When he approached the technopath two days later it was because of what he had read in the file. It was because of what Sam had done already for the mechs under Prime's command. It was because Sam himself had said he could enter a mind.
Prowl had weighed his options, had seen the positive and the negative, had balanced hope against fear, and finally his need had won.
Sam's eyes were wide with surprise, then he shook his head. "I doubt it'll work, Prowl. Really. Your memories were destroyed."
"Maybe. But maybe I just lost access to those parts. No one can tell because my memory core is a mess. You can help.."
"I'm not some kind of repair bot, Prowl. It's not how this works."
"Please, try."
"Prowl…"
The strategist knelt down, still looming over the smaller life form. "I do this willingly. You have access to whatever you need. Please, Sam."
The human sighed. "You have no idea what you're asking for."
"I do. I read the files."
"And I know yours. Why would you want someone poking around your innermost thoughts? It's not like you."
Prowl smiled humorlessly. "Caution would bid me to get to know you first, study you, but I read Ratchet's files on you. The Prime trusts you. You already proved yourself over and over to him."
"But you don't know me personally," Sam countered.
"No."
"Still you want to do this?"
A nod.
"Let me think about it, okay? This isn't just something I do on the fly, Prowl. I need back-up, an anchor, and you need to be monitored."
Prowl agreed. He saw the logic in it and it spoke of the maturity of the human that he didn't just ask him to lay down and let's get to it.
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As not otherwise expected, there were protests from Ratchet, which he countered calmly and logically. He was healed. He was stable. His spark and mind were strong once more. Prime wasn't very fond of the idea either, but he listened to the logic and he consulted with the technopath. Bumblebee said nothing, just stood behind his partner like a steady support and it was exactly what he represented. Prowl remembered the scout from Cybertron, his potential, his youth. The potential had only grown and the youth had made way for a maturity shaped by a civil war that had cost too much.
"It's my free choice, Prime," he told the Autobot leader, optics firmly on the taller Autobot's face. "If Sam can help me recover at least some of my memories, it might be worth it."
Sam looked doubtful. As did Ratchet. But there was little they could argue without actually trying what Prowl wanted, and since it really was his choice there was nothing they could add.
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Prowl had no idea what he expected. Maybe pain. Maybe discomfort. Maybe the sensation of something alien touching his mind and spark. What did touch him was gentle, warm, reassuring, and so very… Cybertronian, he almost gasped.
::Training:: Sam told him, a feather-light presence in his systems.
::By Barricade?::
Prowl couldn't fathom that a shock-trooper had taught this human, had given him such gentleness.
::First Barricade. Then Bumblebee. Then the others. And always back to Barricade. I need his… coldness, his willingness to go where the others won't. I need him to strike at me, to be ruthless. It's a training that never stops. I always learn.::
Prowl nodded to himself, though his physical form was currently suspended on one of Ratchet's tables. He caught small echoes of Sam, saw how different he was and still so very much the same. He felt like… kin.
::I won't harm you:: the technopath promised.
Prowl believed him.
Sam's presence increased, wrapped around him, and then part of him slipped inside, into memory circuits, into his core, and Prowl gave an exclamation of surprise. There was no pain, just the foreign access that his systems didn't fight. Ratchet had made sure that his defenses were low. They didn't want Sam to battle against those particular programs.
Prowl felt himself slipping along the connection, as if he was entering his own mind, looking around. And he was. He didn't see much, though.
Sam touched, probed and prodded, took closer looks and went on. He said nothing, worked silently and efficiently, and Prowl's respect rose. Now and then the human twitched away, then just steeled himself and delved into what had apparently hurt or shocked him.
When he finally pulled back, the presence wavered and Prowl felt concern rise.
::Sam?::
::I'm fine:: The mind-voice sounded composed, but Prowl noticed tremors of stress anyway.
Sam started to retreat, caressing his spark, calming what had to be slight shockwaves from the continued invasion. Prowl hadn't even noticed. It was such an intimate, gentle gesture, he felt his systems relax automatically. Sam's touch was professional, but not distant or cold.
Then he was alone.
And he felt very much at peace.
On-lining his optics he took a nano-second to check where he was according to memory, then he sat up. Swiveling his head to look at Sam his concern rose. He knew the human was prone to suffering from migraines if he stressed his mind and apparently he had. Eyes closed, head on his pulled-up knees, Sam was tended to by his partner. Bumblebee's crouching form almost hid all of the technopath. Suddenly the human lifted his head and Prowl shivered under the intense gaze.
So small.
So powerful.
No one to be underestimated.
Trained by a shock-trooper, protected by one, anchored to one. Anchored to his bonded partner.
::I'm sorry, Prowl:: the familiar voice said softly.
Sam never moved his lips. Prowl shivered a little. This was and wasn't like his kind's form of non-verbal communication, sending data streams, talking directly. It was alien and still familiar. Sam had done it so often before, his touch was kindred.
::There is nothing left. Not even a scrap::
And he felt echoes of the black abyss the destroyed memories had left behind. An abyss Sam had looked into and tried to find pieces of the former memories in. Nothing. Nothing at all had remained.
"Thank you," he said out loud, voice rough.
Ratchet made an impatient noise, giving the technopath a glare. Sam smiled a little in return.
"There is nothing," he told the others who hadn't been able to listen in. "It's gone."
"I told you so before," the medic grumbled. "But you wouldn't listen!"
"It was the confirmation of a first scan," Sam corrected. "A second opinion."
Ratchet didn't look pleased, probably because of the backlash for Sam. Prowl slid off the table, remarkably stable on his legs. At Ratchet's inquiring look he steadily met the blue optics. He didn't say anything, but Ratchet didn't back down easily either.
"I'm fine," he finally grated out.
"No, you're not, but you're also not confined to med bay," was the terse reply.
"Good." With that Prowl left med bay, looking at no one, needing to be alone.
Sam gazed after the protoform, sad eyes taking in the tension in the shoulders, the whole stride. He had done his best and seen only… nothing. Prowl's last memories were completely erased. There were no back-ups, no chance to get even a fragment back.
"Sam?"
"It's okay, Ratchet," he answered automatically, accepting a powerbar from the medic. "It wasn't as bad as other scans I did. Just intense."
"Still, get rest. I knew why I didn't want you here," he continued, sounding displeased.
Sam gave the much larger mech a brief smile. He didn't mind Bumblebee's hovering when they were finally alone for Sam to recover. Prowl had been a very different mind to touch, different from everyone else he had ever been close to. The Constructicons had been damaged minds, but not as near death as Prowl. Prowl had a mind that looked like the moon's surface: littered with craters where something had struck or been ripped out. There were deep chasms, dark holes and nothing that could be done to repair it all. Sam had seen the last moments in Prowl's memory, a fight for survival. He had been alone, separated from his team, but there was no memory of where Sunstreaker had gone off to.
The heavy damage had been painful to see. He had felt the desperation to survive, how Prowl had launched himself into space, losing consciousness, wrapping all he had around his very core to protect only that.
Then nothing.
Sam leaned against his partner, who hadn't moved. Bumblebee cupped him close, an unusual position for them. Physical closeness like this, so intense and so human in its expression, was rare. Sam would lean against, caress, pat or brush over Bumblebee's armor, but he had only once or twice really sought full physical contact.
"Couldn't help him," he murmured.
"What he suffered was more than you ever encountered. I didn't believe he would be able to recover anything, Sam."
"Yeah." Sam closed his eyes, face pressed against the cool metal. "I knew. But part of me hoped."
"We all hoped."
He couldn't help everyone, and with the Constructicons there had been similar fates. Long Haul had suffered hard drive failures and erased memories, too. But in his case he didn't really know it. Prowl knew everything up to a point, then nothing. And within the nothing there had been the information they had all sought: where was Sunstreaker?
Gentle fingers ran over his spine. Sam was tired, his head ached, though the migraine had been averted. Ratchet had told him to eat, which he had done, but he felt reluctant to leave the room. He felt heavy, drained, different than throughout other times he had been in so deep. Bumblebee didn't do anything else but anchor him with his touch and by opening his mind. Sam felt the so achingly familiar spark and he lost himself in the sensation of touching something healthy and whole. Bumblebee carried his own baggage, had had his share of torture and pain, had seen too many die, but to Sam the spark was everything. It was what kept him in touch with himself, what put the world back into focus.
Bumblebee dropped his last shields and Sam shivered, then let his mind fall into the safety net. His eyes closed and he relaxed his muscles. Bumblebee sent Ratchet their need for complete privacy and the medic acknowledged.
It was safe to let go.
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tbc...
