Disclaimer: All recognisable characters and places belong to HasTak, anything you don't recognise is probably mine.

Warnings: off-screen character death and gory details

Part 6: Dreams and realities
Chapter 3 of 4


It was all over the ship when the twins got back from their brief mission to an asteroid mining camp: Quickquadrant had had a meltdown, attacked his assistant, then killed himself.

Everyone agreed that he had been under a lot of stress recently with so many mecha getting killed in battle, and that more should have been done to support him.

It was a tragedy.

"But what happened to Prowl?" Sideswipe asked.

No-one seemed to know, or care. After all, he was only a junior officer and best known for his role in punishing prankers and organising work rosters, the temporary lack of which no-one minded too much.

They were all focused on the upcoming memorial for Quickquadrant - who had been an Autobot for nearly six hundred vorns, Prime's first and most trusted strategist and key to a vast number of their most decisive victories - and how they were going to manage in the next battle without tactical support.

Sideswipe extricated himself from the crowd, hurrying away and cursing bitterly.

Something must have gone wrong with the plan, Quickquadrant must have found out that they were on to him. But if that were the case it meant that Prowl could have been seriously hurt, or even killed.

He tried the tactical office, but all he saw there were puddles of energon being cleaned up by a pair of minibots. Next he tried the repair bay, but it was mostly empty and Prowl was most certainly not there.

A quick comm message to Sunstreaker confirmed that Prowl was not in the washracks, nor the training salles, nor the rec room he usually frequented.

Dashing down the corridors, weaving through the crowds, he made it to the officers hall and frantically typed his passcode into the door. Prowl had to be here. It was the only option left.

"Prowl!" he cried as he burst through the door, stumbling into someone.

He had found him at last, and the first thing he focused on was his horrific condition: it looked as though he had just come from the battlefield.

Prowl was sitting on his berth, spattered in energon. One of his doorwings was hanging on a thoroughly unnatural angle, there were gouges in his cheeks that were still dripping, and his torso armour was dented and scratched.

He was not alone, though, and Sideswipe suddenly wondered what he had walked in on as he took in the company: Ratchet, Curveball and Optimus Prime. It was Prime he had just barrelled into and he backed up hurriedly, wincing when he saw the streaks of red paint he had left on Prime's leg and aft.

"Uh... on second thought maybe I'd better come back later..."

"Sideswipe what are you doing here?" Ratchet demanded. "And how did you get the code to Prowl's private quarters?"

"We meet off-duty to play strategy games at times." Prowl answered for him.

"Hold still." Ratchet scowled, turning his attention back to his patient. "You're aggravating those cuts."

"I suppose you knew about this?" Prime turned to Curveball.

"Of course. And actually, it works out rather well. He may need some protection, given your intentions. The twins certainly qualify for that kind of role."

"Hmm." Prime murmured, then turned back to Sideswipe. "I will see you and your brother in my office at change of shift."

"R-right."

"That was a dismissal, Sides." Ratchet told him over his shoulder. "Scat!"


The door closed behind Sideswipe and Prowl bowed his head.

"Sir, what will happen now? I didn't... I didn't mean to..."

"Wasn't your fault." Ratchet told him, leaning over him to examine a wound at the base of his neck.

"But I killed him." Prowl shivered. "I didn't mean to. I don't even remember picking up the rifle, I just had it and then..."

"Self defence." Curveball assured him. "We understand."

They did not know that he knew the truth. Could not know. Without Jazz's information he would never have guessed and would not have been revisiting those old scenarios in the first place. Prime and Ratchet did not know he was sharing with Jazz, and Curveball trusted Jazz to have not told him. And Jazz had not, at least not directly: it was the bond that had spilt that secret.

So as far as they were concerned he had no idea why Quickquadrant had attacked him, thus he was feeling guilty over killing an innocent mech. Instead, the truth was that he did know and he was guilty over being such a glitch as to precipitate this when they had had some other way of dealing with it. As it stood, he had made a far bigger mess for them, and probably ruined his chances of ever being senior tactician.

After all, who would ever be able to trust him now?

"I murdered my supervisor." he whispered, still shocked at the thought.

He had killed the enemy in battle; of course he had. But it had always been at a distance. Mostly through directing others, and sometimes with the use of a missile or other ranged weapon.

This was different. He had shot Quickquadrant at close enough range that the mech's fluids had splattered onto him. And not just once.

The first shot had disabled the traitor and would have been enough. He could have called for security and left it at that.

But he had been so frightened of so many things. Frightened that Quickquadrant might have another weapon, might turn the tables again, might escape. Or that he might tell Prime that Prowl knew and that Prowl knew that Prime knew, which logically he could never have known unless someone had told him so. Which would have brought Jazz into it.

So he had shot again. And again. He had lost count of how many times he pulled the trigger. He had only stopped when someone had taken it from his hands, and then he had caught a glimpse of the mangled mess on the floor before someone blocked his view.

"...shock." Ratchet was murmuring, now on the other side of the room talking quietly to the other two. "It would be better to give him some recovery time."

"And time to ensure we've got all the angles covered." Curveball agreed. "I've got my team spreading the story it was suicide and the ensign who found them is already off-ship, but we've got to make sure we catch everyone who saw the body."

"Can we afford to allow that time?" Prime frowned. "I agree with both of you, but our options are limited. It's likely the Decepticons have already heard that Quickquadrant has died - it's only a matter of time before they try to press the advantage."

"I can work." Prowl spoke up hurriedly, horrified at the thought of being left with no duties to perform, to be left with nothing but time to think over what he had done. "Please. Please, sir, if you'll give me just one chance, I can work. I could even do it from the brig if you'll trust me. I have an inbuilt tactical processor, so I don't need..."

"From the brig? If we trust you?" Ratchet echoed. "Didn't you hear us? It was self defence."

"But..."

Prime waved him into silence.

"You say you can work. I will take you at your word. Ratchet, how soon can you have Prowl up on his pedes?"

"The repairs will take a couple of orns to be finished. I'll need some parts fabricated."

"Can you make it look like they're finished by end of third shift?"

Ratchet scowled but agreed.

"Good. See to it. Prowl, I will be promoting you into Quickquadrant's position. I realise this is rather sudden but there is more going on here than you are currently aware of and I need a tactical advisor visibly in place. You will attend Quickquadrant's memorial and say nothing of what occurred today, and then you will be confirmed as his successor.

"Curveball, you will bring Prowl up to speed in time for our briefing tomorrow. And Prowl - no more talk of murder. The official line is that Quickquadrant was overstressed and committed suicide."

"With a scatterbomb." Curveball nodded. "You were just lucky to be out of range of most of it."

"But that's... not true." Prowl stammered.

He understood that Curveball would lie. Jazz did it too. They would never last long in their jobs if they did not. But the Chief Medic? And Prime?

"I have learned that sometimes it is better to let mechs believe what they wish." Optimus sighed, tiredly. "I am not asking you to lie, simply to not contradict what has been said by others. Quickquadrant was a friend. I knew him for a long time. Today's events are as much a tragedy as if that had been the truth."


Sideswipe stood to attention in the empty office wondering what was going on, Sunstreaker standing to his left and muttering darkly in the subsonic range about disowning him. That was pure bluster, but this situation was definitely strange.

Prowl had been a complete mess, but none of the stories circulating had mentioned that. His injuries had been serious enough that he should have been in the repair bay, yet he had been in his quarters. Why was that? The only answer he could come up with was the one Jazz had warned them of: that once Prowl was promoted, he would be in danger.

Primus, how much danger could he be in while still on board the Ark? The repair bay had to be one of the safest places on the entire ship! Or did Prime really think one of the medics was a traitor, too? Sideswipe was starting to feel paranoid, looking twice at every mech he passed in the hall. And what if he was actually right?

"Good, you're here." Optimus declared as he entered and moved around them to his desk.

Sideswipe flinched, seeing the red streaks still marring white.

"Sorry about before, sir."

"I would advise you to knock and wait for permission to enter in future." Prime said drily.

"Is he okay, sir?" Sunstreaker asked.

"He will be." Optimus nodded, then settled in his chair and looked at them consideringly. "I understand you are close friends with Prowl?"

"Kind of." Sideswipe hesitated. "As close as anyone, I guess."

"Sides only spends so much time with him because he was forced to." Sunstreaker volunteered unhelpfully. "It was a punishment."

"Is this true?"

"Well, yeah, mostly."

"Indeed?" Prime mused. "In that case it seems I will not require your assistance after all. Thank you."

Sunstreaker turned to leave, but Sideswipe hesitated.

"But I thought you were going to get us to protect him? Isn't that what Curveball said?"

Prime looked at him curiously.

"I would imagine you have been compelled to spend enough time in his company."

"No, he's... he's a friend. I - we - want to help."

"Both of you?"

Sunstreaker grumbled a little, but nodded. Prime looked from one to the other other in bemusement, then nodded slowly.

"Yes, that was the plan."

Sideswipe glanced at his twin, then stepped forward boldly.

"We'll do it."

"Very well. If you are willing, that would be preferable."

"Great!" Sideswipe cheered, turning to leave, then hesitated. "So, ah, what was it exactly you wanted us to do?"