Shattered Crystals 11
Location: District 8, Polyhex
Jazz scurried through the small, dirty alleys as he expertly navigated his way through the treacherous labyrinth that made up the run-down district eight. He kept to the shadows as much as he could, not wishing to draw attention from the Decepticons loitering about.
Finally, he reached his destination and bounded up the stairs to a small, one-berthroom apartment overlooking the dirty street below. He entered the code and sauntered into the dark flat.
He had no sooner entered when a charging blaster arrested his movement.
"Ya ain't got no business here, so frag off."
"Well, as to welcome-homes, I've had better." Jazz said as he turned his head to look over his shoulder, flashing a bright smile.
"Jazz. You son of a glitch." Relief and joy filled the voice floating from the darkness as the blaster was subspaced. "Come here!" The black bot threw his arms around Jazz and pulled him into a tight embrace. Jazz had no qualms returning it, and the two stood there for a few moments, relishing the feel of each other's fields.
"Ah've missed ya, Ric." Jazz said, his voice thick with emotion.
"Same here Jazz, or what should Ah call ya while yer here?" Ricochet asked as he reluctantly let go of his younger brother. He sent an automatic ping for the lights to come on and dimmed them.
"Usual." Jazz said as he headed towards the couch.
"Ya staying here for a while then?" Ricochet asked as he took his seat next to Jazz and lazily reclined on the plush couch, placing his pedes on the small table in front of the couch.
Jazz shook his helm, "Only as long as Ah need ta. Ah've got a friend who needs me."
"A friend?" Ricochet asked as he lazily rolled his helm to look at Jazz with expectant optics.
Jazz smiled fondly as he thought of Prowl. "Yep. Friend."
"You'd need to convince me better than that." Ricochet said with a laugh. "Ah know ya Jazz. That smile of yers. Ye only use it when thinkin of a lover." He said as he wagged a finger playfully at Jazz.
Jazz chuckled and slapped the hand away. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever."
Ricochet waited, but Jazz didn't elaborate on his 'friend'. So instead he let his optics roam over Jazz and noted the dark paintjob and the purple face staring up from his chest. "So Ah take it this is a business trip, and not a quick 'hey how're ya?'."
"Yep."
Ricochet sighed. When his brother had left for Iacon, this was not really what he had had in mind. But then again, he had never envisioned the war, and they matured with the saying 'adapt or die'. This was adapting. "Ya need anything specific?"
"Guard routines, new security measures, officers. The usual."
"Ah'll talk to Trapper. He's got guard duty last shift of the orn for the next decaorn, starting tomorrow."
"Good. Gives me enough time." Jazz said as he leaned his helm back and off-lined his visor. His systems had just entered a light recharge when Ricochet's voice pulled him from it.
"Is it worth it?"
"Hmm? What?" Jazz asked as he turned his head lazily towards Ricochet.
"What yer doin. Is it worth it?"
Jazz on-lined his visor and sat up straight, staring at Ricochet. Jazz did not like the subharmonics he could hear in the mech's tone, and he gently extended his field to brush against the other's. "Yer not havin' second thoughts or anything on yer assignment?"
"No. But we all heard about Praxus. Was blasted out over every fraggin' comm wave imaginable. Ah'm just wonderin' if it's worth fightin' this slagging war if it's not goin' anywhere."
"It's because of what happened in Praxus that we have to continue fightin'. The Cons caught us bad on that one. There was no warning, nothing. But we have to stop it from happening again. We are fighting to save lives! We are fighting for our future, to protect those who cannot."
Ricochet watched Jazz, gauging his reaction as he sorted through his own feelings. The rumours had reached them all that Neutrals were being targeted, and when Praxus fell, well, that had been a low blow to moral. But he knew Jazz was right. If they did not try to stop Megatron, he would probably do it again. "Guess yer right. Ah just don't get why the Neutrals won't help. It feels like we are fighting two fronts instead of one."
Jazz vented heavily. "Ah know, but we need the Neutrals to run the economy for us. At least we aren't forcing the labour of Neutrals in Autobot states like Megatron 's forcing you lot." Jazz said as he pointed towards Ricochet's purple insignia."
"At least Ah'm not Neutral." Ricochet turned his helm towards the far wall and stared at the empty space between it. "Ah know what Ah'm fightin' for, Jazz, but Ah think it might do the others some good if ya talked to 'em."
Jazz frowned at Ricochet as he turned the conversation, the unsettled, grim field and the meaning of the words over in his helm. "That bad?" He asked at last.
"You be the judge." Ricochet said and turned his helm back. "Be careful. Straxus is getting more insane by the breem. He's also taken to executing factory workers whenever the fancy takes him. And Psyche is tightening the chains around us. He knows of our connection, but he still thinks that I've abandoned you after you left."
Jazz's face turned deadly serious as he laid a hand on his brother's arm. "If things get too hot, Ric, Ah want you and the team out of here. Yer too valuable to me."
Ricochet sighed. "As long as it's worth it Jazz we'll stay. But it's taking its toll on some of the mechs. Ya might want to move 'em around a bit."
Jazz though that over. "Thanks Ric. Ah'll get them a change of scenery as soon as possible." He paused as he cast his brother a playful smirk. "And Ah might organise ta get ya caught by some lousy Autobots. Drag ya ta Iacon..."
Ricochet shoved Jazz playfully as he grinned at the younger mech. "Ah won't leave Trapper."
"Ah can capture him too? Leave ya in the brig for some quality time?" Jazz wiggled his optic ridges suggestively as he sank back into the couch. He was tired after the long drive to Polyhex, and his frame was starting to remind him rather insistently to get some recharge and fuel, preferably soon.
"Huh, Jazz. We get our 'quality times' together don't you worry. We're just careful." Ricochet ducked his helm and gave Jazz a coy smile. "But Ah'd come if Ah get to meet whoever's putting such a smile on yer face."
"Who? My friend?"
"Yes, that one. Come on, Jazz. Just tell me a little about him? Ah'm dying of curiosity!"
Jazz chuckled as he settled himself more comfortably into the couch and decided to indulge his brother, even though he would never give away too much information. It was not that he didn't trust Ricochet, but the information was still of a sensitive nature.
"Well, Ah can't give too many details, seeing as my position might endanger him." More than he already is. Jazz though before continuing. "He's the quiet type. Thinks before he acts. Logical. Loyal. Doesn't say a lot, but when he does say something it means a lot."
Ricochet frowned. "Not to be rude, but you don't usually do the 'quiet type'?"
"Nope, not usually, but this mech's, well, he's just different." Jazz ended with a shrug.
"Different?" Ricochet echoed as his interest was piqued. "Alright. Spill it. Who is he and where'd ya meet this mech?"
"Ric…seriously bro Ah can't give ya all the details, and unfortunately his designation's one of the things in our line of work that Ah can't tell ya. Ya get that?"
Ricochet nodded in understanding. In special operations, you didn't give away too much detail, and almost never personal details that could be used against you. "But ya can tell me a bit? Ah always wanted to have this conversation with ya. Had prepared a long speech and everyhtin', Trapper too, mind ya, but yeah. War threw a spanner in the works on that one."
"Well, maybe one orn when this damn war's over and we're still kickin' Ah'll bring him 'home' ta introduce ya. But as to how we met…well, let's put it like this. The first time Ah saw him was my first day at the Academy."
"What!? You knew him since then? Jazz! It's been vorns! And more than that it was before the war! Why didn't ya bring him home?!"
Jazz held a hand to stop Ricochet's tirade. "Ah said Ah saw him, didn't meet him. He was studyin' something else at the time so our paths didn't really cross that much. Like ya said, my taste runs more towards wild 'n reckless."
"Which is why Ah wanna know why yer goin' for the quiet type."
"He's…different. Ah can't really explain it." Jazz said as he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, searching for the right words to explain. "He's stable, always has a plan, dependable, committed, loyal, caring, Ah mean, he would literally work himself to the Well for others, he treats all mechs with respect, and he demands it in return which is kinda hot….but anyway it's like he balances me out." Jazz smiled broadly and shook his head slightly. "He ain't superficial. Ain't looking for a quick tumble or just a fun time. He's deep, intense, like everything to him is important. He's difficult to read. Almost like a mystery and it's taken me vorns to get under his plating, and no, Ric, not like that, metaphorically. The more Ah see of him, the more Ah want."
Ricochet smirked as he looked at his younger brother, forgetting the dangerous agent for a moment as he saw a glimpse of the old Jazz. His smile was contagious and the animated way Jazz described the mech was so unlike his usual manner. "So this is the one, huh?"
Jazz's smile lost some of its brightness as he turned back to Ricochet. "Ah don't know, but Ah hope so."
"Ya sound pretty sure ta me."
"We've barely begun to talk about being 'more than friends', about taking the first step to being committed when the slag hit the fan and everything went to the Pit. And for the record, his brother ain't too thrilled about it either."
Ricochet shrugged. "Brothers can be dealt with. As long as this mech's sure…"
"He ain't. That's the problem. It's like one moment things were going fine, the next he shut me out!"
"Ah thought ya said he was stable?" Ricochet said as his face twisted in confusion.
"He is! That's the problem. Ah think he's brother got ta him. Unfortunately, he's also too logical at times. If something is the 'logical thing ta do,' he'll take that route."
"So what would be so illogical about ya bein' involved?" Ricochet asked.
"Really?" Jazz pointed to himself and the Decepticon symbol printed on his chassis.
"Right. Ops." Ricochet shuttered his optics and gave himself a shake. "So Ah take it he's main reason is because yer more likely to die than survive?"
"Ya have a way with words mech." Jazz murmured softly before continuing in his normal tone. "It's more complicated than just that, although that's his brother's main point against me. The mech doesn't do casual, and he's brother's worried that Ah'm 'not his type', especially in my line of business. But there are other complicating factors."
"Such as…?" Ricochet urged when Jazz didn't continue.
"Ah can't give too much away Ric. All Ah can say is that he ain't of the rank 'n file mechs."
"Officer then. Ah get it. But it's still not a reason to hold back." Ricochet said seriously. "It ain't always easy, but it's worth it. And Ah'll tell ya Jazz, even if we lost this war, this city, our friends, and Primus forbid even you, and Ah still have Trapper, it's enough to keep me going."
"Ric, it's not…"
"Just hear me out, Jazz. If ya love this mech, then he'll be the reason why you'll force yerself ta survive even when everything else goes to the Pit. If ya found somethin' good in this slagging war, then for the love of Primus hold onto it Jazz."
Jazz sat quietly before he vented. "Ah'm holding on to him with everything Ah got. But if he wants to let go, Ah'm not gonna stop him."
"If he's the kinda mech that ya described to me the way ya did, then ya'll be a slagging idiot ta just let him go." Ricochet leaned forward and grabbed Jazz's shoulder. "Trapper waited vorns for me and the Pit knows he didn't once let me go. He fought fer me, even though he respected me enough not to push when Ah didn't want it, but when Ah needed him, he was there. Ah was stupid and Ah wasted time, but Ah've made up fer it. Guess what Ah wanna say is that if ya love this mech, and this mech had been willing to commit to ya, then don't let him go."
The room lapsed into silent and it was a few breems before Jazz's lips compressed into a thin line and he hesitantly nodded his helm.
Ricochet dropped his hand and got up with a sigh. "But enough of that fer now. Ya look beat. Get some energon and recharge. Think Ah've got a cube or two stashed somewhere. Ya can take the berthroom. It's safer."
"Thanks, Ric. For everything. Ah really do miss ya sometimes."
"Yer bright Jazz. Ah remember you were the one who told me to get my aft in gear, just returnin' the favour." Ricochet said over his shoulder as he went to retrieve a cube.
"Ah needed the boost though. Thanks."
"Yer welcome. No go lie down Ah'll bring yer energon ta ya."
Jazz chuckled to himself as he headed towards the single berthroom. There was nothing more in that moment that he wanted than to initiate a comm link with Prowl just so that he could hear the mech's voice and make sure he was alright, but he was on a mission, so it was out of the question. Talking about him had just made the ache in his spark worse, and he just hoped that this mission wouldn't keep him away for too long.
Deep down in his spark he knew that Prowl needed him, even if the mech was too proud to admit it.
(Break)
Location: Autobot HQ, Iacon.
"He has rejected all of them?"
Prowl felt his spark clench as he stared at Smokescreen seated on the opposite side of his desk.
"All of those on my 'recommended' list, and then some." Smokescreen confirmed.
"Ratchet?" Prowl turned to the medic seated next to Smokescreen.
Ratchet shrugged. "He's not shown any favour to any of the Autobots or Neutrals introduced, though there are a few willing to take him. Mostly survivors though. Other than the fact that Bluestreak doesn't connect with them, I have my objections, along with Smokescreen."
"Yes, I'm concerned about their, uh, the survivors' mental states." Smokescreen continued, "I'm not really sure that any of them would be able to give the stability that Bluestreak needs, both emotionally and physically. They are survivors of the same event, and even though it might be beneficial, I am of the honest opinion that it will do more harm than good in the long run."
"He needs someone soon, though. It's affecting his functioning." Ratchet added gruffly.
Prowl leaned back in his chair, his battle computer spitting out different scenarios, but not one of them seemed viable. But he had to agree with Ratchet and Smokescreen. The youngling needed someone stable and soon. If not, the broken bond might cause his spark to fade and that would be one tragedy too much. Prowl shuttered his optics as he recalled when he had first found the youngling. He had seemed so fragile, broken. He needed a family that would be able to mend him. "He is not strong enough to be sent to one of the Neutral colonies?"
Ratchet shook his head. "Slag no. If that had been an option I would have done so already."
Prowl nodded. "And you have no one you would recommend?"
Ratchet shot Smokescreen a pointed look that made Prowl narrow his optics. "I take it that you have someone?"
Smokescreen shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Yes, but I'm not so sure if the mech would be willing to take the responsibility, among other issues."
"Are the issues going to be a detriment to the youngling?"
"Depends on the mech and what he is willing to do, but the issues can be resolved without damage to the youngling." Smokescreen said cautiously.
"If it is for the well-being of the youngling, then surely something could be arranged. Has the youngling reacted positively to this mech?"
"So far." Ratchet interjected and leaned back in his chair, optics roaming over the black and white Praxian.
Prowl flicked his optics between the two mechs, both were acting strangely and overly-cautious. Perhaps they had come here to inquire for an official order so that the mech might be more willing to take the youngling, but he dismissed the idea. Surely they would never force a mech through an official order to assume guardianship over an orphaned youngling? It would be disastrous.
"Have you approached the mech yet?"
Dead silence. Prowl frowned as he took in the mechs' reactions. Smokescreen had found something very interesting on his desk, and Ratchet was staring, or rather glaring, at him expectantly. Suddenly it dawned on him and his intakes nearly stuttered. "Please tell me that it is not what I am thinking at the moment."
"You are honestly the best candidate at the moment and the only mech that we haven't tried yet." Smokescreen said, "Even I tried!"
"Then you must not have had an adequate list." Prowl stated.
"Optimus was on the fragging list too! And Ironhide for that matter" Ratchet growled, clearly getting irritated at the stoic Praxian. "And for the record, you're the last mech we've come to."
Prowl's optic ridges shot high at that remark.
"Prowl, we're desperate!" Smokescreen cried in exasperation.
"I can clearly see that." Prowl glared at the older Praxian, he's tone flat. "You ought to know, Smokescreen, that even considering me as a potential guardian is utterly ridiculous. I am not fit to be a guardian. My emotional subroutines make it difficult for me to relate to other mechs. And I cannot neglect my duties."
"I did a psyche evaluation! Apart from some issues that you will need to attend, you are a very good candidate. As to your duties, that is also one of the reasons why we've come to you." Smokescreen shot back.
"My duties? I fail to see how my schedule being too busy is a good reason." Prowl stated, working hard to keep the cool façade in place, but he could not quite stop the trembling of his wings.
"For frag's sake!" Ratchet exclaimed as he slammed his fist on Prowl's desk, making Smokescreen jump and Prowl shoot him a warning glance. Ratchet ignored him as his irritation with the entire situation finally boiled over. "You want reasons, Fine! One. You are stable. Emotional slag or not, you are dependable. Two. You are almost always on base. Three. You rarely see direct conflict, which means your chances of getting slagged on the battlefield is far lower. Four. You're Praxian. Want more?"
"I doubt Optimus would agree to it." Prowl tried as he stared at the looming form of Ratchet. Did they honestly think he was cut out to be a guardian? And that to a highly traumatised youngling? Perhaps he should ask Rung to do an evaluation on them both.
"I spoke to Optimus about it, and he agrees with your assessment that the youngling needs someone soon." Smokescreen said, trying to get the Medic under control. "Ratchet, please sit down."
"What if he doesn't accept me?"
"Then he won't survive the next quartex." Ratchet growled as he stared at Prowl.
Prowl held the medic's gaze, searching his optics. It was all there, clear to see – concern, helplessness, anger, frustration and desperation.
Prowl dropped his gaze and gave a small dip with his wings in submission. "I still do not think I am the right mech for the youngling," he held his hand up when Ratchet started to rant, "however, I agree that the youngling's survival is of utmost importance and if there is anything I can do to help, I will. I just honestly hope we are not making a mistake."
"Thank-you, Prowl. It's the youngling's choice at the end, but I honestly hope that he'll choose you. Despite what you may think, I think you are the right one for it." Smokescreen said as he stood and laid a hand on Ratchet's arm. "We'll see you in the medbay. Come on Ratchet."
Ratchet growled and opened his mouth a few times as he stared at the stoic mech seated in front of him. Finally, with a frustrated snarl, he shoved a finger in the tactician's face. "I want you there in one joor." Ratchet snapped as he shoved off Prowl's desk. He strode out of the tactician's office without as much as a glance backwards, his field drawn in tight and grumbling obscenities under his voice.
"How do you always manage to tick him off like that?" Smokescreen asked Prowl as the door closed.
"Special talent." Prowl said distractedly as he stared at nothing in particular.
Smokescreen turned to look at his brother and noted the small frown between his optic ridges. "Prowl, I know what you are thinking. You're enforcer subroutines will help you. I honestly would not have approached or even suggested you if I did not have the confidence needed in you."
"I work long shifts Smokescreen and the work I am currently working on is highly sensitive work. I cannot afford distractions or time-consuming activities outside of my duties."
"Your duty to the Autobots should not be your sole purpose in life."
"No, it should not be, but it is. Please don't get me wrong, Smokescreen. It is not that I do not want the youngling or am not concerned as to his well-being, but as you have said, the youngling's mental state is very fragile, and I will not be able to devote most of my time to the youngling. Do you honestly think that this is a wise decision?"
"No, I don't. But it is the best option we have. Ratchet was not being dramatic when he said he'd give Bluestreak less than a quartex to live unless he found a suitable guardian."
Prowl nodded his helm, but the frown remained.
Smokescreen sighed and walked around Prowl's desk, coming to stand next to him. He laid a hand on the younger Praxian's shoulder.
"You won't be alone in this Prowl. I'll be here, Ratchet'll be here. Chromia. Even Bumblebee, though the age difference is a bit bigger between the two, it's not too significant. You'll be fine."
"If he accepts me."
"For his sake, I hope he does." Smokescreen said, though he didn't add that it might do Prowl good to live for something else besides his duty to the Autobots. "I'll see you in about a joor." He patted Prowl's shoulder encouragingly before he left.
As soon as the door closed, Prowl sent the command to engage the lock. He felt as if he was going to crash at any moment and wished not for the first time that orn that Jazz was there. Even if it was just to joke about the seriousness of the situation and tell him that, though however illogical it seemed, everything will work out.
Not that it wasn't a serious situation. What Ratchet and Smokescreen had asked him was not something to take lightly. Choosing to become a youngling's guardian was a major decision. It meant mentorship, caring, teaching, basically equipping the youngling for life among Cybertronian society. It was daunting to say the least and he was still unsure that he was the right, or rather, best option available. Yet he understood the desperation of the situation, the need to act as soon as possible.
It had been nearly a decaorn since the youngling first came out of stasis, and he's condition was deteriorating fast. Smokescreen had been working with the youngling most of every orn, and he had shown some improvement in that he was no longer screaming when awake. But his spark was fading without creator or guardian bonds to stabilise it. It was one of the reasons why Smokescreen had set up a list of potential guardians and had systematically introduced them in as short a time span as possible.
But as both Ratchet and Smokescreen had said, the youngling had not shown any signs of acceptance towards any of the potential family units, and that is why they had approached him.
Granted, Prowl was not averse to raising a youngling, however, it would not have been something that he would have chosen for himself. Especially not during a planet-wide war.
Prowl vented as he stood up. He needed some advice, and he knew the bot that might see reason. He exited his office and walked through the tactical department, glad to see that mechs were busy with their duties. He turned into the corridor of the command deck and stopped in front of the Prime's office.
Steeling himself, he sent an entry request. The doors immediately slid open to reveal Optimus waiting for him.
"I thought you might want to come see me." Optimus's deep, baritone voice and calm field settled over Prowl and he felt his field relax somewhat.
"Sir," Prowl acknowledged respectfully. "I take it that Ratchet and Smokescreen has been here." He stated more in confirmation of what Smokescreen had said than asked.
"Yes. Please take a seat, Prowl." Optimus motioned to an empty seat and took the one opposite and waited for the tactician to speak.
"Do you agree with their assessment?" Prowl asked, his voice not giving away any of his internal doubts.
"I agree that the youngling, Bluestreak, needs a guardian who would care for him and see to his well-being."
"And do you believe that guardian to be me?"
Optimus leaned back in his chair and studied the tactician sitting before him. "Do you believe it to be you?" He countered.
Prowl's doorwings gave an involuntary twitch as Optimus's gaze seemed to reach into his very spark. "I do not know."
Optimus continued to study him and Prowl resisted the urge not to squirm. Optimus was the only mech who ever managed to have this effect on him, and a large part of Prowl's processors told him it was not solely to do with the extra power of the Matrix humming inside the giant red and blue mech.
"I do not want you to do something you are not willing to do." The Prime stated solemnly, the gravity in his voice portraying his concern not only for the youngling, but also for Prowl.
Prowl was silent as he contemplated the words and concern of his Prime. It was not that he was unwilling to take guardianship of the youngling, but he was unsure if he could take the extra responsibility that came with it. He was unsure if he could provide what the youngling really needed, and if he would have enough time to spend with the youngling. As much as Prowl hated to admit it, he had to concede that he was not at that moment himself. He was still struggling to accept what happened to Praxus. In fact, any and all thoughts he had about Praxus he dismissed. Was he suitable to be a guardian? Prowl doubted it.
Optimus watched Prowl intently as he saw the internal struggle. "My friend," Optimus waited until Prowl locked optics with him. "I know this is a difficult time for you, and what we are asking is more than we probably should. I will not force you to take this decision, because this is not something that should be forced. If you are not willing to take guardianship of Bluestreak, then we will look for someone else."
"They told me they have been unable to find someone else." Prowl said meekly.
"That is true, but we still have some time left."
"But not much."
"No. Not much."
Prowl was silent again and this time Optimus waited for him to talk.
"It is not that I am unwilling, sir," Prowl began hesitantly as he folded his hands on his lap, "It's just that I doubt I am what he needs."
"None of us are perfect, Prowl." Optimus said.
"I know, but I do not want the youngling to feel neglected. He would want someone to be close to him, especially during this time. Someone who will be able to comfort him and help him emotionally. It is no secret that emotions are not my forte." Prowl said.
"You think you will neglect him?" Optimus asked seriously, his concern was evident to see.
"Not intentionally, sir, never intentionally, but you know what you have requested from me, and I do not know if I will be able to do both as well as my normal work-load." Prowl answered honestly. "This is about the well-being of the youngling. I know that to save his life we are pushing through the process at a much faster pace than is wise, but we also have to make sure that in the long-run, we choose what is best for him."
Optimus smiled at Prowl. "Yet you care enough about him to raise these issues."
Prowl smiled back sadly at the Prime. "I do want what is best for him, and it is why I came to see you. If he accepts me, I may neglect either him or my duties. Both may cost lives in the long-run."
Optimus nodded at Prowl's words and fell silent as he thought about everything the tactician had told him.
"Prowl, I have every confidence in you that you would make a good guardian. Since you do not object to the guardianship itself, I would suggest you take it on, for Bluestreak's sake, if he chooses you. As to your duties, I will ask Ultra Magnus to assign you an aide as soon as possible."
Prowl's doorwings shot up at that. "Sir, the last time someone was sent to 'assist' me, it nearly cost the Autobots both their Chief of Security and Second-in-command, not to mention the damage to Teletraan-1 and the potential ramifications of what might have been had the system been compromised."
The Prime sighed. "Yes, that is true and deeply regrettable. However, I know of a potential candidate who has passed all preliminary screens. Furthermore, he will be examined by Red Alert and by you as well. Only if you both are satisfied will he be allowed to aide you."
Prowl's optic ridges shot up. "So you already have a candidate?"
Optimus nodded once in finality. "Yes."
"Why was I not informed?" Prowl asked before he thought better of it.
"You have been busy. Smokescreen put in the request and Ratchet backed him. You are over-worked Prowl, and it is clear to see."
Prowl ducked his chin in embarrassment. He had hoped that his lack of recharge would go unnoticed, but it appeared as if he had hoped in vain.
"Prowl, you are a valuable member of this team, but you are still only a mech and I do not expect miracles from you. We will leave the miracles to Ratchet."
Prowl's lip twitched upward in a barely-there smile as he raised his chin. "I will do my duty to the Autobots to the best of my ability Prime, you need not doubt that."
"I know." Optimus said as he continued to watch Prowl. "But I do not want to lose the mech in the process."
"You will not." Prowl dragged in a deep vent and released it slowly. "But that aside, you are right. I have no objections to the guardianship of Bluestreak, unless he does not choose me. I still have my doubts, but if he needs me than I will serve in whatever capacity is needed." Prowl said as he stood and raised his doorwings to their full height.
Optimus smiled at Prowl as he too stood and was silently relieved that Prowl had for the first time referred to the youngling as 'Bluestreak'. "Thank-you, Prowl. Should the youngling accept you, Ironhide has already talked to Chromia and Bumblebee and they have agreed to watch him in the times that you are unable to do so. Bumblebee is especially looking forward to it, as he is not yet old enough to commence with training."
Prowl caught the barely contained note of bitterness in the Prime's voice as he mentioned training, and he had to agree. He disliked the thoughts of younglings starting to train for military work even though he knew it was inevitable.
"Thank-you, Prime. I appreciate that."
"You are welcome, and should you need anything, just ask."
"I will, but for now I believe I will take a few breems to compose myself and then my presence is requested in the Medical Bay."
(break)
Location: Tyger Pax Base
Barricade stalked through the busy corridors of Tyger Pax, his irritation at an all-time high as mechs scuttled out of his way.
The slagging Autobots stationed at Tyger Pax kept throwing him pitying glances and offered him condolences, saying that if he ever needed to 'talk', they were willing to listen. It irritated him. This supposed-compassion. What did they know? What did they care?
He mourned Praxus, but it was the loss of Codebreaker that ate at him, devoured him and tore away at his sanity. His mate. Gone. His reason for existing. Gone. His hope for the future. Gone.
And it was all because of one mech.
Prowl.
It was all that kept him going, his desire for vengeance. He would complete his mission for the Decepticons, not out of loyalty, the Pit knew he loathed Megatron for what he had done to Praxus, but because they provided him with the means to get back at the one mech that destroyed his world. His reason for living.
He would do his research, look into every corner and scratch at every surface until he knew what Prowl valued, what made him tick, and strip it away.
And when he had taken everything that mattered from Prowl, he would kill him slowly, methodically, and painfully. Very painfully.
After he made sure that mech rusts in the Pit, he would deactivate himself. He would join his mate in the hereafter, whether it was in the Well or in the Pit, he didn't care. As long as they were together.
Barricade snarled as he keyed in the code to his room, thankful that his 'roommate' was on shift. He wasn't in the mood for company, especially not Autobot company. He sat on his berth and pulled a datapad out of subspace.
He had some research to do.
TBC
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