Annoying is too soft a word, yet murderous doesn't really cover it.
It's more of a combination of frustrated and disappointed flavored by self-hatred.
It's not as unknown a feeling as it probably should be.
"Alright, lets take a break and—"
"And nothing." He cuts icily, almost feeling his circuitry freeze at his own voice. "This is not working."
"Aw, come on, you need to give yourself some more time and a rest will surely—"
"I said enough." He hisses, and he knows Bluestreak's doorwings slowly lower in disappointment. "I never boarded a Cybertronian. Jazz and Reeds should be the ones out here, not—" His hand finds the small cartridge inserted in the port at the back of his neck, and easily tears it off. "—me."
"Prowl—!"
"Stop that!" He finally shouts, rounding on the younger dark gray mech with a scowl, feeling a migraine growing at the back of his head. "I am not Prowl! And at this rhythm I'll never be." His voice lowers almost suddenly, and, dropping the chip Shockwave gave him to monitor his vitals in his transforming practice, he walks back into the base. "I'm not sure he's in here anymore."
There are no footsteps following, but he manages to catch a soft 'Prowl' before he rounds the corner.
"Not anymore, kid." He whispers, a hand rubbing his forehead as he tries to push back the incoming headache.
Three days since Soundwave came back to himself, and the only developments the others have made is get Reeds a piece of coding back and force them to undergo some check ups again.
Nothing has come up, not even in the Air Commander's systems.
Jazz still hasn't got anywhere with his sound abilities, regardless of having both Communications Officers, and Thundercracker from time to time, trying to teach him. Reeds has started on target practice, but he doesn't even know how to transform his arms into the weapons they supposedly are. And none of them has made any progress with transforming, regardless of trying together, with Soundwave, with others of their same frame type, or in individual sessions.
And Fowler… Out of transformation practice he just sits in his room, reading loaned datapads filled with the history of their race.
He has no special ability to train, nothing to occupy his time with, and, despite the fact he treasures the time he gets to spend with the other three, he spends so much more alone that it's breaking them apart.
Slowly, he's not sure even Soundwave has realized, mostly because he still hangs around with Jazz most of the time, and Reeds has recovered his Wing, but he can see it happening.
He can feel it happening.
Worst of all is the feeling of helplessness, of knowing he can do something, but not knowing what.
If only his head would stop hurting!
With an angered hiss, he stops, uncaring about his surroundings, and presses his fists against his temples.
As all the previous times, it does nothing to sooth the migraine.
And since he has no pills to deal with it, his only cure is closing himself in his room and staying still until it vanishes, trying not to think.
Every time he follows that instinct, he has the distinct feeling of loss, as if he was surrendering, the battle lost even before it really starts.
What if Ratchet is wrong? What if he isn't this Prowl they all think he is? What if he's just Fowler, a human that happens to be somehow similar to that mechanical alien being called Prowl?
"'Till all are one."
He hisses again, head shaking softly as his fists press harder against his temples.
But, if he isn't Prowl, what about the random flashes, the feelings of righteousness, the—
Sharp stabs of blazing pain through his head and he feels his knees wobble with a soft gasp, but manages to stay on his feet.
Room. Now.
Opening blurry eyes—or whatever, he can't care right now—he resumes his walk and, surprisingly, doesn't cross anyone before he gets the door closed at his back.
There.
Blessed darkness.
"I can't see anything!"
"No!" He exclaims, hands almost crushing his head with the strength he's clenching it, teeth bared in a snarl. "Enough!"
"Will it make it any lighter?"
"Shut up!"
"Look out!"
He doesn't see it, but, judging by the hard surface he slams against, he's just tripped over his own chair.
"Are you alright?!"
"Go away!"
"I can't leave you!"
"I'm not him, he's no longer here!"
"Come back."
"Leave me—!"
"Alone."
This time, the voice is different.
This time, he finds himself answering his own cries.
Fowler against Fowler.
Or Fowler against Prowl?
"Who are you?"
"Just you…"
"No… No, I'm not you I… I need…"
"You're going to need me…"
"Yes…"
"But I'm losing myself…"
"No! No, you're just coming back! Please don't go!"
"You're going to lose me…"
"No! I beg you, don't!"
"I can't escape…"
"I'm trapped… This isn't my body… This isn't my mind… I'm… I'm missing…"
"I left you…"
"Please come back… I need to be whole, I need… they need… Jazz…"
"The only friend I had…"
"He… he needs Prowl, no one else knew him well enough…"
"Promise you will forget me…"
"No! I won't! I can't! You're me!"
"I don't want to hurt you…"
"It's not me who you're hurting, you idiot!"
"When I've forgotten you…"
"Liar! There's no forgetting Jazz, even when I didn't know him I already remembered him!"
"I need to sanitize the higher institutions first."
"Which means—"
"—striking from above."
"I remembered him…"
"Please don't cry…"
"Jazz…"
"Everything will be alright."
Only the brightest stars are visible from where he's standing, but he doesn't care, for they aren't the reason he has come here—
Prowl doesn't know what Soundwave has in mind, but he knows he can trust him.
He lowers his servo slowly, remorseful yet entranced, as the fading bubble of light expands.
He's had the strangest feeling, ever since he woke up after their brain hemorrhaging—
He looks up one last time at where the dead star was, the void a source of strength now instead of one of despair.
—that the reason he remembers the out of place memories that popped up before the incident—
He feels it before he turns around, before seeing the explosions and being thrown back by the shock-waves.
—is because the Military Third did something.
He moves as fast as his engine allows, but it's still too slow.
He feels grateful for that, but at times he wishes he could forget.
By the time he gets there, it's over.
The attack, the city, the brothers thought lost, the population…
Clad in his red and white uniform, dark skin clearly scarred on one side of his face, the blue on hands and boots as bright as the rest of colors, and—
—he manages to catch a glint of the attackers through the smoke—
—the glowing red eyes that—
—had helped each other as if they were of the same frame-type—
—are now burning—
—their city, obliterated its inhabitants—
—leaving him feeling empty when they land on his blue ones and—
—what he'd thought was a black hole had just revealed itself a supernova—
"—that destroyed everything! He killed them all!"
"Praxus is burning."
"Why did you join them?"
"They did it?"
They did it.
They did it.
They did it.
"They set us up. They took all they wanted and then set us up. And they won."
"You're a Prime! How can you see what they are doing and do nothing?!"
"Demoted without explanation—say he attacked the Prime—"
"Seeker lover."
"Slagging Doorwingers."
"Decepticon sympathizer."
"Vos is burning. The Decepticons—"
"Praxus is burning. The Deceticons—"
"Prowl, right? I have an offer for you."
"Decepticon sympathizer."
"Traitor!"
"And what in the Pit are you waiting for, a Senatorial Private Pass? Get in gear before I decide to leave you all to serve as bait, Autoscum!"
"Now, now, we're all Decepticons here. Minus the Autobots, but since Screamer said to play nice with them—"
"What does he think he's doing, helping the Autoscum!"
"I, Starscream, Second in Command, Air Commander and acting leader of the Decepticons, in my name and in those of my faction, offer a truce."
"Until the sky vanishes at my pass will this truce hold strong as the struts on my back… and may my wings become the word spoken, to be held proudly in accomplishment, and turn to rust if the deal should break."
"Hey, take it easy, Prowl. That was a nasty crash. No, not a processor crash, just a crash in the literal sense of smashing against a mountain. What were you thinking? And you, Jazz! Weren't you supposed to keep him out of trouble? We need that slagging battle computer of his to stay inside his helm!"
Battle comp—?
His senses vanish, the world going black—
And slowly coming back again.
Only, this time, instead of looking up at Ratchet in the Repair Bay of their first Resistance Base, he's staring at Soundwave's visor in his assigned room in the current facilities.
"Prowl?"
He reboots his optics as they threaten to fill with static again, but the worry in the pale red visor stays there.
"Soundwave."
A tiny bond he hadn't noticed before flares to life, relief and happiness pushing a smile on his faceplate as the Cassette Carrier rests his forehead against the side of his helm.
"Thanks for the code."
The Decepticon chuckles.
"Took you slagging long enough."
"Fowler wouldn't have been able to recognize your coding style."
"True."
"Ron?"
The lights in his room are off, yet, bathed in shadows as it is, he still recognizes the frame.
And the voice.
"It's Prowl now, Jazz."
With a couple of steps, the saboteur gets past the threshold, allowing his optics to really see him.
And he's smiling.
"Welcome back, Prowler."
"Prowler?" Both repeat in unison, startled and silently hopeful.
Jazz tilts his head to the side, smile turning to a smirk.
"Always wanted to call you that. You're damn silent, you know that?"
"A… nickname." Despite everything, Prowl is too tired to keep the disappointment completely out of his voice.
The blue visor pales as its owner easily notices it.
"You mean your Jazz calls you that too? I like that guy."
And as if nothing had happened, the Autobot SIC feels amusement flood through his wires, getting a small chuckle out of him.
"You like yourself." Soundwave deadpans, and, despite his optics being offline, he can picture the blinding grin Jazz answers with. "Why am I not surprised."
"Ouch, right through the heart. You wound me, Sounders."
"Designation: Soundwave." Monotone and all, the irritation is practically palpable.
Prowl snickers again, too drained to try to suppress it.
"Should we get him in bed or to the Med Bay?" Jazz asks, voice soft, as he feels him kneeling by his side, the Doorwinger's weight almost completely resting on the Cassette Carrier.
"Repair Bay. Check up: Recommended."
"And the Hatchet'll turn us into toasters if he ever learns we let him sleep this off, huh?"
If he had the energy, Prowl would have chuckled once more at the shiver passing through the frame he's resting again.
The last thing he knows is that he's being hefted up into some-mech's arms, a soft pulsing in his spark and a flighty presence close by lulling him into recharge.
"I don't see the difference."
"Hello?! Is that excuse of a brain connected to your mouth or is the problem between your eyes and that lot of empty space?" Not even trying to suppress it, Reeds turns a deadpanned glare to the smaller black and white mech sitting next to him, visor pale blue in disbelief.
"Yes, there is a difference, but what I meant is that he's acting like he's on duty. And seeing how he's literally living in his workstation, that's kind of expected." He answers, forcing himself to keep most of the bite out of his words.
Sure, there has been an obvious transaction from Fowler to Prowl, but not as exaggerated as Soundwave's.
In fact, the mech is now more like the Civilian Second Reeds remembers than the man he called a friend from his latest, and blurriest, memories. And even though that's a bit strange, it doesn't mean he'll just walk out of the room to vent to a group of strangers.
Alright, he probably would, but since Soundwave explained, and showed, that the human and the Cybertronian are essentially the same, he's gotten over the 'Fowler is gone' phase, and right into 'would you look at this, he's still Fowler'.
As said before, however, the changes that have happened this time have helped him in that regard.
"No, it's not expected. You know him from Governance meetings and Civilian Government, but I know him from the Enforcers, too. And those first two things were work, but the Enforcers? They weren't!" Jazz explains with a set of flailing gestures that, amazingly, don't attract the attention of anyone else in the Rec Room, no matter that it's half full.
"What did you do to make it that way, then?" He asks, taking another sip of his almost empty cub of Mid Grade, leaning against a hand almost lazily, though curious at the same time.
For some seconds, the Civilian Third just stares down at the table and his own full cube.
"Kinda worked with him all the way from the bottom."
"And that helped him loosen up around the rest of Enforcers?"
"No, that… we managed that with…" Jazz brightens in an instant, turning to him with a wide and blinding smile, and Reeds has to blink to make sure that he hasn't imagined the sudden change. "Music Night."
"The dance classes? You're doing those already. With permission." He can't keep himself from smirking at that last sentence, and the smaller mech scowls.
"And that's precisely what I'm talking about! Fowler wouldn't have given me a lecture of half an hour about rules and regulations, he would have given me The Look and told me to make sure everything was as it had been once I was done."
And… he can hear the capital letters. Was that supposed to be a good sign or a 'run away' sign?
"So, Music Night is out of the question."
The expression Jazz has on his face isn't the blinding grin from before, but his custom-made and patented 'I'm going to make you wish you hadn't even thought of being born and you will never know it was my doing' smirk.
Meaning, he should have run away even before the thought of doing so came to mind.
"No." The Air Commander says instead, calm and collected yet firm as the Protectodo—er, whatever thing is stronger than the Protectodome. "I know that look. I've seen it on Grant, on Skywarp, on Frenzy and Rumble, on Sideswipe before all the wash-racks spilled pink goo, and I've seen it on yourself. No."
"But I need you." The Civilian Third whines, and good try and all, but he's already heard that—
Wait, what?!
"You… need me?" He repeats slowly, making sure to enunciate every syllable, and the Head of Special Operations beams and nods, as hopeful as a child who has just been told they're getting candy.
A very young child.
Mixed with as many puppies and kittens and any other hopeful tiny animal that can fit in such a large smile—which are quite a lot, either that or he can think of far more than he ever cared to guess.
Aw, heck.
He can never say no to Skywarp or the Cassette twins either.
And he has the feeling he'll be able to hide his cooperation as well as with any of them.
Which is to say, he'll have Jazz bouncing down the corridors shouting how 'awesome' and 'cool' Reeds is for giving them some tips about ambushing their latest prank victim or getting them that super strong glue from the labs.
"I'm going to regret this later." He simply answers with a huff, downing his drink, and the Civilian Third's smile widens, impossible as such a thing had seemed.
"Trust me, if this works, you'll have given the rest of the world some good nightmare fuel for the rest of their lives."
He perks up at that, the smile having turned into a mischievous smirk that would have made him run away screaming the other way…
If he didn't have the same exact expression on his own face.
"Please, do tell." He purrs, and he's suddenly very aware of how the whole Rec Room has gone silent, all optics and visors on the two of them, and how each and every mech is trying to subtly edge away towards the doors as fast as they can.
"Lets get to my room first. There are some things that are… better discussed in private." The Head of Spec Ops answers with a velvety voice that makes more than one set of fans start spinning, and Reeds barely manages to turn his cackling laughter into a throaty hum of appreciation, slowly standing in a way that has all visual arrays following his every twitch of plating from the tilt of his head to the very tips of his clawed tri-dactyl feet.
"I'd rather we forego any discussion… and tackle more pressing issues." He adds, voice lowering almost seductively, which is answered by a definitely dirty smirk as the Civilian Third stands up, arms held over his head in a stretch that makes even more fans turn on.
"Should I grab a snack for the way?" The Enforcer asks sweetly, one finger caressing the rim of his cube in a completely innocent way, slipping inside only to be brought up to his lips and cleaned slowly and thoroughly by the Head of Spec Ops' tongue.
There's some kind of muffled needy whine, and Reeds' smirk widens against his will, though he quickly uses the slip to turn his expression almost ravenous as he leans close to the smaller mech's face, wings fanning to the sides and down, the tips skimming the ground as he moves them slowly to flank the other Cybertronian in what should look like possessiveness.
"I'm afraid your mouth will be too busy for it." He answers, tone light yet voice even lower and raspier, and a shudder visibly shakes Jazz's plating.
Another whine along fans turning louder, and the Head of Spec Ops lifts a hand to trail a dactyl feather-light along the Flier's extended neck cables.
"You sure you can keep up with me?" The smaller mech purrs, visor dimming to a sultry azure as he leans back against the table, exposing more of his body, to their audience's obvious delight.
"I can always ask for a replay." Reeds answers casually, and this time there are moans instead of whimpers.
"Wouldn't mind giving it to you, big boy." Allowing his body to follow that sense of déjà vu tugging at the back of his mind, he lifts his wings slowly, fanning them so that more of their surface is facing the Head of Spec Ops, flaps twitching open and closed in an unknown rhythm that only makes fans turn faster, but keeping them still in reach of the black and white mech.
"Well, now that the terms have been set…" He whispers, leaning even closer to that sultry visor, making the white and black head tilt back with his sole proximity, and feeling the hand caressing his throat land on the back of his neck. "How about you and I get going…" His voice lowers even more, wings vibrating with a subsonic purr, as he slowly traces a hand up the outside of a white thigh. "And you tell me about this prank you're planning?" He finishes in his usual condescending tone, straightening as if nothing happened and resting his hands on his hips, wings lying against his back at an angle that just reinforces the slight annoyance in his eyes.
Jazz smirks good-naturedly and pushes back against the table to properly stand, walking calmly to the door with the Flier following at a more sedate pace.
"Oh, it's a pretty simple prank. Just some acting, certain words said at the right time with the needed intonation—" The door closes at their backs, and the Head of Spec Ops' happy smile turns into a shit-eating grin. "—and we'll have the whole room screaming once they reboot their brains."
And, in cue, the whole Rec Room erupts in groaning and cursing and even some cries of despair loud enough to be heard even halfway down the corridor.
"Alright, I'm in." Reeds manages to get out between his chuckling, and Jazz's smirk turns slightly threatening.
"Good. Now, we only need to get Soundwave in and we're ready to go."
"Suggestion: Not trying." Startled, they both freeze as they turn the corner, the dark blue mech waiting for them with his arms crossed against his chest not even reacting to their 'deer in the highlights' expressions—before his facemask retracts to reveal his own menacing smirk. "I'm already in."
AN: And after some long chapters, a short one. Sorry about that, but I hope its early update helps.
I have to admit I scared myself with the first part of the chapter. When I was puling quotes up from previous chapters and adding others from yet-to-be-seen scenes, I didn't think it would all end as it did *shudder*
As for the second part... What can I say? I wanted some light conversation, and maybe to get to what is now the next chapter, and instead I get Jazz and Starscream... well, you already read that. Dang chapters taking lives of their own...