A/N: In which I make Sunbow's odd continuity errors work for me! Re-watch "Prime Target" and you'll see what I mean.

As always, I greatly appreciate my reviewers and the time they take to encourage me. Thank you to the following: Transformers101, Kaede Akira, Carmilla DeWinter, OrianPrime92, Phoenix13, Reality Obscured, renegadewriter8, Yami-Yugi3, thepheonixqueen, Sslaxx, Optimus Bob, and Shizuka Taiyou.



Chapter 8: An Hour upon the Stage

Prowl stood before Teletraan's main viewscreen, frowning at the Sky Spy's transmission, which showed Optimus landing in the Mojave Desert. Apparently one of Lord Chumley's castles was tucked away there, although a search on the eccentric madman had revealed he had homes in England, Scotland, France, Tanzania, Jamaica, and the U.S. It also revealed that he had not only inherited money but also made more himself in the oil, automotive, electronic, and real estate industries.

In short, he was a human with too much time and money on his hands, and Prowl didn't like what that meant for his fellow Autobots.

Optimus' transmission broke Prowl's concentration. ::Autobots, this is Prime. I have arrived in the target area::

Prowl crossed his arms over his chest as he watched Optimus enter the man's property. He did not like Prime's being there alone. Judging by the grumbling gaggle of mechs standing behind him, he wasn't the only one.

"Are ya gonna leave it like this?" Ironhide asked, fuming as he stared at the screen.

Snorting, Prowl calculated that the odds of Ironhide pressing for action were 99.4 percent. Other than being the kind who acted first and thought later, Ironhide was unequivocally one of Prime's three closet friends.

Over the speakers came Prime's voice again, and he sounded none-too-pleased with Lord Chumley. "You better hope I find them before I find you."

Threatening, Prowl thought with approval. No good commander took the capture and torture of his mechs well, even if they had determined that the captured mechs weren't in too serious danger physically.

"Well?" Ironhide demanded, then paused and added almost as an afterthought, "sir?"

Prowl cast him a sidelong gaze. Their crew had grown very lax and informal on some counts given their small size and remote location, but some things needed to be upheld. "As a matter of fact, I'm probably not." He knew his statement was vague, but he had a devious moment in which he decided not to explain himself.

"Probably not whut, sir?" Ironhide predictably asked, shifting from foot-to-foot in a clear need for action.

Prowl had occasionally wondered what kind of damage the brig would take if they ever had cause to put Ironhide in solitary confinement. "I'm probably not going to just stand here and watch," he clarified, frowning at the viewscreen as a bizarre dragon-like creature charged Prime. Where in the slaggin' polyverse had Chumley found such an animal? "Prime ordered me to keep you all safe. But he didn't specify where to keep you safe, and he didn't expressly order me not to follow."

Bluestreak laughed. "Is that creative interpretation of orders, sir?"

"I have no imagination, remember?" Prowl replied, but he was jerked out of his banter by the sight of the dragon tearing not one but two holes into Prime's shoulders. He could feel his doorwings quivering from his stress. ::Prowl to Skyfire.:: he said, opening his internal comm. link. ::Report to the entrance at once and standby for possible departure.::

::Yes, sir!:: Skyfire sounded all too jubilant at the idea, as though he'd been impatiently awaiting an obvious order. Prowl considered the situation and supposed it really was obvious.

On screen, Prime defeated the dragon, only to be captured by some kind of red energy net. Ironhide was growling in his engine as he watched.

Warpath stepped up beside Prowl. "Hey, sir, can we go and even the odds by - Wham! Bang! - taking out some of those traps?"

Prowl's battle computer was telling him Prime's chances of success given the traps thus far were 93.63 percent. He was also ready to tell his battle computer where it could shove its statistics. Still, he needed to act responsibly. "Well, if Prime -"

"Deceptuhcons," Ironhide interrupted, jabbing his finger at the screen.

Prowl whirled to watch Astrotrain and Blitzwing land behind Prime in the mock Cybertron construction. "We're going," he snapped, totally ignoring anything else his battle computer had to say on the matter. That was his Optimus who was in danger. "Ironhide and Bluestreak, you'll be in team one with me, assisting Prime. "Ratchet, Wheeljack, and Warpath, you'll be team two. Recover the hostages." He turned to Red Alert. "You're acting commander until we return."

A chorus of "yes, sirs" and bloodthirsty cheers erupted as Prowl transformed and raced to Skyfire, his mechs close on his bumper.

After they were loaded onto Skyfire, they watched in tense silence as the Sky Spy kept up the video feed on Skyfire's internal terminal. Prime worked through a long series of traps and obstacles, including a fake woman chained to a manacle, a scorpion 'bot, and an attack by Astrotrain. Prowl thought his spark would ice over when Prime went down, lying motionless for several kliks.

Primus, he prayed unabashedly. Please preserve him! He clenched his fists on the edge of his chair so tightly Skyfire yelped. The terror was so mind-numbing he didn't even think to apologize as he loosened his grip. Optimus meant far, far too much to him to lose now.

"Prime's tougher than that," Ironhide said, crossing his arms. "He can't be dead."

Prowl wasn't sure who Ironhide was trying to convince: them or himself. He tried to latch on to Ironhide's seeming surety, though. Still, his entire body was vibrating with tiny tremors. He has to be alive. He has to be! It was more than the price to their cause and morale. It was his personal love for Optimus.

"Ya'll know I'm right," Ironhide growled. "Just wait and see."

"The damage doesn't look too extreme," Ratchet replied. "I think he's probably just stunned."

Prowl grabbed on to that assessment with his entire spark, clinging to it until he saw Prime stir and stand up. His stress, though, only receded slightly. He needed to get to Prime now. "Skyfire, what's our ETA?"

"Five kliks, sir."

Slaggit! he thought, exasperated. His doorwings began quivering from stress again, but he still found himself watching Optimus approach Lord Chumley's castle and lift the iron gate. Stay safe, he thought, counting the remaining kliks down in astroseconds. As soon as Skyfire landed, he transformed and screeched out of the cargo hold.

::Let's roll,:: he barked over the comm. line.

Bluestreak and Ironhide hadn't lost any time joining him and in fact tailgated him into the castle. Ratchet was leading his team around the castle to the back, where the hostages were being kept.

Prowl slid to a stop in the castle foyer and transformed, following the path of destruction caused by one angry Prime. He squeezed up the stairwell and through an odd metal tube, then he ran through the hole busted through the wall of Lord Chumley's command center. Optimus was at the far side of the room, looking back and forth down the hallway exposed by yet another mech-sized hole.

"My mechs first," Prime muttered, stepping right, only to stop at the sound of Bluestreak stumbling on some loose stones. He turned toward the noise, then seemed to freeze where he stood.

"Ratchet is leading a team to rescue the others, sir," Prowl said.

Optimus' optics brightened. "Prowl!"

Ironhide stomped around Prowl and pointed a finger at Prime. "Hey, no way were we lettin' ya face this freak alone. An' ya just try to delay Ratchet in gettin' ta his patients."

Prime laughed, walking up and squeezing Ironhide's shoulder with one hand and Prowl's with the other. "I should have known." He met Prowl's gaze for a moment, and he seemed to ponder saying something more before dismissing it. He reached up, touching his fingertips to Prowl's cheek briefly, then dropped his hand.

The sounds of scrambling mech feet echoed down the hallway, then Ratchet was peering into the room. "Got them all, Prime. No major injuries, although Grapple, Inferno, Blaster, Tracks, and Beachcomber have used too much energy. I had them shut down into stasis, and Warpath is guarding them."

"Excellent." Prime headed toward the hallway, clearly still on a mission. "Then we have a human to catch and possibly two Decepticons to deal with. Let's go!"

Prowl, Ironhide, and Bluestreak joined Prime, Bumblebee, Ratchet, Jazz, and Wheeljack as they ran down the hallway. They could hear Astrotrain and Blitzwing yelling, probably at Lord Chumley, and jerked their weapons from subspace, charging the 'Cons as they entered the room. Having no weapons, Astrotrain and Blitzwing immediately fled.

"No point in chasing after them," Optimus said, watching them go. He turned toward the trembling Chumley. "Here's the trophy I want."

Prowl smirked, mentally dubbing the mission a success.

oOoOo

Once they'd returned the lost jet to the USSR, along with Chumley as punishment for his stealing it, they went back to base triumphant. A short celebration ensued, although Prime took Prowl's hand and led him away once the dancing got started.

"You came after me," Optimus noted softly as they entered the hallway. "And not for tactical reasons. It was personal, wasn't it?"

"We never hold out on rescues, sir," Prowl pointed out, feeling the need to defend his actions as logical. "And you would have needed Ratchet, Wheeljack, and Skyfire to deal with any injuries and transportation back to base."

Optimus' optics were glowing a bit bright. "It was personal," he repeated, his tone neutral.

Prowl began to worry that maybe Prime was suggesting he was emotionally compromised. "I would never let my feelings for you jeopardize this crew, sir. That being said, of course I was anxious to reach you. I was worried for your safety."

Optimus had brought them to his quarters. "Is that why you swept into Chumley's command center like an avenging spark or Primus-sent rescuer?" He punched in his access code, and the door slid open.

Having detected a note of fond amusement in Prime's voice, Prowl relaxed. "Yes, sir."

Prime released his battle mask, revealing a small, loving smile. "It was quite a stunning sight. I was struck speechless and nearly kissed you right in front of Ironhide and Bluestreak." Then, without any ado, he grasped Prowl's arms, dragging him into the cabin and letting the door shut behind them.

"But the fact is that you disobeyed me," Prime said, his tone suddenly one of mock censure, his voice dropping into a purr. "I told you I was going alone."

It took Prowl's processor a moment to catch up to the abrupt change in Prime's behavior, but he answered with the first words that came to mind. "I was watching everything on the Sky Spy, sir. I saw you get hurt." Prowl shivered as Prime gently but firmly turned him around and pressed him face-first against the wall. His doorwings had been pushed practically into Optimus' face by the position, and Prime's engine revved faintly. Prowl's circuits burned with growing arousal.

Prime stepped close behind him, the heat of his armor warming Prowl's own. "But you still disobeyed me. I should 'discipline' you." His tone was teasing, but he retained his grip on Prowl's arms.

Prowl wasn't sure how far the game would go or how serious Prime would be with it, but he decided to play along for the moment. Prime had been extremely courteous during their inebriated lovemaking, after all, and if Prime were going to touch his doorwings now, he hardly wanted to protest. "Sir, you gave no direct orders about backup or specifications concerning - ah!" He gasped sharply as Prime captured the tip of the right doorwing in his mouth, sucking and nibbling.

"Be quiet. You earned this, solider," Prime murmured, licking up the edge of the 'captured' doorwing.

Nearly twisting out of Prime's hold, Prowl moaned and arched into the wall. Primus, he thought fuzzily. I haven't even told him about my fantasy yet! He could only imagine what would happen when Optimus learned he wanted to be trapped and have his doorwings ravished.

As though responding to Prowl's thoughts, Optimus licked across the right doorwing's demarcation line, then ran his glossa around the door handle before sucking on it. Prowl cried out and thrashed against the hands that held him, but he was securely restrained. A small portion of his processor pointed out to him that he was extending Optimus a massive amount of trust, but the truth was he did have faith Prime wouldn't hurt him. And because of that, he let go, immersing himself in the sensations.

"I can't tell you what joy I felt realizing you'd come after me, and not just as an officer or comrade," Prime whispered, switching to the other doorwing.

The words were picked up and amplified as pleasure by Prowl's door sensors, and he found himself panting. "I-I will always come after you."

Optimus moaned at those words and attacked the left doorwing, nipping the tip, sucking the door handle, and licking the crease where the window glass met the metal. Prowl moaned loudly, wantonly, completely comfortable with Optimus and uncaring about what sounds he made. Then Prime released one arm to reach up and fondle the right doorwing simultaneously, caressing the panel with long, sensuous strokes. Prowl pressed his freed hand and his hot cheek against the cool metal wall, crying out at the dual stimulation. When Prime licked up his door hinges, he yelled even louder, close to overload.

"P-Prime!" he gasped, part of him wanting to call it off, feeling it was too soon for this level of intimacy. The other part was succumbing to pure lust and the burning passion pounding through his lines.

"You're so beautiful," Prime whispered. His engine revved, and the vibration carried through Prowl's doorwings, setting off every sensor in the process.

Prowl whimpered, hung on the edge, and when Optimus licked his door hinges again, he overloaded with a cry, unable to hold back.

Optimus grew very still, then released him. Prowl leaned against the wall, panting to cool his systems.

"I'm sorry," Optimus said, gently turning Prowl to face him. "I didn't realize you were so close to overload." He pulled him into his arms, hugging him close. "I never want you to feel rushed into intimacy or 'facing." He chuckled weakly. "Apparently I have much to learn about the sensitivity of doorwings, though."

Prowl had to smile. "By the way," he said, utterly deadpan, "doorwings are highly sensitive, and you can accidentally overload me just by touching them if you're not careful."

Optimus laughed. "So I've learned." He cupped Prowl's cheek and pressed a kiss to his chevron. "Did I make you uncomfortable?"

"No, not at all." Prowl toyed with the idea of admitting his fantasy, then considered also telling Prime he wasn't ready to interface. He finally decided he should at least speak up on the latter part. "It's true I'm not ready to 'face yet, though."

"That's fine. No rush, love." Prime leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.

Prowl's memory banks immediately spat out footage of their inebriated night together: 'It's okay, love. Let go.' A tingle shot through his circuits, part passion and part joy. Optimus truly had loved him from the beginning, just as he had loved Prime. He wondered if he could get up the courage to tell him so.

"Shall we sit down?" Prime asked, keeping his arm around Prowl as he turned toward the room.

Prowl nodded, and they moved to the couch and settled side-by-side. Optimus wrapped his arm around his shoulders, and Prowl leaned into his side, resting his head on his chest. He couldn't help noticing, though, how hot Prime's armor was. He was unsurprisingly affected by overloading Prowl, and he wondered what he should do about it.

"So, now that we've handled madmen and Decepticons, let's discuss more pleasant things," Prime said, smiling at him. "Like where we should go on our next date."

Half of Prowl's processor considered the question while the other half pondered Prime's charged up systems. "Well, Jazz and Mirage have been raving about some hot springs they discovered in Japan. Hound and Trailbreaker are in love with several countries in Africa, even though their visit there was truncated by Decepticon activity."

"Earth has so many beautiful locales," Prime said, staring off as though accessing a file on them. "We were lucky to land here, and I wonder how long we'll be blessed to stay here."

Prowl's processor solved the second problem, and he climbed onto Prime's lap, settling his knees to the outside of Prime's thighs. "There is one thing I've wondered," he admitted, reaching up to caress one of Prime's finials with his fingers.

"What's that?" Optimus asked, shivering at the touch.

"Just how sensitive these are," Prowl murmured, leaning up to brush his lips over the opposite finial.

Prime gasped and hugged his waist tightly. "Not as much as doorwings, I suspect, but -"

Prowl sank his mouth down over the finial, capturing it and running his glossa around it, and Prime never finished his sentence. With a moan, Optimus arched into him and clutched him tightly. Prowl wasn't sure what his end goal was, but he did know he wanted Prime to feel as good as he had. Also, he felt bad that Optimus was so worked up, so he gave the finial his rather considerable attention. He licked up the length of the metal, swirled his glossa around it, then enveloped the finial in his mouth again.

Optimus groaned, his engine revving wildly, and Prowl felt the strange spark pulse again, followed by the pleasant burning sensation. Encouraged, he switched to the opposite finial, lapping it slowly before sucking it into his mouth.

"Prowl!" Optimus moaned loudly, shifting on the couch and squeezing his waist. "I - ah!"

Absolutely cherishing the ability to make Optimus feel pleasure, Prowl doubled his efforts, moaning against the finial as he licked, nipped, and sucked on it. Prime shivered, then cried out as Prowl began stroking the other finial with his fingers at the same time. Hands caressed Prowl's back, sporadically clutching his light bar as he moaned against the finial.

Optimus' armor grew increasingly hot as he moaned and writhed, and Prowl realized he very much wanted to see him overload. An idea struck him, and he pulled back slightly. "It's okay, love," he whispered directly against the finial. "Let go."

Prime arched into his arms with a howl, stiffening and then growing suddenly silent in his overload. Prowl watched his face, so beautiful in pleasure, and knew he wanted to always be with him. Optimus hugged him tightly, panting into his neck for a klik, then released him. Prowl sat down on Prime's lap and smiled up at him.

"You didn't have to do that," Prime said, returning the smile. "But thank you. It was wonderful."

Prowl shrugged faintly, happy to have brought Optimus such pleasure. "You're welcome. And it only seemed fair."

"I'm not keeping count!" Prime wrapped his arms around him again. "Remember, it's not a trade off. You're not a pleasure 'bot."

Prowl felt a moment's horror that his past had so quickly and silently crept in. He'd defaulted to the 'I owe him' mindset without even realizing it. Still . . . "I also wanted to make you feel good."

"I'll accept that." Prime picked up his hand and pressed a kiss to his palm. "But only that. You don't exist to service me, love."

That word again. Prowl paused, hung somewhere for feeling bad that his past had reared its ugly head and ruined their nice moment and elated that Prime spoke to him with such honor and affection. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize." Optimus leaned in and pressed a kiss to the arch of his nose as well. "I'm concerned about your well-being and happiness."

Prowl processed those words, then reached up and cupped Prime's cheek in his hand, reversing their gestures. "You love me." A statement of fact.

"Yes." Prime began leaning forward, their lips drawing closer.

"I . . . I do . . . love you, too," Prowl whispered, terrified to speak the words but pushing them out anyway. He felt safe enough to let Prime know the truth of what he'd been feeling all along.

"Prowl," Prime gasped, and it sounded caught somewhere been surprise and desire. Then their lips met, and no more words were necessary.

oOoOo

"I can do this," Prowl announced without warning, looking up from his datapad to gaze at his companion. He knew all his focus should be on his work, but as per usual, his processor had been multitasking.

Jazz glanced up from the massive stack of field test reviews overwhelming Prowl's desk. There were so many it was almost as though the datapads were breeding when no one was looking. Everyone in the Ark was being reviewed psychologically as well as on reaction times and weapons accuracy, the latter having been an issue lately. It generated a mass of data to be analyzed, though, and Jazz had chosen to sit across the desk from Prowl for the process instead of the usual remote file-swapping.

"Ya can do what?" Jazz asked after taking a moment to apparently shift his focus.

"Be in a long-term relationship with Optimus." Prowl let a smile grace his lips, his realization making him overjoyed and peaceful. "Even bond to him, eventually. He loves me with a pure love I can barely comprehend. He's patient and never demanding. He actually cares about my needs and feelings. I've loved him a long time, but now I also feel safe with him."

An answering smile bloomed across Jazz's face. "Awesome! That's great, man." He set down his datapad, which held Sunstreaker's results. "I was hopin' you'd see that. Come to believe it. I think he's good for ya, and I think he'd be a wonderful bondmate for ya."

"It's strange," Prowl admitted, signing his approval of Sideswipe's results. "I'm so used to dating being an unmitigated disaster and total nightmare. It's processor-blowing to finally find someone who loves me and treats me well." He picked up Brawn's results and read down the column of numbers and statistics, unsurprised to see him in the top 98th percentile. Brawn loved nothing more than fighting, after all.

Jazz chuckled. "I told ya not to give up. Not all the 'bots in the universe are selfish and self-centered. Some of them actually love their mates instead of bein' in a relationship for whatever they can get outta it."

Prowl nodded, finally willing to believe it was true. "I was sure I'd never find one." He stopped to reconsider. "Well, perhaps I hoped I'd found one, but he was already taken by Elita One. It seems to work that way, after all."

"I guess it does." Jazz shook his head, his visor dimming. "Ya know, I'm sorry we lost her. She was an outstandin' commander and a good friend. But on the romantic front, I'd glad ya now have Prime for yerself."

It was a strange thought that death had given Prowl what he'd desired. "I'm also sorry that Prime grieved so hard, although I'm not surprised he did. He loved her so very much. But now that he's willing to move forward, I'm glad to have this chance. It's so amazing I can hardly believe it's happening."

"A chance made possible by yer choice to move forward, too." Jazz lifted one finger to accentuate his point.

"Indeed." Prowl smiled and reached over to squeeze Jazz's forearm. "Thank you for talking me through so much. I appreciate it, and I'll probably need a bit more help before it's through."

Jazz grinned. "That's what friends are for."

oOoOo

Prowl was awakened from recharge by a persistent beeping that his processor finally told him was his internal comm. link. He stared at the ceiling, trying to get his bearings. He'd pulled five consecutive shifts to finish those reports, and he'd been given the orn off to recharge nonstop. In fact, everyone was under orders from both Prime and Ratchet to not bother him unless there were an extreme emergency, and slaggit if he didn't need some rest -

Emergency.

Prowl threw open his end of the link and sat up. ::Prowl here.::

::Sorry to bother ya, Prowler, but I need ya on the Command Desk.::

::I'll be right there. Prowl out.:: He climbed off the berth and with six quick steps was out of the cabin. Confused as to why Jazz was the one to summon him, he checked with Teletraan, who reported that Jazz was the commander on shift. He frowned, knowing it was supposed to be Prime. That likely meant Prime was on a mission now.

When he entered the Command Deck, Prowl couldn't figure out why no one was looking at him or greeting him. He might not be as popular or charming as Jazz, but he always strove to be pleasant and polite, plus he was respected. Even those who got irritated with his logic or disciplinary measures always greeted him even when off duty. The way Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Trailbreaker, and Tracks were staring doggedly at their stations worried him. What had happened?

Jazz was awaiting him at the main Teletraan terminal, a frown fixed to his lips. "We have a situation," he murmured. "I authorized Ironhide's takin' a team to Cybertron to handle it."

"To Cybertron?" Prowl was shocked. The situation had to be extreme, indeed, for Jazz to order such a thing. Still, Jazz was the commander on shift, so as long as he ran the decision past Prime first, Prowl had no reason to protest.

Jazz hit the replay button on Teletraan's vid feed. "It's Prime."

Prowl stood in stony silence as he listened to Megatron's taunts about the femmes. There had never been many of femmes; according to ancient records, only 2,000 had originally been produced as an experimental design and only another 11,531 built through modern times. Elita One had the last twelve left alive under her command, but Optimus had seen her be killed, reportedly, as the Ark left Cybertron.

. . . but the femmes were alive.

Elita One was alive.

"And Prime?" Prowl asked, his voice sounding hollow to his audios. Every drop of energon in his tank and lines seemed to be slowly turning to liquid nitrogen.

Jazz paused, then spoke quietly. "He dashed off to save Elita. By himself."

Funny, Prowl thought, that when the words that can break me are spoken, I can't feel anything. It seemed a summation of his entire life: love was not meant for him. Love was something that everyone else had, or thought they had until it crashed and burned around their heads, but something never directed at him. This was just another example: Prowl had been cared for, but he could not compete when a deeper love was recovered.

"Prowl?" Jazz whispered, reaching for his arm.

"I'll be in my quarters. Carry on." Prowl turned and left, knowing Jazz couldn't follow. He didn't see the horrid orange walls as he walked, didn't hear the voices of the mechs who passed him. Didn't feel the keypad of his door when he entered the code.

Resolute to ensure he wasn't jumping to conclusions, since that would be illogical, Prowl brought up the Command Deck's security footage. Maybe Prime was simply honoring his long relationship with Elita. Surely re-watching his reactions would clarify the matter.

Optimus' voice filled the silence of Prowl's quarters: "Megatron."

The footage showed Megatron was smirking on Teletraan's viewscreen. "Optimus Prime, something rather exciting has been discovered on Cybertron. I thought you might like to know about it."

"Get to the point, Megatron." Prime sounded particularly unimpressed.

Megatron's smirk never wavered. "It seems that female Autobots still exist on Cybertron."

"What?" The sound and sight of Prime's shock lanced through Prowl's spark, somehow made more real by watching it a second time.

"Some of them were foolish enough to break into our headquarters on Cybertron," Megatron had continued.

Prime's entire body had grown tense. "You're bluffing, Megatron."

"I realized you would demand proof. How's this, Prime?"

Megatron's face was replaced by live footage of Elita struggling against Ramjet and Astrotrain.

Prime immediately grew desperate, enraged. "Elita! Let her go, Megatron! Or I'll -"

"You'll surrender immediately," Megatron interrupted, "if you ever want to see Elita One functioning again." His smirk grew positively gloating. "You have two Earth hours to make up your mind."

Prime growled as the transmission cut out. "Teletraan, I need you to locate the Decepticon's space bridge." He punched buttons frantically, drawing up the necessary information. "Hold on, Elita! I will rescue you. I won't fail you!" His voice was broken, anguished, panicked.

Prowl watched the footage of Prime transforming and peeling away and felt the pain building up behind his mental defenses. It was inevitable, of course. Optimus had dated no one but Elita for the five million stellar cycles they'd carried those names prior to the Ark's departure. He'd also dated her as Ariel while he was still Orion Pax. They'd probably been lovers before Prowl even left Praxus and met Sentinel. Optimus had been grieving her supposed death all this time.

Prowl didn't stand a chance.

Reaching out, Prowl turned off his terminal and stood, staring at his berth. The pain unfurled, roiled, and crashed against his defenses, beating at him, howling, surging, pressing to be released. He wrapped his arms over his chest, as though forcing his spark to remain in his chassis, and hunched over. "Primus," he gasped, hit with the horror of it. He stumbled around his desk and toward his berth. "Primus!"

No more strong, warm arms to hold him. No more whispered words of love. No more curling up on a couch or lying under the stars. No more private jokes or shared looks of affection. No promise of something more to come: sharing sparks, sharing bodies, sharing a life. All those things were Elita's before, except the sparkbond, and all of them would be hers again, no doubt including the sparkbond.

Crawling into his berth, Prowl curled into a ball, still clutching his chest, and ignored the tears of coolant escaping his optics. His entire frame had heated up, not just his processor, and he wondered for a moment if he might melt from the inside-out. "Primus," he sobbed, wanting so much to deny what was likely happening on Cybertron at that very moment: a joyful reunion, a re-declaration of love, an overwhelming relief to find the other wasn't dead.

And lying alone in the darkness of his quarters, Prowl felt that to have the love of a lifetime offered to him and then retracted was the greatest evil.