A/N: Now presenting my love letter to Sentinel Prime.
Exposed
After a little less than a week, Prowl was back at work.
He could say 'finally', because there was very little do to at the Project besides sleep off his unending headaches, but he returned to paperwork piled high on his desk. His newest task, courtesy of his current Prime. They wanted Prowl, as a part of their super-secret team of drag-race detectives, to type up all of the hand-written reports of suspicious cars and enter it into the database until he was capable of running patrols again. It was plainly grunt work for an officer who had much to heal and even more to prove, but he wasn't particularly upset to be kept from the field a little longer--even if it meant fading into half-scorned obscurity again.
The station did not react to his return. There were no 'welcome backs', no backpats or understanding looks. He didn't expect any. He just worked and worked, somewhat glad of the chance to avoid people.
It was lunch break by the time he ferried the second load of fiddly yellow paper-slips from the main office. He stopped to shift his load and draw a cup of water from the water tank, deprived of the glasses that would have blocked the glazed look on his face. A figure moved in his periphery; he paid no mind, until--
"How you doin', pal?"
Suddenly, it was the dreaded water-tank moment: something Prowl sought to avoid every waking minute of his office life by lurking in his workspace. Equipped with perfectly trimmed blond hair, an enormous chin, and grisly sideburns streaking beside his chiseled cheekbones, Sentinel Prime moved up alongside him and leaned on the wall, making no pretense at getting water.
As it was lunch break—Prowl worked through break, usually, with no desire to join the other officers for the meal and be forced to sit while they socialized—there was no one else around. No form of distraction meant he was trapped with the huge man, whose pink neck was nearly the size of his waist. Regardless of his mind-over-matter philosophy, there was something to be said for the uneasy feeling he had when facing that much dumb muscle encapsulated in one grinning, cologne-saturated man, especially when Sentinel claimed a rank so much higher than his own.
"Fine, thank you," Prowl said primly after a moment, taking a swallow from his cup before shifting the two boxes of papers under his arm, staggering slightly as they slipped; he nearly slopped water on the floor trying to save it. Sentinel's grin, amiably predatory, widened.
"Big load. Need some help with that?" he asked smugly, offering his mammoth hands. "I know you're a little limited right now."
"I injured my skull, not my spine. I am perfectly capable of balancing my affairs," Prowl snapped before he could think, then inwardly winced. He was, after all, on perennially thin ice in the DPD, especially with his current team Prime. It wasn't enough of an affront that he had to apologize, however, so Prowl gave his superior a curt nod and continued to his workspace.
Sentinel didn't let him get more than a few feet away before he pursued, strolling along behind the younger man for a short, surprisingly wordless walk. When Prowl reached his desk, he put the boxes on it and pursed his lips and glared at the opposite wall, well aware of the expectant stillness of the man behind him. Conceited, stupid, power-mad frat-boy. Muscling his suddenly aching head under control, Prowl contorted his face into a vaguely polite expression, once more regretting the loss of his concealing glasses, and grit out, "Can I help you with something, Sentinel Prime—sir?"
"I just wanted to have a little chat with my legendary rapist-clobbering officer. See if anything else is going on." Prowl turned to see Sentinel lounging against the nearby wall. The man glanced up from 'casually' inspecting his wide, flat nails with a piercing expression. "Anything else going on, Prowl?"
"I am afraid I don't understand," Prowl said, eyeing the Prime in distaste. He made his way around his desk and got himself settled, pulling the boxes toward him and grabbing a handful of reports out. Sentinel took this as permission wander around the small workspace, one hand at his physically impossible chin.
"'Cause, you see, people are talking about you. You've been on the tips of everyone's tongues since Optimus recommended you to this team--not exactly for your star performances either," Sentinel mused, pointedly surveying the bland inspirational portraits he'd doubtlessly seen a thousand times before. "You're a busy guy. Getting beaten up in alleyways… skipping patrol… getting beaten up in alleyways… oh man, did I repeat myself there?"
"If I may respectfully ask you to make your point?" Prowl said icily, failing to do so much as look up from his current task, fingers machine-gunning on his keyboard. Car brand names, colors—who put 'chartreuse' as a color when green would do? "I have a busy schedule today. Back-logged work, as you know, and it is my lunch-break."
"I got it, I got it. I just--I dunno, I was just curious what you've been doing in your off-time. I mean, you do whatever you want with your on-time, so that leaves me to ask what there's, y'know, left to do with weekends."
Prowl's desk creaked. He looked up. The Prime was on his desk, regarding him with the most condescending expression he'd ever seen. The pain in his head doubled and he couldn't stop the slight curl of his lip.
Roundabout, hopelessly see-through conversations—piecemeal intimidations—like this made the young officer wonder how so vindictive and dumb a man could have made it so far up the chain. At least with Optimus, you knew he was intelligent and mostly capable, if prone to maddening micro-managing. Comparatively, Prowl preferred his former Prime, but whatever the case, Sentinel wasn't going to end this game until he hooked and 'made his own bed' by inquiring as to his mistake.
Perhaps he should have been frightened already. Wary, at the least, knowing that the confusion he had suffered over the past two months had much, much more to it than simple personal troubles. He was in too much pain for either of those reactions, and Sentinel's bullying habits were too well-known to bother getting riled up over. Prowl blew a tense bit of air through his nose and submitted.
"Pardon?"
That look on his tanned, angular face—like everything had already worked out and he was a handsome genius and Prowl, pretentious little anti-social Prowl, was none the wiser. Oh, it made the younger man boil. Sentinel rearranged his butt on his inferior's desk and took a deep, infuriating, story-telling breath.
"Well, I was driving down Boyd street the other day… the one with the high-class mechanics and specialty shops. Y'know, three of which have been cited for chop-shopping for the racing circuit's big-name players?"
Prowl stopped typing, then forced himself to start again. It was a neutral subject. It was a neutral subject, they were on the same team… both dedicated to exposing the circuit. Business talk in a business environment. Only natural—except Sentinel's attentive expression said otherwise as he slowed down to grind every word into Prowl's suddenly ringing ears.
"Saturday, I think it was… and you know what I saw?"
Saturday. This last Saturday.
"What," Prowl managed, a small seed of terror taking root in his roiling gut.
"I saw you in one of 'em. Had a big white guy next to you. Tattoos, shaved head—I think you know the one? You two looked pretty cozy, comparing tires or whatever it was." There was a pause, then Sentinel practically purred, "I like that new light-set on the back of your bike, by the way—did he help you pick it out? Real flashy."
Prowl couldn't breathe; his heart became nothing more than a quivering, tender lump of disbelief, then exploded into furious pulsations. His glasses, where were his ice-blue glasses, blocking his wide eyes from Sentinel's prying, greedy attention? He kept the riotous fear-response canned up inside his burning skin, but even an idiot could see by the twitch of his suddenly stiff shoulders that Sentinel's meandering explanation had struck bone in some way. Prowl swallowed and found something blank and noncommittal to fill the predatory void.
"Thank you. I had been looking for that modification for quite a while."
It—this charade--meant nothing. He was a pretentious jackass and a former army drill instructor who took his fun from making others think he had all the power. Sentinel was scaring him back into line after his recent mistakes, trying to make him behave—to make him think that he had something hanging over his head, but he didn't. There was nothing to deduct from two random people in a parts shop, nothing at all. Unless he… saw that damned ugly car, knew that it was on the list of suspicious vehicles—
But there were thousands of reports, most of which were on Prowl's own desk at the moment. Sentinel wouldn't put that much effort into anything, even intimidation. He didn't know anything. He couldn't.
"Glad you found it, then."
Prowl looked up at his superior as stonily as he could, forcing his breath to come slower and slower.
"May I—"
"But that guy. I didn't think that seemed like your regular hang-crowd—'scuze me for making assumptions, but you, ah… you don't look like the tattoo-and-leather type. I was curious. So I talked to Optimus about it." The big man chuckled, knuckles against his mouth. "Good old Optimus."
Optimus. The sole other person in his life who knew.
Prowl's fingers crunched down hard on the keyboard. Sentinel's fond, smug silence for once incited exactly what he intended: anxiety turned the young officer's gut to stone, jacking up his pulse to a maddening, frenetic rate. Prowl cleared his throat.
"And?"
"Well, y'see, he's been jumpy lately. 'Specially if I mention anything to do with you."
He slammed his hand down on the desk for 'punctuation' and Prowl jerked despite himself, instantly cursing himself for it. He blinked hurriedly, nerves screaming. He tried to get himself under control even as his eyes were exposed and he was naked and every damning emotion shot straight from his dry eyes into the air where the mammoth man ate it, becoming stronger by the moment like some jock vampire. Sentinel continued, precise plastic grin moldering into a suspicious frown.
"And when I mentioned off-hand that I'd seen you with that biker guy, he—you wouldn't believe it. Optimus went a little crazy. Started rambling, asking me what I'd seen, when I'd seen it, like you were, I dunno, doing something wrong! The guy was practically wringing his hands over you," he guffawed, then quieted too quickly. "Now, I didn't get all of it—he pleaded ignorant and took off for Magnus' office before I could pump him properly—but I heard some things, Prowl. You want to know what I heard?
"I can't… imagine what he could have to tell y--" Prowl said stiffly, interrupted by another slam on the table and Sentinel's face mere inches from his own, white block teeth shining in a sneer.
"I heard enough. And if I find out you're dabbling with a suspected criminal, you're gone. You hear me?" he whispered viciously. "I'll have you investigated and pulled from this team—no, this station--for improper conduct. You've had it coming for as long as you've had that badge, insubordinate little smear, and I'll be happy to be the one to give you the send-off you deserve."
Prowl's eyes were unbelievably wide, face bleached—molecular-level reactions he couldn't feel, much less stop. Sentinel never took his eyes off of him even as he dismounted the desk and clenched his ruddy fists briefly, pointing one ham-thick digit at the young officer's face.
"And Optimus. Your little buddy. If I find out he's protecting your sorry ninja ass? He's in for it too. I'll take this Ultra-level if you so much as poke your nose into an unregistered alleyway again or show up three minutes late for work. You hear me, officer?"
His voice refused to work. Turning his face toward the table, Prowl's throat undulated soundlessly for what seemed like a full minute before he managed to say it.
"Yes."
"Yes what?" Sentinel snarled; his hand might as well have descended on the desk again.
"Yes, sir."
He couldn't think of anything to say. There was nothing to deny—and by remaining quiet, he accepted it as true and the accusations were in his bloodstream. They would not leave. With officers filtering back into the room, bringing murmured activity and life to what had been an interrogation chamber moments before, the encounter was enough of a blow without Sentinel stopping before he rounded the corner, looking back with a disgusted expression.
"Now I wonder why you didn't give us the right date."
He left Prowl white and shaking at his desk, exposed down to his wide, wide eyes as he reached numbly for another yellow slip and slowly, very slowly, began to type again.