Disclaimer: All recognisable characters and places belong to HasTak, anything you don't recognise is probably mine.
Part 5: Changes
Chapter 1 of 6
An alert popped up on Prowl's HUD, startling him out of his focused analysis. It was now two full groons past the time he should have turned everything off and gone back to his quarters yet here he was still working. A circumstance that was becoming rather familiar.
Electing to ignore it just one more time, he reset the alert to remind him again in another groon and paced over to a low shelf where a slightly stale cube of energon had been slowly evaporating while he was distracted. The last time Jazz had been aboard he had insisted that Prowl at least make sure he fuelled if he was not going to charge enough, and he had tried to hold to that.
To his great relief, Jazz had apparently not been sent on the same mission that had caused his deep depression and cost the life of the less experienced agent. Instead he seemed to be being sent all over the galaxy, turning up in the unlikeliest of places at unexpected intervals, always with a cover story that made perfect sense and seemed flawless and yet could not possibly be true. It was enough to make Prowl's circuits ache if he thought too hard about the double-life Jazz took for granted, so he tried not to do so.
It certainly helped that no matter how short Jazz's visit back to the Ark he always found space for a quick catch up, even if it was just a kiss and cuddle in a nearby closet or washrack stall. Usually it was more.
By Prowl's analysis this was simply more proof that their relationship was a solid one. Jazz continued to seek him out well past what could be considered coincidence or convenience. For his own part, every contact simply made him more certain of his own feelings and less accepting of Jazz's claims to nonchalance. Some time soon they would have to have a proper talk about that, and given the chance he would make it entirely plain to Jazz that this was no longer casual for either of them.
But Jazz was not here now, and he had finished his energon so it was time to stop zoning out and to return to work. He was not up this late for the fun of it.
The fact was, the Autobots were losing this war and the situation was becoming more dire with every passing vorn.
The Decepticons were no longer limited by numbers. The constant raids on Neutral bases and the new policy of taking Autobot prisoners rather than simply killing them meant they had plenty of available labour for their breeder factories. Those whose sparks could naturally procreate were tied into the systems; those whose could not were put to work; those who resisted were killed. The factories churned out near-drones who were simple enough to defeat in small numbers but who were all but unstoppable in concentration.
Many Neutrals had come to the Autobots to beg for protection. Some had wanted to join the Autobot ranks and were warmly welcomed, but the civilians were a problem. Non-combatants were targets, and slowed down the forces needed to protect Autobot bases. They complained constantly about the conditions they were forced to endure and took up resources that their protectors needed.
There were no civilians on the Ark, but reprovisioning was becoming difficult, and to make matters worse the Autobot flagship had been through some rough battles in recent vorns and was in urgent need of repair.
Their energon stores were critically low, and the repairs that were needed were not safe to do in space. They needed to land somewhere, preferably somewhere with high ambient radiation or natural energon ore or some other readily accessible energy source and ideally somewhere with a well-resourced maintenance hangar.
Unfortunately, the enemy knew all of this.
Every time they approached a promising system Decepticon raiders turned up. Still, they had to do something, so new plans were tried with increasing desperation in the hope that one might finally work.
It had startled him somewhat to find that of all the others in the Tactical office, only he and Quickquadrant were actually tacticians. The others were aides of various types, or messengers, or technical experts. It was little wonder that Quickquadrant had him doing so much data analysis: what he could do with his inbuilt processor in a groon would take joors of careful data entry and complex calculations through Teletran for any of the others.
Having him do the collation freed Quickquadrant up to do more of the planning personally, but he was still only one mech and with responsibility for the entire Autobot contingent. So the CTO relied heavily on the tactical staff on other ships in the fleet; staff who repeatedly produced the same all-too-flawed plans which Quickquadrant refined and eventually presented to Prime who approved implementation.
They always failed.
Did none of them see that those strategies were not working, Prowl wondered. What they needed was something completely new and unexpected. Hence his after-shift work, here. If he could just present a completed and viable alternative surely it would at least get due consideration? But it had to be perfect before he handed it over or it would likely be dismissed out of hand - he had been reprimanded before over deviating from the stated planning brief.
He frowned down at the display before him, a simulation of the current situation around Ovacalix.
The Decepticons had had the base under constant siege for nearly thirty vorns, unable to launch a direct attack because of the asteroid field supporting the defensive shield but now sufficiently staffed that they could simply keep up a permanent blockade. All attempts thus far to attack the Decepticons there had failed, and it was all but accepted that the base had to be abandoned by those outside the siege until other matters improved.
They had conceded too soon, in Prowl's estimation. Yes, it was difficult, but winning through would be a huge morale boost to the Autobot forces. And it could be done, if it was carefully planned. He was sure it could.
Hearing the door open behind him he assumed it was Sideswipe.
The warrior's wild ways had finally been tamed by an effective punishment: namely, restriction from field duties and deployment as an administrative aide. If Prowl could keep an optic on him he knew that Sideswipe was not getting up to mischief, and Sideswipe appreciated that Prowl actually gave him something to do rather than letting him stand around bored like the others often did.
They had actually ended up spending a proportion of off-duty time together, too. The warrior turned out to enjoy board games, and was determined to beat Prowl at least once at Overlord. So far he had not even come close, but that did not stop him trying.
It also meant that he knew when Prowl was supposed to be off-duty, and he often wandered by to nag him into resting. A friendly gesture, indeed, but irritating.
"You should be charging." he admonished the warrior without looking up, still considering one of the variables on the screen in front of him.
"So should you."
He turned, startled by an unexpected but familiar and welcome voice.
"Jazz? When did you get back?"
"A little bit ago. Who'd you think I was?"
"Sideswipe. He's made a habit of pestering me into taking my breaks."
Jazz nodded thoughtfully.
"Sounds like a sensible mech. So. Time for a break?"
Sideswipe hummed to himself as he headed along the corridor.
Forty vorns ago he had come aboard hoping to find his brother, and grumpy enough to tell Prime himself where to go if he got in the way of that search. Being separated made them both irritable, and he often wondered how Sunny was coping. Particularly since he had now found some balance of his own: for the first time in a long time he was not alternating time on the front lines with an equal amount of time in the brig.
This weird personal-assistant-role punishment Prowl had come up with was somehow not as demeaning as it should have been. It gave him something to do, at least, and also gave him exposure to the planning side of what was happening, which was new. For vorns he had gone where he was told and fought as he was needed and accepted that. It had always seemed so futile. There were always more Decepticons, and every battlefield ended up looking like all the ones before it. Now at least he knew where he was and Prowl was willing to put battles into context where he could.
The tactician was a strange one, there was no denying it. He was officially on the Ark's tactical planning team, but he spent most of his energy chasing up petty thefts and doling out punishments for minor rule infractions. He also seemed to be in charge of any administration for new arrivals, even though every other ship Sideswipe had served on that had been the responsibility of the security force.
In fact, pretty much everything Prowl spent his orns doing had been the responsibility of security, in Sideswipe's experience. No-one seemed able to explain how Prowl had ended up with it here, or why, but the mech was remarkably efficient so maybe that was it. Or maybe he had moved from there into tactical?
In any case, he spent most of his shifts elbow-deep in administrative matters. When he was not doing that, he was either in the planning rooms - mostly in his downtime - or, very rarely, in the field.
The first time Sideswipe saw him off-ship he almost got clipped by laserfire just staring in surprise. Prowl was clearly not built for close combat - the Praxian doorwings were generally a disadvantage - but he stood his ground with his rifle and rocket launchers and helped defend the civilians they were evacuating.
Later on, Sideswipe discovered that the tall red mech who stood at Prowl's side was the source of the constant stream of orders that had guided Prime's soldiers in the field that orn. Blaster transmitted the orders that Prowl gave in real time, sometimes with different orders sent simultaneously to several recipients. Together they turned the usual on-site confusion into a professional and casualty-free excursion.
Sideswipe's respect for Prowl and his abilities was high, in spite of his irritation over the mech's inadequate sense of humour and unwillingness to bend the rules, but strangely the senior officers did not seem to have that same opinion of him. So Prowl was relegated to his endless administrative duties and Blaster rarely called upon.
If the mech would just loosen up a little Sideswipe was sure things would go more smoothly for him. He never seemed to do anything but work or charge, and he did far less of the latter than he should. Which was where he came in.
He supposed it was kind of like a replacement for his normal role of watching over Sunny. For vorns he had had to chase his brother around to ensure he fueled and charged and stayed out of trouble. It was actually nice to have someone to pester like this.
Wondering what Prowl would think if he realised Sideswipe saw him as a kind of pseudo-brother, he sauntered up to the planning room door and opened it then stopped in shock.
Prowl was in there, just as predicted, but he was not alone and he was certainly not working. Instead, he was lying back on the wide planning table, limbs entangled with another mech's, both crackling with an imminent overload.
Backing away quickly, Sideswipe stared at the now closed door.
Apparently Prowl was not always as restrained as he appeared.
Jazz turned his head to stare at the door, certain he had heard something but unable to see anything out of place. On the other hand, he was suddenly acutely aware that he had not locked it and that that was really not good enough if they were going to keep this relationship a secret. Quite honestly he had not thought Prowl would start anything in such a public space, or let it go this far if he did. The mech had obviously changed while he had been away this time.
"Jazz, please." Prowl begged, shifting anxiously beneath him. "For the love of Primus, don't stop now!"
Concerned about the possibility of someone walking in on them he gave serious consideration to pulling away, but then decided it could wait. He would go through the camera footage of the hallway later and track down whoever it was, if there had been anyone.
Right now, there were other priorities.
"So what were ya workin' on, 'fore I interrupted?"
Prowl continued to straighten the room, unsubspacing a cleaning cloth to wipe up a smear of lubricant from the side of the planning table. Explaining the presence of that fluid here would be highly embarrassing.
"We need to dock somewhere to repair and refuel."
"I thought there was a plan to head out to Trident Station to do that?"
Prowl cast a glare at the mech who was lounging in a chair near the door.
"That's classified."
"Not from ops." Jazz shrugged. "Won't work, though. CB's already tellin' Prime that - the Cons're expecting it."
"It is the obvious choice." Prowl conceded.
"But you've got a different plan?"
"It's not approved yet. That's why I'm doing it outside shift. I want to get it right first."
"Looked pretty good to me."
Prowl shook his head, taking one last look around the room to confirm that there was no sign left of their activities.
"I turned it off less than a breem after you entered the room - there was no time for you to analyse the scenario properly. Besides, it may not even be possible."
"Usin' Ovacalix? Sure it's possible. I was there a coupla orns ago."
"How?" Prowl demanded, spinning around. "No-one's been in or out since the siege began!"
"No-one officially." Jazz shrugged. "Ops bots don't really broadcast what they're up to, y'know?"
"What were you doing there? Or... is it something you can't tell me?"
Jazz shook his head.
"Just runnin' messages. Keepin' up the comms between the fleet an' the bots there. Nothin' special. All done, then?"
"So how do you get in and out?" Prowl asked, turning the map function on again and focusing in on the area in question.
"Can't tell ya that, Sparkles. An' it won't work for a ship this size anyway. But there're ways, an' you're smart enough t'find'em without my help. You'll figure it out. Now turn that off an' come on. I'll meet ya back at your room. Betcha I can beat ya there."
"Do you want the code?"
"Ha! Like I need it."