Once more I find myself apologizing for the delay… my internet connection has been iffy for the past few weeks and then we had some horrid weather move through our area (we were under tornado watches and everything) and afterward I wasn't getting any internet at home at all. Not even the 3G on my iPhone. For five slagging days. Very annoying, I tell you. (Makes one wonder how we ever survived before the internet, right?) So, you would have had this update almost a week ago except for the vagaries of local weather.
Note: When you get to the applicable scene, please keep in mind that I see absolutely NOTHING sexual with the whole interface/hardline connection thing. No more sexual than a USB drive in a computer. Just like I pointed out before Prowl's interrogation. Kindly keep all minds out of the gutter, please. Thank you.
Anyway, This chapter is a little extra long (OK, the longest one yet)… not really to make up for the delay, but rather because this first scene just deserves to lead off a chapter, not finish one. Enjoy.
He took a moment to still his processors, focusing on the steady pulse of his spark, the rhythm of his internal systems and the feel of air passing through his vents as he focused on the mental checklist of all the steps he had to follow to do this right.
Prime the weapon. Check.
He was momentarily distracted as he listened to its small power pack whirr as it charged fully. But the process took less than an astrosecond.
Find the sights. Check.
Line the sights up with the target. Check.
Once he was older and in his adult frame he would be able to integrate the aiming mechanism with his optics and that would be really neat, but for now… No.
He had to focus.
Steady the weapon, one finger lightly brushing the trigger mechanism but not depressing it yet and the other hand bracing its barrel, holding it stable.
Check.
Focus… pull air in through his vents in a calm, steady manner.
Once… twice… and…
His finger slammed down on the trigger control.
Bright blue energy shot out of the small barrel and lanced across the relatively short distance of the close-range training field, striking the target in the outer quarter. The special surface evaporated under the otherwise harmless laser's touch.
With a happy squeal, Bluestreak popped up from where he had been laying prone on the firing bench. Then he looked back and around for his guardian. Prowl was kneeling behind him, just as he had been before he had taken the shot.
"I got it Prowl. That's the furthest one yet!"
Prowl was not smiling as broadly as Bluestreak was, he never did, but the warmth in his optics spoke volumes to the young mechling. That there was a distinct softening of his guardian's lip plates declared loudly to the youngling that Prowl was, in fact, pleased. So much so, the adult's words were almost unnecessary.
"Indeed, Bluestreak. You are doing very well."
Bluestreak just beamed, loosing himself in the affection he could just feel radiating off the black and white mech, even if it was not always outwardly apparent, even if Prowl did not always show it openly. He just knew it.
"This is harder than I thought it would be. I mean the actual firing isn't but hitting the target is, especially when it's kinda far away. But I've been working really hard and it's only been a decaorn and you've been helping me and I think its finally starting to pay off, because I finally hit that target! But I haven't hit a center-mark yet, except for when it's really, really close. But that isn't really a true test is it? But I'm not giving up until I…"
"Bluestreak." Prowl interrupted in a tone that, while still kind, brought him up short. "Where is your weapon pointed?"
Bluestreak gasped and looked down. He trilled in horror at seeing that, in his enthusiasm, he had not paid attention and now the rifle was point straight at… at Prowl.
"Sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He fumbled with the weapon, quickly trying to get it pointed back down range, his optics wide. In his haste, however, his palm pressed on the firing stud.
The world froze for one horrible instant and then snapped back into motion as a blast of blue laser energy ripped out of the barrel to strike Prowl right on the chassis, just below his right shoulder.
Prowl!
Absolutely mortified and suddenly afraid – afraid to see the look of disappointment he was sure his guardian must be wearing now – Bluestreak dropped his gaze to where his hands still gripped the weapon. His doorwings were trembling; he knew it but could not help it. If this had been a real weapon, he could have killed Prowl. His Guardian! It was unthinkable. Unforgiveable. How could he have been so careless? So clumsy?
How long he buried himself in self-reproach, Bluestreak did not know, only that the longer Prowl remained silent, the more horror and shame he felt, the worse he imagined Prowl's reaction would be when it finally came. It did not matter that that delay was only a handful of seconds.
He almost jumped out of his armor when Prowl's hand gently rested between his doorwings. When it registered that the touch was gentle, not punishing as he just knew he deserved for doing such a terrible thing, it only sent a stab of pain through his spark. He started to keen.
After another moment of stillness, in which his keens were the only thing filling the space between them, black fingers gently took the riffle out of his trembling hands. Bluestreak surrendered the weapon without resistance but was so distraught he only barely registered the fact that it was placed on the firing bench beside him rather than taken away completely.
"Bluestreak…"
Gentle as they were, the words were too much. Bluestreak ducked his helm and sobbed, air hiccupping through his vents. His spark was pounding so loudly in his chassis it was ringing in his audios and he missed the soft whine of Prowl's engine.
Then a warm finger under his chin brought his helm up until he was looking at his guardian's face. There was no anger there, but Bluestreak was too upset to notice this fact as he stared at the deep blue orbs of light that looked down at him.
"I'm so sorry." Bluestreak found himself rambling, as he always seemed unable to keep himself from doing. "I didn't mean to be so careless. I never wanted to hurt you. That was really, really mean and I never want to be mean to you… you do so much for me I… I can't believe… I don't know why…"
"Bluestreak." It was said with the same calm rumble as it had been earlier but this time finally broke through the endless cycle of self-reproach. He stared up at Prowl as the black and white mech continued. "It was an accident."
Even though it was not a question, Bluestreak nodded fervently. "I would never do anything to hurt you, not on purpose, Prowl. And I don't want to do anything on accident either. Please believe me. I…"
"I know. No harm was done." Was it… yes, there was actually a soft, barely audible, soothing purr from Prowl's engine underlying those words. Prowl was actually trying to comfort him; the one who had just shot him.
Bluestreak stopped keening, looking up at his guardian with wide optics as Prowl continued, that underlying, gently undulating croon still softening his words. "There is a reason younglings train with a low-powered lasers. This type of thing is expected to happen until you gain sufficient concentration and automated motor control to prevent it."
It was… expected?
He was not in trouble? Prowl was not upset or disappointed with him?
Bluestreak searched his guardian's face for a long moment, but he found no hint of subterfuge. But still, he wanted to be sure. "You aren't mad at me, even a little bit?"
A solemn shake of his helm was Prowl's answer. "Not at all."
Bluestreak considered that, his trembling stilling, though he did not move otherwise. Prowl let him think, which he was glad for. But the more he thought, the more troubled he became. He knew better than to let an armed weapon point anywhere but down range. He knew to be careful when handling it, to stay away from the trigger unless intending to fire it. How could he have been so forgetful?
More importantly: how could he keep it from ever happening again?
Completely unknown to Bluestreak, the longer he struggled with those issues, the more his processor strained to make new connections, to forge new synaptic pathways.
"What are you thinking, Bluestreak?" Prowl asked softly.
It might have been his imagination, but the youngling thought he heard a hint of pleased confidence in his guardian's voice. Blinking, Bluestreak focused back on Prowl.
"What happened?" He asked, then frowned. That was not exactly the right question. "I mean, why did I do that? I know better; you've taught me better than that. I don't understand… what happened? Did… did I malfunction?" The last was barely a whisper.
The corner of Prowl's lip plates twitched fractionally and a doorwing flicked faintly. "No. You did not malfunction. It is part of how a mech matures, Bluestreak. You simply became distracted because you are young enough that you do not have sufficient neural linkages to manage more than one complex action at a time. In time, if you keep working at it, it will become less of an issue. That is what this training weapon is for: using it forces you to multi-task with increasingly complex tasks and thus forces your processor to adapt. You are doing well, very well, I actually expected something like this to happen earlier on."
There was a pause as those serene optics continued to study him. "I am proud of how you are doing, Bluestreak."
Bluestreak felt his leg struts weaken at those words and he smiled. If Prowl was proud of him, he could not have done anything too horrible.
Still… he did not want it to happen again.
"I will be more careful, Prowl." He promise with all sincerity.
There was another quirk of a lip plate, bigger this time and, somehow, those sapphire optics warmed even more. "I know you will."
Then Prowl straightened, putting two fingers of his left hand together at the side of his helm, indicating a comm. message. Bluestreak had to fight a wave of disappointment: comm. messages usually meant Prowl had to go to work. But Prowl had an optic ridge quirked when his optics refocused on him, a clear hint of well hidden amusement bubbling under the surface of his control.
"That was Ratchet. He would like to see us when our training session is done." The words were said with a mildness that made it take an extra nanosecond for Bluestreak to register what had been said.
Then Bluestreak lit up. "Oooooh, Yeah! Lets just go now!"
But Prowl shook his helm, that half-smile never wavering. "No. We have fifteen breems left before our session is over."
Bluestreak stared. How could he focus on shooting when he had just been told something like that? "But… I'll be too distracted, I might shoot you again…"
The thought made him shudder.
But Prowl was not troubled by the possibility. In fact, of all things, he actually chuckled. It was short and very brief, but it was a good sound to Bluestreak's audios. "Perhaps. But you will be trying not to and that is what matters." There was a pause in which Bluestreak's doorwings drooped. "I am confident you will be able to overcome this…minor distraction."
" 'Minor' distraction?" Bluestreak echoed incredulously, blinking up at his guardian. "But… it's my first frame upgrade."
"Yes." A black finger touched his shoulder and then picked up the small weapon and pressed it into his hands. "And for now it is important that you focus. Distractions will come later in life as well, on the battlefield where your friends' lives will be depending on you. It is important that you start learning how to overcome them now. I do not expect perfection today, Bluestreak, I only expect you to do as good as you can. Distractions not withstanding."
Bluestreak thought for a moment, taking time to soak in the confidence he felt pouring off the older Praxian. Prowl believed he could focus, even if the tantalizing prospect of his first upgrade was hanging just out of reach. He was not sure he could do it, but Prowl was.
Well, he would do his best.
The youngling straightened, lifting his chin a fraction. "I'll do my best."
… … …
"Ironhide… you have been in here every orn at this time for the last decaorn. What on Cybertron has you so enthralled?" Inferno asked as he stopped a respectful distance away from the more massive warrior.
Ironhide's reaction was only to snort an amused, almost satisfied chuckle. "Waiting for that."
"For what?" Inferno asked again, crossing his arms at the intruder into the security center.
"Prowl is training Bluestreak to shoot on the short-range training field." Ironhide smiled up at the red mech. "The little slagger is a natural sharp-shooter, for as young as he is. This was the first time he lost concentration enough to fire his rifle unintentionally. Hit Prowl square on the upper chassis."
"Is Bluestreak okay?" Inferno asked, concern evident as he rushed forward to look at the same screen that had engrossed Ironhide. Then, upon seeing that the youngling was happily returning to his exercises, he blinked, recalling what else Ironhide had just said. "It's taken a whole decaorn for this to happen?"
"You heard me." Ironhide shook his helm in both disbelief and appreciation of the youngling's natural abilities.
"Hmm." Inferno took his time to watch as Prowl leaned closer and explained something to Bluestreak, pointing down range. The radiant smile the youngling gave his guardian after his next shot spoke volumes. "As… excitable as he seems, I find it hard to believe Bluestreak would have that much control."
Ironhide just grunted in agreement.
"Nor would I have expected Prowl to handle it so… normally." Inferno added softly.
Ironhide cast a sidelong glance at the red security officer, at the intense frown on the other mech's faceplate, though that scrutiny seemed more directed inward than at the screen he was staring at.
"He seems remarkably…" Inferno trailed off, looking for a word.
"Autobot?" Ironhide prompted.
After a moment's hesitation, Inferno nodded. "More than some Autobots, actually."
Ironhide grunted again. "He is an Autobot, Inferno, has been for a decaorn."
Slowly, Inferno nodded, piecing together his scarce memories and interactions with the former Decepticon. "I know. But still… it is a lot to get used to."
Ironhide was about to reply when an alarm on one of the perimeter beacons went off. The alert was followed immediately by Hound's frustrated voice over the intercom.
"Can I get some back up? Sideswipe tried to prank Springer and I as we returned from a patrol and, well, Springer didn't take too kindly to it." There was a pause. "The little glitch might need a new leg once he's done."
"I'll take care of this." Ironhide growled, moving for the door. "You figure out what we're going to do with the twin ruffians when I haul them back here."
Inferno released a long-suffering sigh of air through his vents and alerted Red Alert to the incoming pandemonium even as he indicated affirmative to the weapons specialist's order.
It was going to be a long orn.
… … …
Ten breems later Ratchet was glaring at Sunstreaker as he worked on Sideswipe's knee joint. It had been salvageable, thankfully, but it was still annoying. Hound was having to hold Springer back from launching himself at the silver front liner yet again, regardless of the fact Springer was sporting his own mild injuries. Meanwhile, Ironhide was standing like a black shadow by the door, making sure neither of the two Terror Twins escaped their just rewards.
"He isn't even hurt that bad!" Sunstreaker protested for the sixth or seventh time. "This is…"
"You glitch!" Ratchet roared. "When will you get it through that thick processor of yours that creating sink-holes in a frequently used road could have killed him if he hadn't reacted fast enough. And motion-triggered sink-hole collapses at that. What if we had had an attack or alert and an entire unit had been on that road? What if we'd had another influx of Neutrals?"
"But…"
"You can't do that type of thing!" Ratchet cut him off. "You two are the most imbecile, short-sighted piles of living scrap I have ever met."
"Ratchet…." Sideswipe tried to cut in, looking anxiously at the joint Ratchet was working on. But the CMO cuffed him upside the helm and then pointed his wrench back at Sunstreaker.
"I don't care which of you rust-buckets' idea it least one of you should have some shred of common sense."
"Ratchet…"
"Shut up, or I'm going to weld your lip-plates shut!" Ratchet glared at Sideswipe then looked back up at the golden twin. "What do you have to say about this?"
"Give it a rest, Ratchet." Ironhide advised dryly from the doorway. "I don't think anything you say is going to make a scrap of difference."
"Eh, probably not." Ratchet refocused on Sideswipe and gave the bolt a last twist. It was enough to make the warrior wince. "There. Get off my berth and out of my med bay and, Primus help me you two, if either of you end up back in here before the end of the decaorn, I am going to dismantle you and weld your afts to the ceiling and cannibalize the rest of you for spare parts. Out. Now."
"But…" Sideswipe protested, even as he swung his legs off the berth and stood. "I can't even bend my leg, the joint is too tight."
"I know." Ratchet snarled. "Maybe not being able to walk for a few orns until they loosen will teach you to think before you act."
"It won't matter anyway." Ironhide intoned. "You won't need to walk much while you are in the brig."
Sideswipe blinked but both he and Sunstreaker knew better than to argue further. It might have been funny to see Springer flail like some kind of organic insect when he almost fell into the sinkhole, but perhaps it had been a little risky. And neither could deny that pranks that negatively impacted combat readiness of any mech or the base carried a stiff penalty.
Sideswipe looked hesitantly at Springer. "Sorry?"
Springer growled and Ratchet barked. "Out!"
Now sullen, the twin front-line warriors turned to follow Ironhide only to see the large black mech step aside as Prowl and Bluestreak walked in.
Both Praxians quickly assessed the situation while they were in turn being evaluated. It was evident Prowl was instantly aware of the tense environment as he was clearly wary. Bluestreak on the other hand only shied closer to his guardian.
Neither said anything, but they did not have to. Sunstreaker's engine growled angrily and he stepped toward the tactician, though he looked at Ironhide "You have got to be slagging kidding me! It's only been three quartex and you've ended his probation? Are you guys glitched? He…"
"You leave Prowl alone!" Bluestreak yelled at the much larger front line warrior, though his doorwings quivered in either suppressed anger of fear as he stepped away from his guardian, though not too far. "He's not done anything bad since he's been here and he's really…"
"He's a fragging Decepticon. He has no right to wear our symbol!"
'Sunstreaker." Ironhide growled lowly, but his warning was over powered by Bluestreak's shriek of sudden rage as he leapt away from Prowl.
The older Praxian could not stop him before he threw his tiny little frame at the golden twin, wailing at him with each shouted accusation. "You big bully! Stupid! Blind! Meany!"
"Bluestreak!" But the youngling was heedless to his guardian's cry.
Little fists could not hurt the larger warrior, but the sound of paint scraping free of the plating was almost as loud as an explosion would have been. At least in Sunstreaker's audios and it had already been a stressful joor.
The other adults in the med bay, who were already tensing, lurched into action at his enraged snarl over the superficial cosmetic damage and were trying to reach the soon to be one-sided brawl even as Sunstreaker lifted his hand.
But Prowl was there first, his own engine growling menacingly. He caught Sunstreaker's arm before the blow could even be started and expertly separated Bluestreak from the greater threat, pushing the warrior backward to put a safe distance between the two.
When Sunstreaker started to struggle, Prowl swept his legs out from under him and slammed him into the ground, pinning him there with movements that were so swift, none of the other mechs in the med bay saw what happened.
"Get off me!" Sunstreaker growled.
"There was no way he could have hurt you." Prowl replied, his dangerously controlled voice clashing with the image of the golden warrior still trying to thrash beneath him. "You were out of line."
"He scratched my paint!"
"He is a youngling!" The menace in Prowl's voice was echoed by the furious hum of his engine. "You will not harm him."
"Get your fragging hands off me!" Sunstreaker yelled, still struggling.
"No." Prowl leaned closer. "Not until you calm down."
The other mechs watched this in stunned silence, even as Ironhide called Inferno for back up. Never in all his time at the base had Prowl demonstrated an ounce of violence toward any Autobot. Of course, Sunstreaker had made the mistake of threatening his charge. Truthfully, they were quietly wondering why Prowl had not torn Sunstreaker apart yet, revamped ethical subroutines or not. Guardian protocols were core programming too, after all. The Praxian should not be this collected.
Naturally, Sunstreaker did not calm down, so Prowl continued to physically restraining him, not even seeming to have any difficulty doing so.
"You should teach that brat not to pick fights he can't win." Sunstreaker hissed, glaring up at Prowl.
"A lesson you have illustrated clearly." Was Prowl's relatively calm reply, which only served to enrage Sunstreaker further. Prowl seemed nonplussed, he only leaned so close his olfactory sensor was inches from Sunstreaker's. "I would also advise you to watch your language, Sunstreaker. If Bluestreak picks up your profanity, I will be most… unhappy."
Prowl's finger's tightened demonstratively around a vulnerable armor seam and reality finally seemed to break through Sunstreaker's mindless anger. He stilled, optics widening fractionally. "Fra… um. You are his guardian, aren't you?"
It was not said as if Sunstreaker were unaware of that fact, only that he just now remembered it. "Yes."
Inferno arrived then, the med bay doors hissing as they opened to admit him. He froze at seeing the scene before him. "What is going on here? Prowl, release Sunstreaker."
Though it was clear it was the last thing he wanted to do, Prowl nonetheless released his grip on the other warrior. He started to stand when Sunstreaker shoved him away with a blow that dented plating on his shoulder in an intentional act of provocation. Considering what they had just witnessed, everyone tensed ready to intervene, but Prowl simply took the blow without reacting, straightening to attention as Sunstreaker levered himself to his own feet.
With a growl, the golden twin braced himself to retaliate against the mech who had openly humiliated him in front of so many witnesses. This time, however, Prowl did not respond to the impending threat, though it was very clear he was aware of it. The sudden change in the Praxian's demeanor stunned everyone. Only Ironhide's and Inferno's quick intervention kept Sunstreaker from attacking Prowl.
"Enough of this." Ironhide growled. "What do you expect when you threaten a youngling but that his guardian will defend him?"
"But… He has no right to be an Autobot!" Sunstreaker hissed.
"He has earned that right." Ironhide corrected, pushing the golden twin toward Inferno. "You are lucky he didn't tear you apart. Take them to the brig, Inferno."
Inferno nodded confirmation, though he cast a speculative glance at Prowl before hauling Sunstreaker away. Sideswipe followed sullenly, limping on the leg that would not bend.
Once they were gone, silence descended on the med bay until it was broken by Bluestreak's frightened whimper as he moved to press himself against Prowl's leg. "Prowl…"
With an apologetic glance at Ironhide, Prowl broke his position of attention and knelt to be at optic level with his charge. "Yes, Bluestreak?"
"I don't understand… If you could do that all this time, why do you let them be so mean to you?"
None of the other mechs so much as cycled air as Prowl released a soft vent. "The mechs at this base have more than enough cause to be angry at me. And, as we discussed my position on the base does not give me the right to retaliate. Regardless, cruel words alone are never reason enough to initiate a fight. I acted to defend you."
"But it isn't fair that you won't defend yourself. Someone should."
The watching mechs were stunned to see a tiny hint of a smile twitch on those usually stoic lip-plates. "Perhaps, Bluestreak, but that someone should not be you, not while you are still a youngling. I would not want you damaged because you decided to attack someone more than three times your size and without having been trained to do so. That would hurt me more than Sunstreaker ever could."
Bluestreak thought about that for a moment and then glanced around at their audience. His doorwings drooped. "I, uh, I got you in trouble, didn't I?"
Prowl put a hand on Bluestreak's shoulder, reclaiming his attention. "Do not fret. I will face it willingly and do so again if necessary to protect you."
With that Prowl stood to face Ironhide, his doorwings flared, but dipped respectfully. It was not the posture of absolute surrender he had adopted so frequently as a paroled POW, but was clearly one of submission all the same.
"You attacked Sunstreaker." Ironhide stated blandly, though both Springer and Hound were still trying to process what they had seen and were still seeing.
"Yes, sir." Prowl agreed calmly.
"And you just said you would do it again."
Prowl hesitated, considering the larger black mech, but there was no use denying the accusation. "If I had no choice I would, if necessary, to Protect Bluestreak."
Prowl could not be sure, but he thought he saw a satisfied glint in Ironhide's optics. True, the weapons specialist had defended him to Sunstreaker, but that did not mitigate the fact that he had violated approximately three separate regulations in that stunt he just pulled. He would not, could not, deny that.
When the black mech just stared at him as if in indecision, he bowed his helm formally. "Ironhide, I am well aware that in acting as I did I violated section 4-B, paragraph 3, and section 8, subsection 10 of General Conduct Code 8.03, as well as General Conduct Code 12.06 section A, paragraph 2, in regards to striking a superior officer." Because, as much as it rankled, even the Twins still out ranked him. "I will not excuse my behavior or attempt to avoid the consequences of my actions."
Each of the mechs present in the med bay just stared at him, including Ratchet, Springer, Hound, First Aid and Ironhide. Unknown to the Praxian, most if not all of those same mechs were secretly glad Sunstreaker had had his aft handed to him, wishing they had been gifted with as valid an excuse to wallop him themselves.
"Come on, Ironhide." Hound ventured after a moment. "You can't deny the lug-nut had it coming."
Ironhide's armor relaxed then and he nodded. "Good point." He looked back at Prowl. "If you hadn't done it, I would have… And I probably wouldn't have been as nice about it."
"I doubt Sunstreaker will forget something like that, though." Springer murmured.
"So long as Bluestreak is left out of it, there will not be a problem." Prowl interjected quietly then louder. "If you will allow, Ironhide, once our consultation with Ratchet is concluded, I will surrender for disciplinary action and…"
"There won't be any discipline." Ironhide cut him off. "You acted in defense of a youngling. I'm not going to punish any mech for that, let alone that youngling's guardian."
Prowl's optics widened in evident surprise before he bowed his helm. "Thank you, sir."
When Bluestreak reached up to grasp his hand, Prowl looked at Ratchet. "Is this still a good time, or should we return later?"
"Now is good." Ratchet looked at his apprentice. "First Aid, see to Springer and then join us."
First Aid nodded and then moved to scan the scout as Ratchet gestured Prowl and Bluestreak to the far side of the med bay. It was as much privacy as the large open area offered. Bluestreak was lifted to stand on one of the exam berths to put him closer to optic level with the adults. They spoke quietly enough to ensure their privacy.
"As you know, supplies for physical frame upgrades are a problem." Ratchet spoke quietly, though his tone was no less serious. "Our projections show that if we proceed at the normal rate and order of traditional frame upgrades, we will not have enough to give him a full-sized adult Praxian frame. The best we would be able to manage would be that of a minibot, unless this accursed war were to end before the end of the next decavorn."
"That is unlikely, unless we loose." Prowl murmured.
"In which case, it won't matter, I know." Ratchet frowned. "But in my research I found that during the war with the Quintessons, it was not uncommon to modify the upgrade schedule."
"How so?" Prowl was truly curious; this was not an aspect of history he was familiar with, though it did not surprise him that every profession had parts of it's past that were not well known outside that specific community.
Ratchet grimaced. "During the height of the war, when supplies were running low, it was not uncommon to transition a sparkling directly to their first adult frames."
Prowl frowned. "That seems… dangerous."
"Normally it would be." Ratchet agreed. "But the medics of that time found that expansions could be added to a sparkling's processor to allow them to continue maturing and that segments of the adult frame's processor could be segmented off and functions of that frame restricted until the youngling matured enough to handle them."
Prowl considered that. "Meaning, that until that youngling could properly handle the responsibility that comes with being an adult, they would only be a youngling in an adult-sized frame."
"Essentially." Ratchet glanced at Bluestreak. "However, the records show that these mechs matured into their adult roles far more quickly than younglings who proceed through the normal schedule. It was such a universal experience that some of the leading medics actually speculated that the traditional upgrade schedule accomplished nothing but the intentional retardation of the maturing process."
"What does all this mean?" Bluestreak asked, leaning against Prowl's shoulder in a clear solicitation for comfort, which Prowl offered him in the form of a hand between his doorwings and a soothing thrum of his engine. It was an intimate level of contact that never ceased to surprise any who witnessed the former Decepticon allowing it.
Prowl looked at his charge. "It seems as if you have two options, Bluestreak. If you choose to upgrade to a youngling frame in the normal manner, you will have no option but to remain a minibot in your adult frame, at least until the war is over. If it is your wish to ensure you have a normal-sized adult Praxian frame we will need to delay your upgrade while allowing you to continue maturing with a processor expansion and then transition directly into your adult frame."
Bluestreak's lip plates pressed together as he considered this. "Minibot… like Jazz?"
Prowl nodded.
"I don't like being small." Bluestreak peered up at his guardian. "How long would I have to wait with the second option?"
Prowl looked at Ratchet, passing the question to him. "That would depend, Bluestreak." Ratchet answered gently. "Probably at least another vorn, but maybe longer. We would start collecting materials for your adult frame immediately and keep it in store for when you are ready, in order to make sure it is available when the time comes."
Bluestreak nodded and was silent for another long moment and the adults let him think. "I won't be able to defend myself as a youngling, would I? If I needed to?" He asked suddenly.
"No, you would continue to need a guardian until you were well established in your adult frame." Ratchet concurred.
Bluestreak's optics widened. "But, if I went straight to an adult frame… What about then?"
Ratchet blinked, not understanding the question, but Prowl thought he did. "I will not stop being your guardian until you no longer have need of one, even if you are in an adult frame. Do not worry about that."
Bluestreak relaxed visibly and nodded, pressing his helm against Prowl's shoulder. Again the adults allowed the silence to hang as he continued to think.
Prowl had said he should not pick fights with mechs that were bigger than him, but if he were still a youngling, or a minibot, bullies like Sunstreaker would always be bigger than him. And Prowl had made it clear that he would not defend himself from meanies like that, and he didn't want Prowl to always have to protect him. And he was a Praxian; Praxians weren't minibots. And he still wanted to be a sniper, he doubted minibots could be snipers because they were just to small to have very big rifles. If he wanted to be a spy or a scout, the small size would not matter, but that idea was too scary. Better to be a sniper when he grew up. Shooting was fun, sneaking around was… not.
But he was tired of being a sparkling, he wanted a bigger frame. But if he did that right now he'd be stuck as a minibot in the long run. That was not the way to get a bigger frame. But if he upgraded to an adult frame, he would not be able to play with Bumblebee any more, at least not the same way he always had.
He sighed a long gust of air and looked at Prowl, to see that those calm blue optics were still regarding him. There was no pressure in that gaze and Bluestreak knew Prowl would support him no matter what choice he made.
It was a surprising comfort. It was almost enough to make him wish that he never had to move to an adult frame, just to always have that strength, that stabilizing presence so close at hand. Maybe Prowl would continue to offer that support even after he was fully adult? Even if he did not need a guardian? But now was not the time to ask.
That made him think of something else however, though he was not entirely sure why.
Ironhide had said once that there were not that many Praxians left now, that Megatron had killed almost all of them. Prowl said it was normal for him to miss and grieve for his creators. But he was tired of grieving. He wanted to do something to remember and honor their memories. His creators were Praxian too.
He would wait so that he could have a full-sized adult Praxian frame. In honor of his creators. And of Prowl.
Prowl seemed to sense when he had made a decision and nodded encouragingly. Bluestreak looked up at Ratchet. "I'm Praxian. I want to look like a Praxian when I am an adult. I will wait and upgrade directly to that frame."
Ratchet nodded in easy acceptance. "Then I will get Wheeljack busy working on your adult doorwings. Those supplies will probably be the first to run short. Let me prepare your processor expansion and I will bring you back for that upgrade."
"Um, Ratchet…" Bluestreak asked, suddenly unsure. "Do, I mean, can I make a request as to what my adult frame will look like?"
Ratchet blinked, but then nodded. "I can't make promises, because a lot will depend on what parts I am able to get. What exactly do you have in mind?"
Bluestreak started to speak, then frowned. "I would like to look like my creators… like… like a mix of the two. I… I want a part of them to survive."
Prowl and Ratchet just stared at him, both were surprised that he was speaking of his deceased creators so openly, even if it was in a halting manner.
The medic found he wanted to honor such a request, but there was no way for the youngling to show him what his creators looked like except through an interface because sparkling and first stage youngling frames did not have internal communications systems. Nor did they have cords to allow them to download a file directly to a datapad. The seekers had managed to destroy Praxus' central database and archives, so it was not even possible for them to find a historical record.
"We do not know what your creators looked like, Bluestreak." Ratchet murmured regretfully.
"But I know." Bluestreak blinked innocently, then his face fell. "But I don't have a way to share that image file with you, do I?"
Bluestreak looked down, obviously deep in thought and the two adults glanced at each other as they waited for the youngling to figure out what he was struggling with.
After half a breem, Bluestreak looked up at Prowl, putting one hand tentatively on Prowl's chassis. "I remember reading in one of the datapads a decaorn ago that it is possible for mechs to share data, like pictures and things… like when you use your comm. to talk to other mechs."
"You do not have a communications transmitter, Bluestreak." Prowl reminded gently.
Bluestreak nodded. "But you and other adults do, you also have those data cords, you can download information from computers and… like you created the programs on the training room computer. And I read somewhere that two mechs can transmit large data files directly with each other that way too. Won't something like that work?"
Ratchet and Prowl could only stare at Bluestreak, neither adult believing what they had just been asked.
"Bluestreak, external synchronizations are not allowed for sparklings except in emergencies. Your frame can't… support the hardware to allow you to sync with another individual, nor the software to buffer such a connection." Ratchet explained patiently, though his frame heated fractionally with stress as he sensed where this conversation was going.
"But…" A soft keen escaped Bluestreak's systems. "But it can be done, you just said so. I… Could you do it, Prowl?" Bluestreak asked, perking up.
"That would be very uncomfortable for you, dangerous even, if I..." Prowl's doorwings flared in alarm. "I do not want to hurt you, Bluestreak."
"You won't. I know you won't."
Prowl released a vent of air. "Bluestreak, I have had that type of connection done to me numerous times, I know it will hurt you and I don't want to do that."
"But I trust you." Bluestreak's optics were wide. "And even if it hurts a little, I know you won't mean to."
Prowl stared into those pleading young optics and felt his spark ache. He shuttered his gaze and tipped his helm, letting it rest on Bluestreak's own. "Is it safe, Ratchet?"
Ratchet's voice was likewise strained. "If you are careful. He won't have any firewalls, so…" He let his voice trail off.
"Bluestreak, please reconsider." Prowl did not un-shutter his optics, only to feel a small hand press against his cheek plating.
"Please?"
Prowl let his optics online again, looking at Bluestreak. "Why is this so important to you?"
"I miss them." Bluestreak answered quietly. "I don't want to risk forgetting them and… I was always told I was like a perfect mix between them and I always wanted to look like them when I got my adult frame, but especially now because… because I want something of them to survive the destruction of our home. Please?"
If he were going to wait and upgrade along the normal schedule, by the time he was in his third youngling frame he would have been able to transmit the memory files himself. But he had chosen to wait; trapped in this very restrictive sparkling frame, and Prowl knew that. It was a sacrifice that impressed Prowl, as did his bravery in taking the intimidating leap of upgrading directly from sparkling into his adult frame.
As much as his processors protested the idea, he knew he would honor such a request. In truth, Bluestreak asked very little for himself, and had never asked something Prowl was so reluctant to give. But Prowl likewise carried within himself the indescribable weight of grief and loss and, even if he could not express or process that grief properly now, he understood Bluestreak's desire to the core of his spark.
Hesitantly, Prowl withdrew his cord, hoping Ratchet would stop him, holding it pinched between his fingers between them. Bluestreak looked down at it and when Prowl made no move beyond that reached for it. Prowl surrendered it silently, aware that Ironhide, Springer, First Aid and Hound were now watching with muted alarm, their own conversations forgotten.
"It will be alright." Bluestreak assured as he reached back to finger the port at the base of his neck and then awkwardly pushed the cord's connector into the port.
It took a moment, but once the connection was made, Prowl found himself resisting the automatic synchronization process. It was not something he could stop once the connection was made, but he fought it, slowing it as much as possible so as not to overwhelm the youngling. It was difficult to do, painful even, like trying to contain an explosion within his mind and awareness, but he tenaciously hung on, refusing to let go.
Once it was finished, he paused, looking at Bluestreak carefully in the physical world. His optics were wide, though not necessarily in pain or horror.
"Are you alright?" He asked softly, aware his concern was flowing back across the hardline connection, feeling his tanks churn at knowing he was not just in another mech's processor, but in a youngling's.
Bluestreak nodded, though it was clear he was distracted. ~Can you hear me think?~
The question was so innocently curious Prowl could not stop the incredulous chuckle that barely breathed out of his vents. ~Yes, I can, when your thoughts are deliberate and directed at me. I can pick up your feelings too.~ He replied in kind, directing the unspoken thoughts to the youngling. ~Am I hurting you?~
A negative impression flowed across the link, then a more hesitant, almost tumultuous flicker of concern. ~What are you going to have to do next? What do I have to do?~
Prowl released a vent of air. Right. Do what he needed to do as quickly but as carefully and gently as possible and then get out before he could cause unintentional damage to the young processor. ~I need you to pick a memory file you want me to copy, one that has a clear image of your creators.~
There was a pause. ~Okay, I know which one.~
Prowl cringed fractionally, knowing what came next. ~Show me.~
Another moment passed before Bluestreak figured out what Prowl was asking him to do, then a pathway lit up before him. It was to one of his earliest memories. That meant it was a longer pathway, but it was relatively straight and uncluttered, which meant it was a memory that Bluestreak replayed often, perhaps a favorite. Another resigned sigh of air washed out of his systems.
~Try not to resist, it will make this less… uncomfortable.~ He hesitated. ~I am sorry."
With that, Prowl started to follow the illuminated pathway, being very diligent to stay exactly on it, watching his charge carefully for the tiniest hint of pain. He would disconnect immediately if he needed to, even if it left his own mind fragmented to do so from so deeply within the other's processor.
While he felt Bluestreak react to his mental presence, it was with more curiosity than discomfort, though the discomfort was there.
He found the file and was very conscientious about copying it without risking a fragmentation of it. He would be slagged and sent to the smelter before he would ever do that to Bluestreak. Finishing the process, Prowl followed the illuminated path exactly once more as he retreated to the fringes of Bluestreak's mind.
~How are you doing?~ He asked, hesitantly, not sure he wanted to know.
~I see what you mean by it being unpleasant, and I can definitely see how it could have been a whole lot worse, but I could tell you were being careful so I don't really mind.~ Bluestreak paused and Prowl felt the youngling's embarrassment. ~I kinda like being able to talk to you like this, it is so much easier to know what you are feeling this way. I always knew you were kind and nice and that you cared about me and everything, but I can feel it like this and… I do like that.~
Prowl just stared at him, then fractionally relaxed the hold he had been keeping over his own emotions. He might not be able to express his affection for Bluestreak openly because of that fragging glitch in his command cortex, but he could show it like this.
Bluestreak's optics widened even more as that affection and concern and steely determination to protect and provide bled through the one-way connection. Then, to the surprise of everyone in the room, he squealed in joy.
The next thing Prowl knew, Bluestreak had leapt off the berth to cling to his neck in a desperate hold that spoke of how much Bluestreak had actually been needing this level of affirmation. That realization sent a pang of guilt through Prowl's spark that unintentionally got transmitted to Bluestreak.
~Don't feel bad.~ The youngling's will pressed against his, reminding Prowl unintentionally that he was an invading presence. ~You explained why you have to be careful about your emotions. But I know now, and I'll remember, and someday you can show me how to do this type of thing when it can be done both ways like I read about.~
~I promise.~ Prowl sure as pit did not want someone like Jazz or, Primus forbid, the Twins teach Bluestreak how to do that type of thing. No, the youngling would need to learn how to defend his mind if necessary and he was not about to let another mech teach him that. "I'm going to disconnect now." He spoke softly.
Bluestreak actually managed to look disappointed and relieved at the same time, though he did not so much as flinch when Prowl removed his cord. Prowl did, however. He had put so much concentration into not overwhelming or hurting Bluestreak that his processor throbbed painfully from the effort.
"Are you alright, Bluestreak?" Ratchet asked, flicking a warning look at Prowl even as he ran a scan over the small frame.
Prowl did not respond to the unspoken threat but to dip his doorwings submissively. If he had hurt Bluestreak in any way, he wanted them to rip him apart.
Bluestreak rubbed a palm along the side of his helm. "I'm a little sore, I guess, but it isn't bad." Then he frowned at the medic. "I think Prowl is more concerned about me and more caring for me and more careful than you think. I know it now. He wouldn't hurt me."
Ratchet smiled faintly at that. "It is not a matter of concern or care, Bluestreak." Ratchet considered Prowl carefully, and still the Praxian did not move, his gaze was averted as if awaiting judgment. "What he just did is very difficult and because of that, very dangerous. If I did not trust his intentions toward you, I never would have allowed it."
"You shouldn't have." Ironhide growled walking up, giving Prowl a dark glare. "You, with me. Now."
Keeping his overall body language that of respectful acquiescence, Prowl nodded and looked at Ratchet, compressing and transmitting the image. Even so, that stoic mask reasserted itself over his expression as he focused on Bluestreak.
"Stay with Ratchet, Bluestreak. I have sent him the image and he will discuss frame design with you." /Please./ He sent to the medic, digitally indicating the now glowering black mech.
Ratchet's optics darted to Ironhide and he sent back a digital signal of understanding and agreement before smiling down at the blue and gray youngling. "Absolutely, lets go to my office, Bluestreak."
Confident that Bluestreak would be kept sufficiently distracted, Prowl turned and walked out of the med bay, aware that Ironhide followed him like a stalking predator.
Ironhide stopped just outside as the door hissed shut behind him, but Prowl continued for another dozen meters or more.
"Prowl!" Ironhide called after him with a warning rumble.
Prowl stopped, looking back, his exterior calm and controlled. He fully expected this confrontation to be louder than just a conversation. "Bluestreak is a Praxian, Ironhide. Unless you want him to overhear this, you need to put more distance between us and that door."
Ironhide growled, but stalked toward him, closing the distance between them. Prowl held still, even though every instinctual subroutine in his coding was telling him to back away. Large black hands closed around his collar struts and Prowl let himself be shoved roughly against the nearby wall.
"Are you glitched?" Ironhide demanded voice fierce with emotion. "You scanned a youngling. A youngling, Prowl! Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? What you could have done to him if you had lost concentration for even just a fraction of an astrosecond? Do you?"
Prowl felt his dorsal plating buckling painfully with each additional shove against the unforgiving metal of the wall, delivered in time with the cadence of Ironhide's rant and did not resist. Ironhide was right; it had been a foolishly risky thing to do. He deserved Ironhide's attempt to beat some sense into him.
"I know." Prowl's voice strained against the arm pinning him to the wall. "It was a foolish thing to do and I can give no justification for my actions except how important it was to Bluestreak for me to have the file he gave me…"
Ironhide's engine growled furiously, silencing Prowl in conjunction with another rough shove against the wall. "He didn't give you anything. He couldn't. You took it, even if he wanted you to take it. What you did was… was…"
"Inexcusable." Prowl supplied in a hiss of pained static.
The aggressive flare of Ironhide's armor relaxed but he did not soften his hold. "Then why did you do it?"
Unspoken was the clear worry that their confidence in Prowl had been premature and Prowl lowered his gaze, averting it respectfully.
"Bluestreak will not be able to upgrade normally, the realities of war have stolen that from him." He spoke softly, aware he was about to provide condemning evidence against himself. "Of the limited available options, he has chosen to delay upgrading so that he can go directly into his adult frame."
Ironhide hissed air through his vents, optics widening in shock. Prowl nodded. "He wants his adult frame to look as much like his creators as possible. That was the only way to obtain the image."
Ironhide only stared at him for a long moment. "It was still a reckless chance to take."
"Yes, it was." Prowl agreed, wincing at the discomfort radiating from the dents in his dorsal plating.
"By all rights, I should throw you in the brig with the Twins and let them have at you." Black hands tightened threateningly on his armor.
"I would not deny I deserve such a punishment."
That clearly brought Ironhide up, though he growled lowly, leaning closer. "If you ever do something like that to Bumblebee…" A grinding, choking noise cut off his vocalizer.
"I would not expect to survive." Prowl whispered.
"You wouldn't." Ironhide confirmed.
"Agreed." Prowl met Ironhide's smoldering optics and in that moment, though nothing in his outward appearance indicated it was so, Ironhide knew, without doubt, that Prowl was equally if not more troubled by what he had just done than he was.
Abruptly, Ironhide released Prowl.
Neither mech moved for a long moment, then Ironhide stepped back. Still, the two continued to stare at each other, neither one quite knowing what to do next.
"If you are finished with me, I should probably return to Bluestreak." Prowl murmured softly.
For a moment Ironhide was tempted to find out what would happen if he said he was not, but it was clear from Prowl's demeanor and attitude that he would not resist any further discipline. Actually, he would probably accept it willingly.
"Yes." Ironhide growled lowly, the depth of his emotion over this issue boiling behind his optics. "If he was hurt or traumatized by this stunt…"
"I will welcome anything you wish to do to me." Prowl supplied when words failed Ironhide.
Ironhide blinked, but found that he believed the Praxian. With a nod, the weapons specialist gestured Prowl to precede him back through the med bay doors. With a full system's draft of air, Prowl stepped through the portal.
And almost ran chassis to chassis with Hound, who had clearly been waiting for him. The scout's optics blazed.
"What did you think you were doing?" The words hissed out of the olive-green mech, barely audible.
Prowl winced, somehow having forgotten that both Springer and Hound had also been witness to what had happened. He hesitated in answering and stiffened as Springer stepped up to join Hound, armor flared angrily on both of them.
Frag, had he ruined what little standing he had with these mechs?
"And you call yourself and Autobot?" Springer demanded.
He was surrounded and his ethical coding would not allow Prowl to defend himself, especially since all three of them were higher ranking than he. He wanted to protest, but the inaudible vibration in the air from their revving engines was enough to keep him quiet. He froze, taking up a neutral, non-threatening stance.
"Stand down, Springer, Hound." Ironhide rumbled softly but without kindness. "You don't know the whole story."
"Then tell us." Hound demanded. "This is the mech who will be planning our missions. But he… he… just…."
"Scanned a youngling's mind." Prowl provided softly, looking at the other former enforcer. "Because of circumstances, it was the best option available. It is not something I have any intention of doing again."
"I would hope not." Springer spit the words out and Prowl dropped his gaze, chastened. "A youngling, Prowl, for Primus sake."
"He knows that." Ironhide snapped, then grew thoughtful. "Prowl, get on a berth, you need that plating popped out."
Prowl almost protested, but realized Bluestreak would worry if he saw the minor cosmetic damage and nodded mutely. The larger, black mech waved First Aid over and gestured at Prowl's back.
Perhaps made a little nervous by the audience, First Aid nonetheless frowned at seeing Prowl. Then his own engine revved and he closed the distance between him and his patient with determined steps. With a snarl he flicked on the magnetic restraints with quick, sharp movements.
There was no indication that he was afraid of Prowl, rather that he was getting his own chinks out of Prowl's plating over the matter. Recognizing that, Prowl said nothing as the junior medic paced around him to look at his back, his very minute stiffening his only reaction to the magnetic locks holding him in place. He would not have resisted in any case, but he knew the restraints were the younger medic's way of venting his own outrage at the situation and thus held his peace.
In a manner that was eerily Ratchet-like and almost completely alien to First Aid's normal persona, the younger medic started popping out dents with a vengeance. He was not particularly careful about trying to avoid causing extra pain.
In fact, it seemed like he might have been trying to make it hurt as much as possible.
This was confirmed as he leaned close to Prowl's audio as he worked and proceeded to give him a thorough run down, in very biting, very explicit language of every medical reason why scanning a youngling's processor, except in an emergency, was not only dangerous it should be criminal.
Prowl listened to the passionate lecture without comment, enduring the painful work on his dorsal plating without protest. The other three mechs were shocked to hear and see First Aid, of all mechs, talking and acting like that, and to a former Decepticon like Prowl no less. It spoke of his underlying trust in Prowl's acceptance of the abuse. Even more remarkable was watching Prowl take the verbal and physical harangue, especially after having witnessed his dealing with Sunstreaker.
When he was finished with Prowl's back, but before he released the restraints, First Aid circled back around to face Prowl, still glowering at the tactician. "Well?"
"I am sorry, First Aid." Was Prowl's meek, softly spoken reply.
"Yeah well…" First Aid suddenly deflated. "Bluestreak's the one you should apologize to."
Prowl reacted then, vents flaring in evident alarm. "Is he harmed?"
First Aid blinked then shook his helm, stepping back a fraction. "No. Apparently not. Primus only knows how you managed it, but he is unharmed."
All four mechs relaxed at hearing that, including Prowl. "Thank you, First Aid."
First Aid looked at Prowl, his optics wide and even Hound and Springer drew back. First Aid had been anything but gentle while working on a very sensitive area on a Praxian frame and Prowl thanked him for it?
First Aid suddenly flinched away, looking down, his armor flattening in a clear sign of remorse. Prowl moved, as if intending to reach out for the young medic, but his hands were trapped to the berth by the magnetic restraints. Air gusted through the Praxian's vents, but he still did not complain.
Instead he looked back up at Ratchet's apprentice, "First Aid…"
When First Aid slowly lifted his gaze back to Prowl's no one in the room moved, not wanting to break the moment. "Prowl, I… I…"
"Do not apologize, First Aid." Prowl assured him. "Everything you said was absolutely true, it is a warning I shall not soon forget."
"But… but I…"
"You repaired me when you really wanted to beat the slag out of me." Prowl's lip plate quirked faintly. "I appreciate that."
First Aid fidgeted uneasily and then reached for the controls to the magnetic restraints, but Ratchet's furious comm. message – transmitted on an open frequency that all the adult mechs received – stopped him mid-motion.
/Don't let that glitched slag-heap up just yet./
First Aid jerked his hand back as if it had been seared by plasma and everyone else startled as well. Then, as assumptions were made as to just why Ratchet might have done that, four engines revved in unspoken warning and threat. Prowl felt the sudden hostility in the room like a tangible thing.
Likewise, Prowl, coming to the same conclusions as the other Autobots – even though Bluestreak had seemed fine earlier – shuddered. His optics shuttered and he forced his frame into a completely submissive posture, for all that he was virtually immobilized, as he awaited the CMO's arrival.
It was a tense breem before the door to Ratchet's office finally opened and the CMO stepped across its threshold. He paused to glance back inside then shut the portal.
Ratchet turned and stalked toward the gathered mechs only to slow, reading their body language and postures. He released a short vent of air. "Bluestreak is fine. He's only looking over specifications for integrated weapons and what his chosen frame can handle."
Most of the tension, or rather the tension in every mech except the one still locked to the berth, evaporated and flared armor relaxed as aggressive stances eased.
Sensing that, Ratchet focused fully on Prowl, storming up to loom over him. "Lucky for you, his processor is as mature as it is. That was risky enough I should smelt you and then smelt myself for letting it happen… fragging extreme emotional appeal; the little slagger…"
Ratchet trailed off, considering Prowl who had never deviated from his completely acquiescent position and realized Prowl looked as if he expected to be physically browbeaten. It had been a stressful joor, the CMO did not have the patience for this.
With a growl Ratchet's hand snapped out to snag Prowl's chin-plating, yanking his helm upward, forcing the white and black mech to meet his still simmering gaze. It was enough to pull him uncomfortably against the restraints holding him to the berth, but Prowl allowed no indication of that discomfort to show.
Prowl merely met Ratchet's optics obediently, silent and waiting for whatever was coming next.
He did not have to wait long. "I know you must have one pit of a processor ache after keeping as tight a control as you must have done because he actually considered that a positive experience." Those fingers tightened painfully on delicate metal plating as Ratchet leaned closer. "Now you listen to me. I don't care that everything went fine this time. I don't want you ever doing that again, not until he is in his adult frame. I don't care if he asks you to…and he just might. Do. You. Understand. Me?
"Yes, medic." Prowl's voice was strained.
Black and chartreuse fingers tightened even more, the metal beneath them warping and protesting painfully. "Give me your word that you will obey this order, Prowl."
Prowl's vent's flared, realizing Ratchet was forcing him to bind himself through his ethical programming. It was a direct order, one he was compelled to obey as it did not conflict with his core coding. Once he gave his word to a superior officer however, he was bound even more tightly.
Regardless, Prowl did not even hesitate. "I will not violate your order, Medic. I will not initiate an interface with Bluestreak until he is in his adult frame and requests it. I will not risk jeopardizing any youngling in this manner again. You have my word."
Ratchet blinked. That oath was more restrictive than the one he had requested. He let go of Prowl's face and stepped back. The CMO carefully evaluated the Praxian before him, the slight tremble in his doorwings, the cautious yet accepting posture he continued to maintain. Then his optics fell on the red Autobot symbol so recently embossed on the tactician's chassis.
This was not a Decepticon; this was an Autobot. He had no doubt taken the risk for the very same reason Ratchet had stupidly allowed it; that made Prowl no less evil than he. He had taken rather drastic measures to prevent harming Bluestreak: his careful and tactful questioning of Bluestreak testified to that. And yet, it was also clear Prowl was in no way balking at taking the heat for his choice. Actually, if Ratchet did not miss his guess, he would bet that Prowl was berating himself far more harshly than any of them could.
With a sigh of air, Ratchet reached into his subspace and pulled out a small magnetic stylus and reached for Prowl again. The Praxian started to flinch away, but caught himself, forcing himself to remain still as Ratchet expertly ran the stylus over the delicate plating he had just dented.
Prowl's optics widened as he realized what Ratchet was doing, and that he was doing so with notable gentleness. Then he stepped back, motioning Prowl to his pedes.
"Umm, right." First Aid hastily reached out and deactivated the restraints.
Ratchet looked at his apprentice in surprise. "You held him down?"
"Well… uh…" First Aid suddenly looked uncertain. "I mean, it seemed like the best choice at the time. And, um, well, you said not to let him up and I, uh, just thought..."
Ratchet cleared his vents. "I just did not want him getting off the berth, I didn't mean you had to restrain him to it. He's an Autobot, First Aid, not a Decepticon prisoner. He would have followed orders to stay there."
First Aid looked positively abashed and Prowl cleared his vents, slipping off the berth onto his pedes. "Do not judge him too harshly, Ratchet. He was just as upset as you, and rightly so. I begrudge nothing."
Ratchet harrumphed then turned with all five of them as Bluestreak walked out of Ratchet's office, having managed to trigger the door controls by standing on the tips of his pedes and reaching as far up as he could. When he saw Prowl his optics lit up and he hurried forward, brandishing the datapad.
"Prowl, look at this! This is what I'm going to look like when I upgrade!" Prowl knelt, very aware of the five sets of optics on him as he did so, and accepted the tablet.
The frame was thinner than his own, more sleek and with less bulk, built for speed and precision, not necessarily for taking hits like an Enforcer's frame. The doorwings that arched upward were almost perfect replicas of his own – a fact that almost teased a smile out of him – and then he saw the weapon. It was, like the frame, sleek and deadly, designed for pinpoint accuracy over long ranges; a sniper's weapon. The colors matched almost perfectly his current paint and design.
"Impressive, Bluestreak. Very well thought out." He murmured approvingly and was rewarded by a quick embrace and a pleased trill.
Then Bluestreak seemed to become aware of the intense scrutiny of the other mechs around them. "Um… what's going on?"
"Nothing at the moment." Prowl assured, standing. He looked at Ratchet. "Thank you, Ratchet. Can I assume we are free to leave?"
Ratchet glanced at Ironhide and then nodded. "There is no reason for you to stay. I should have the processor expansion in an orn or two."
Prowl acknowledged this with a nod and then nodded to Ironhide. He glanced at the two scouts and could see the hints of uncertainty that had been reborn in their optics. At least it was not nearly as bad as it could have been.
My perspective as to why an interface would not be conducted with a youngling, as explained by Ratchet, is because their frame can't support the hardware (the cord mainly) and the software (firewalls and malware protection... after all, we are dealing with a growing, developing processor here, we start constraining it by putting a firewall around it's coding and you might retard that development.) Likewise, the danger of having a mech interface with a developing processor I would imagine would be like this: The young processor might react to the discomfort by establishing a proto-firewall to protect itself (like a broken bone creates a calcium deposit around the fracture to try and protect it while it heals) which would cause problems with further development. Not to mention the mental anguish a poor youngling would experience if say, their mind was fragmented accidentally.
Anyway, if you think everyone's reactions were too harsh on Prowl here, keep in mind that Younglings are becoming a rare commodity because Megatron is trying to kill them all... and this former Decepticon would take such a risk? There was also the fear that he had betrayed their trust, even if they (mostly) get over that concern. And Bluestreak is a child... how many of us would not get absolutely irate if we even thought it possible someone we were beginning to trust had mentally abused a child right in front of us... and we could do nothing about it till after the fact because if we interrupted we might accidentally cause the very same damage we wanted to avoid? (ie: They could not interrupt once the hardline connection was made because if they distracted Prowl... yeah. Not good.)
As an aside (an an explanation as to why most of my chapters are NOT this long): when chapters get longer than9,000 words, it becomes difficult to edit them effectively, especially with the constraints on my time right now. In fact, I never had the time to actually sit down edit this all the way through from start to finish at once, so I hope the end result was not as choppy as it felt doing it. That said, I hope that if any of you notice something glaring you will let me know… and if you don't notice anything that you will still take the time to share your thoughts. :)
