Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way.
The insistent beep and the red flashing on his intercom told him it was urgent. Without waiting even an astrosecond, Prowl flipped it on, hoping the news wouldn't be too bad.
It was Ratchet. His voice sounded drained and tired, but yet very insistent, as he spoke.
"Prowl, I need you down in the medbay immediately. Bluestreak's life depends on it."
Prowl froze, if only for a fraction of a second.
"I'll be there, Ratchet."
Subspacing the intercom, the tactician headed towards the medbay as quickly as he could, fuel pump churning uncomfortably and a feeling of icy dread in his stomach. When Bluestreak had been brought in after an encounter with the 'Cons earlier today, he had been badly wounded and unconscious. Ratchet had performed a few quick scans, and then informed the 'Bots cramming his medbay that the gunner's condition was serious but stable, and would they please get out of his medbay so he could work in peace.
Reluctantly, they had left, entrusting their comrade's life in the medic's competent hands. Prowl had then spent the remainder of the day anxiously waiting for an update on Bluestreak's condition, the recent piece of news a far cry from what he had hoped for.
Dreading the worst, he flung the door open to the Ark's medbay, hoping it wouldn't be too late.
Three heads quickly looked up from the prone form on the berth as he entered. Ratchet, Perceptor and Wheeljack.
Prowl could feel his spark constrict at the sight. If all three of those mechs were gathered around one patient, it had to be bad.
Ratchet beckoned him to approach. "Bluestreak's condition has deteriorated. While I was able to fix the damage to his circuits and systems, the wounds have put too heavy a strain on his spark, and it will not be able to recover on its own." He made a pause, drawing his breath. "He needs a spark energy transfer, and that's why I've called you here. Not all designs can properly interface with each other, but you and Bluestreak are the same model, which means you are automatically compatible. I need you to disengage your power filter and prepare for an interface."
Prowl nodded his understanding as he opened a hatch in his chassis, revealing the delicate circuitry beneath. He held still as Ratchet attached the necessary cables, linking the two mechs together.
A strange tingle, almost a bit too pleasant, spread through the tactician's body as their systems connected and energy from his spark flowed over the cables, and into the young gunner's almost depleted spark. Perhaps he was only imagining it, but it seemed as if the other's drained face was already starting to regain some of its normal luster.
Several kliks passed. Then the patient stirred, faintly at first, but soon more insistently.
A smile of relief spread across the medic's faceplates as he watched his patient slowly coming to life. "Looks like our young friend will be pulling through after all," he said, sounding like the weight of the world had suddenly lifted from his shoulders.
Prowl could feel a tug at his own lips and allowed them to form a rare smile on the otherwise so stern and serious faceplates. "Yes. He's tougher to kill than that, our Bluestreak."
Blue optics suddenly came to life, immediately gluing themselves to the interfacing cables sticking out of the patient's chest. Slowly, the gaze travelled along their length to finally come to rest on the tactician, and the optics widened. "P-Prowl?" a small voice asked in surprised disbelief, as if needing a verbal confirmation that he was indeed seeing correctly.
Ratchet immediately put his hands on the prone mech's shoulders to prevent him from trying to get up. "You'll be fine, Bluestreak, but you're still very weak and need to rest. Just lay back and try not to move."
The gunner obeyed, but his wide optics never left Prowl's form until the medic detached the interfacing cables and ushered the tactician out of the medbay.
Prowl was happy to have the gunner back again as his partner for patrol duty. While it had been necessary for Bluestreak to recuperate in medbay for a little while, Ratchet's medical expertise soon had him fully functional and operational again.
Getting seriously wounded had apparently done nothing to curb the young gunner's enthusiasm or talkativeness, Prowl mused as he walked with Bluestreak in tow, the latter chattering happily about the card game he had just finished with the twins before his shift started.
While Prowl generally didn't pay much attention to the words as such, he was glad to hear the voice prattling on in the background. He had come to think of it as an odd kind of reassurance – as long as Bluestreak's mouth ran non-stop, everything was as it should be.
There was another thing that hadn't diminished either, Prowl noted – Bluestreak's near hero-worship of the tactician. If anything, the opposite was true.
The gunner had always held a special admiration for his superior officer. While Prowl had initially felt uncomfortable at the blatant idolizing when he had first gotten assigned to working with Bluestreak, feeling the expectations unrealistic and unfounded, he had learned to accept it. While he still believed that he was unsuited to star in Bluestreak's little hero fantasy – he was just a normal, albeit highly skilled, mech doing his job, after all – some 'Bots did thrive on having someone to look up to and idolize. And if it made the gunner feel better, Prowl had decided to let him indulge in his little fantasies undisturbed.
Though, ever since the gunner had exited that medbay, his hero-worship seemed to have reached new heights. Having always enjoyed Prowl's presence, Bluestreak now sought out his company whenever he could. Though, it was understandable, considering that Prowl had saved the young gunner's life. Not that the tactician thought anything of his own actions – they would all have done the same thing for a comrade – but he could see how it had served to pour more fuel onto the other's already blazing fire, which he wasn't sure was entirely healthy.
Perhaps he should address that.
"Look, Bluestreak," he said, interrupting a stream of words that had seamlessly gone from revolving around the colour of the Ark's walls, on to the energon they served at the now defunct bar Dented Chassis in Polyhex, and then further on to the human practice of keeping pets. "About what happened in medbay that time... It was nothing. Please don't attach any importance to it or turn it into something more than what it was."
"Oh." The devastated look on the gunner's face could have rivaled that of a wet puppy as he looked at the tactician with wide optics. "You're talking about... the-the interfacing. And it didn't mean anything to you..." His doorwings slumped. "I-I see," he finally stuttered, and then looked away.
Silence followed.
Prowl immediately realized that he had said something wrong, or had somehow managed to offend the gunner, even if he was utterly clueless to the what and how. He drew a sigh. He wasn't good with words, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he would have to make a try.
"I mean... " he started, not sure how he should continue, or what Bluestreak wanted to hear. "I'm glad that it saved your life and that you're back with us. Rest assured, I would do it again. Anytime," he said, giving the young mech's hand an awkward pat.
"Anytime?" Bluestreak's face lit up, as if everything was suddenly right with the world again.
"Of course," Prowl nodded and offered a small smile, trying to reassure the other.
Apparently it worked, because Bluestreak once more erupted into a veritable barrage of words, as he bounced happily along at Prowl's side.
The tactician just shrugged inwardly. Bluestreak could be strange like that. But as long as he kept talking, everything was fine.
