Hello dear reader! What's this? A chapter uploaded in a reasonable amount of time? I feel the muse knocking on my door again! I hope everyone is staying safe and healthy right now. Were mostly working with set up right now, but I added a hint of fluff for you guys. Oh! And before I forget, I actually added a chapter to my one-shots. I know there are only a few people who read them, but I wanted to let you know. And I'll be adding a part 2 to the most recent chapter soon, and by request of SkyenhaMarisa, a part 3 will also be coming.
P.S. 200,00 words! Wow, this story is getting big. It also spans 400 pages now.
Thanks to my wonderful reviewers; .Princess, T. Rycbar, guadadominguez4, and ImpartingAbyss.
Chapter 39
Erin was happy. It wasn't a fleeting moment of amusement or temporary feeling of peace. No, the feeling of warmth in her chest was lodged there for good. Why? Because she was curled up on the chassis of the mech whom she knew no one would cross just to get to her. Never had she felt safer. She had fallen asleep like that, cocooned in the blanket Sideswipe had commandeered for her, right in the middle of Sunstreaker's chest plates. Her body stayed stable thanks to the small dip between the pieces of his armor. Sideswipe rested his helm on his twin's abdomen, apparently jealous of the cuddling going on between Erin and Sunstreaker.
It had started when Erin struggled to return to sleep, fearful of her dream getting out of her control again. She knew if anything happened to the mechs at the hands of Division, she would be at fault. She joined N.E.S.T with the intention of betraying them and the guilt was overwhelming. There was no penance for that, especially after the twins showed just how much they cared for her. She had given Prowl the Division files for the sake of building up their defenses, but that wouldn't make up for what she had done.
Unaware of her internal struggle, Sideswipe only saw the worry on her face and somehat realized where her fears laid. He offered to read another Cybertronian novel to her, which Erin readily agreed to. Before he could begin, Sunstreaker scooped her up and plopped her down on his armor, not giving a word for explanation. Sideswipe quickly cuddled up as well and read to them the history of the thirteen original Primes, as told by a writer named Scourge. Erin thought it was fascinating, but found herself fading into dreamlessness before Sideswipe could finish.
The tiredness that pulled at her eyes when she awoke told Erin that it was still night. Both mechs were entirely still, optics closed. It was slightly unnerving. They could have been offline and she would be none the wiser. But she knew that in a few hours, they would wake, ready for a final free day with her before they were forced to return to their duties.
Erin assured herself that, for the moment, no monsters would be coming after either of them. Division had initiated radio silence, giving her time to form more of a plan. Before then, she needed to decide what her end goal would be.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a thunderous boom rocking the hanger, followed by an aftershock. Were they under attack? The twins pulled out of recharge, optics bright and near white, running what Erin recognized to be battle programming. Sunstreaker jerked upwards, catching Erin by the middle in his servo.
Erin lacked any essential tools for battle, from armor to weapons. Quickly, she mapped out the nearest route to supplies. That would be the side door to the main hanger entrance. There was no telling which direction the explosion occurred, but it was nearby. Even if she couldn't reach her gear, she could still provide analytical support for the twins, increasing their chances of success while decreasing injuries.
Before she could address the mechs, Sunstreaker's servo placed her back on his armor, tilting to gently settle her back onto his chassis as he laid down. "Nothing to worry about, squishy." The mech mumbled tiredly.
"Yeah," Sideswipe added, optics already offline, "Que just commed us, one of his experiments blew up… again."
Erin had always heard of Que's tendency to blow up his projects at least once before finishing them, and she had seen the reinforcements in his lab, but Erin had yet the hear or feel such an event. That was another reason why the human barracks was so far from the autobot hanger. Safety first. Already knowing the answer, Erin gently asked, "Is he alright?"
Sideswipe nodded his helm as he nuzzled against his twin.
Sunstreaker pressed his servo over Erin, not holding her down, but there was a firm and evident weight. It felt… comforting. Erin found her troubles with Division soon fading as she fell back into a peaceful sleep.
"Sweetspark." Sideswipe's voice sang in Erin's ear. She could smell his armor above her, blown out candles and leather. The familiar scent alone almost lulled Erin back to sleep, away from where the voice was pulling him. "Sweetspark, Ratchet sent out a comm for you."
Erin's eyes fluttered open as she bit back irritation. As far as she was concerned, Ratchet could take one of his wrenches and shove it up his aft. Realizing the mechs would be amused at her thoughts, she restated them out loud, earning a chuckle from her would-be bed.
"Either we hide you and make Hatchet upset, or you go to him." Sunstreaker stated plainly. "Either is good with us."
Sighing in resignation, and realizing she wouldn't be getting any more sleep, regardless of her decision, she relented to meet the medic. Crawling out from under Sunstreaker's servo, she stretched with a happy moan before sliding off the side of his chassis. Sideswipe was the first to get off the berth, gingerly picking her up and placing her on the ground.
After the silver front liner opened the door, Erin held her hand up to the two mechs. "It's alright, guys. Go back to recharge." The twins looked hesitant, but Erin didn't give them a chance to argue as she turned and headed for the med bay. She heard the door slowly close behind her and no pedes-steps following. The silver and yellow mechs deserved some extra rest after taking such good care of her.
Erin, finally pushing aside the last of her sleepiness, cautiously entered the med bay; she had long learned to be weary for wild wrenches flying about. What greeted Erin could only be described as burnt metal aroma. The med bay seemed to be in order, so Erin had a guess as to what the source of the scent was.
In one of the berths, Ratchet was attending to a well-charred Que. Luckily, all his limbs seemed to be attached, and there was no sign of energon leaks. But the mech was slumped, lacking his normal jovial demeanor. Ratchet must have just lectured him.
Speaking of whom, Erin heard him talking to his patient, but his voice lacked the bite it usually has. "I know it isn't easy, but you can't just go blowing yourself up because of it. Primus, you're lucky it was an energy shield and not something deadly. How do you even make one explode without a charge?" The mech's tone was chiding, but gentle nonetheless.
Erin wondered whether he might have gone too far on the poor scientist and was trying a gentler approach. But the forlorn look on Que spoke of something else. Realization hit Erin like a punch in the gut, followed by waves of guilt. Franky had told her Que and Adam were drinking buddies, if not good friends. Was he mourning the man?
Earlier, she reasoned to herself she was doing the mech a favor. She had her own suspicions about Adam, before Division set the hit on him. Without prompting, he had approached her with her jacket and it became abundantly clear what he intended to do with it. Only Erin landed on top, with the man hanging from a noose of his own clothes instead of her.
She realized he had been spying on her and tried to compromise her mission. But not because he was a loyal soldier, he was working for Mech. His transmission to Silas about her identity had been countered by Division's own analysts. Not only was it imperative that she kill him for or own safety, but he was a threat to the autobots as well. Her suspicions were cemented when she realized the man made a habit of walking an overcharged Que home at night. The kind mech assumed it was out of caring, but the man was taking advantage to reach his lab. That was how Mech obtained the shoulder fire cannon prototype she saw the first time she entered the lab. It was the same design used to nearly offline Sideswipe the year prior. Adam had to go.
But that didn't mean Que would be alright in the end. In his mind, his friend had committed suicide. Erin could imagine the thoughts running through the mech's processor. He likely felt just as guilty, if not more, than Erin herself. The woman sighed, realizing why Ratchet had called her. She had been 'friends' with Adam as well. And the only other person who was as close to the man was terrified of the autobots.
Knocking on the open door, Erin announced her presence. "Ratchet, you commed for me?"
Both mechs turned to see her. Their optics, though neutral, felt piercing to Erin.
Ratchet nodded, "Specialist Brook, it's good you're here." Turning back to Que, and quickly addressed the mech. "Why don't you go to the private berth. I'd like you to stay here for a while."
Que silently nodded and moved to the side room, closing the door behind. He didn't appear to have any limp, which was good. But the mech was clearly upset.
Ratchet faced Erin, a tired look on his features. "Come here," he motioned for the free berth, "I want to see how you're doing."
Erin obliged, climbing the steps to the Cybertronian-sized berth.
"Now, be honest," the medic addressed her, "how are you holding up?"
The woman shook her head. "I'm doing fine, Ratchet. Nothing to worry about."
The mech looked less than convinced. "Just know that there are resources available to you. Beyond the base counselor. As your medic I am always available."
Each word crushed Erin's heart even more. Would the guilt ever end? Putting on a sad smile she nodded. "I know Ratchet. Thank you. The twins have been with me nearly the whole time making sure I'm ok."
That answer seemed to satisfy the medic. "Good, I expected as much. Now, I'm going to do a quick scan, since you're here." His words were followed by the familiar tingling sensation. It was a light scan, likely to calm the mech's own worries about his patient's health. The look on his faceplates seemed as pleased as he normally was during checkups.
"Ratchet, if I could ask," Erin started, glancing to the closed private room door, "you didn't bring me here just for a scan, right?"
Noticing where she was looking, the medic sighed and nodded. "I know you don't know Que as well as some other mechs, but you were both friends with Specialist Walker. I was hoping you could talk to him. Reminisce if it'll help. He's been taking this hard, especially so soon after we lost Wheeljack"
The vice around Erin's heart must have multiplied, because her throat was caught as well. After a moment, she managed to choke out an answer. "Of course. I'd be happy to talk to him."
"Thank you, youngling. I think it'll do you both well." Ratchet seemed relieved at her words. He offered her a servo to help her down, which she accepted. "I'll be right here should either of you need me."
"Thanks, Ratchet." She replied with complete honesty. She headed for the door, but before knocking on the human-sized entrance, she paused and glanced over. "How did you know I was with the twins anyway?" Erin attempted to ask casually. In reality, she was hit by worry. After showering in the barracks, she left the data pad in her room to charge. She fully expected Prowl had been tracking her movements using that, but did he have another method of knowing her location and activities? Were the mech's info-sharing on her?
Not realizing her inner turmoil, the medic waved his servo dismissively. "After you didn't answer your data pad, I contacted the on-duty to wake you. When you still didn't respond, I realized the only other place you'd be is with the twins." The medic mumbled, putting ice on Erin's burning fears. "Besides," he added, "there's no shame. You're going through grief, of course you'd turn to your friends."
Erin relaxed a bit. Of course, that would make logical sense. The twins were clearly closer to her than anyone else on base. And he was right that there was no shame in asking for extra company after losing a comrade. The defecting-agent was put at ease by the medic's conclusions.
"You are friends, right?" Ratchet asked suddenly, his voice hitched.
Erin tilted her head to the side, why did he sound like that when asking? "Yeah." She stated uncertainly, not because of her feelings for the mechs, but because of the unknown meaning of the medic's words.
Ratchet turned to gaze into her eyes for a moment, as if scrutinizing her. What did he know? Finally, he nodded. "Very well. Just know I am always available for anything you might need. Whether it's medical care, advice, or information."
Erin's eyes widened as soon as the medic looked away. What was he insinuating? What kind of questions would she be asking? Wait. Ironhide must have spoken with him, asked him to have a talk with her and the twins. What did he assume they were doing in the twins' berth room? The woman fought down the urge to blurt out explanations that no, it wasn't what he was thinking and those offers really were not necessary. Instead, she schooled her features, pretending to be none the wiser to the implication. The woman already had to deal with Division, hiding the fact she killed the friend she was meant to mourn, and trying to forge a friendship with the twins. Ulterior motives past the latter goal were too far down the line and too much to handle at the moment.
"Also," the medic continued, making Erin cringe, "it appears you are ovulating, are you experiencing any questionable urges?"
"I should really be checking in on Que!" Erin shouted a bit too loudly before marching into the private room without so much as knocking. Damn the mech had zero tact.
Indecision poked at Prowl's processor. All his internal scans came back clear and his logic algorithms were operating with full efficiency. But something did not seem right. That in itself might have been the problem. Prowl was not overly emotive, thinking it was best he kept things private. Striving to achieve the best results by removing illogical factors when activating his battle processor was what made his Prime's top tactician and Second in Command. That task, unfortunately, had been getting increasingly difficult.
Why could he feel Specialist Walker was not the traitor he had been searching for? He tried to run the probabilities. 83.2%. Those were the chances that Specialist Walker was the spy. 74.35% chance that the data provided prior to his suicide was evidence of his correspondence with this group called Division. The latter probability was low for Prowl's liking, but he wouldn't know as much without an analyst checking the translation software provided in the data pack. That would mean going to Sideswipe. But as soon as Specialist Brook became a probable suspect, the mech had been removed from such a duty. Simply put, Prowl did not inform him of any other intercepted correspondence for him to work on. He wanted nothing to slip to the front liner's human teammate.
Why did the data feel wrong, though? Before the data dump and suicide, Specialist Walker only had a 17.5% chance of being the spy. While higher than most other soldiers, aside from Private Sixt at 18.02% Specialist Brook at 20.6%, it was not enough to qualify for action under their regulations. The files were too convenient, quickly and easily putting blame on the man when all his research and Jazz's espionage tactics failed to gather sufficient data with their limited resources and aid only from human technology…
Prowl forced himself out of that hole of thought. He was questioning his own processor. That had to end.
Ex-venting, he finally entered the med bay, optics instantly finding Ratchet. The mech was seated at his desk, grumbling over a circuit panel. "Ratchet, may I have a few moments of your time?" he asked cordially, door wings straight.
The medic turned, optics glancing over the SIC's frame. "You don't seem injured," he deadpanned, "what do you need?"
Taking his attention as invitation enough, Prowl moved to the berth and sat himself, ready for any scans the medic chose to use. "There seems to be an error in my logic programming. Either that or my battle processor is misinterpreting data."
Ratchet shuttered his optics, sputtering a response. "Primus, Prowl! If it is something that severe, why didn't you comm me? Send me the internal scan that showed you this." He ordered approaching his patient. Before Prowl could reply, the medic was already behind him, using medic programming to deactivate safety protocols to the helm.
"My scans came back normal." Prowl replied, tensing at his own words.
"Wh- Do you think the scans are wrong?" the medic grabbed Prowl's shoulder, forcing him back enough to look into his optics.
The SIC nodded, "That should have been ascertained from my previous response." He did his best not to flinch at Ratchet's scowl. "I have the feeling that something is not operating fully."
A sigh escaped the medic. "I will do my own scans, but I might already know what the problem may be."
Knowing the fluorescent mech wouldn't elaborate until he had the scan results, Prowl patiently waited. Ratchet made quick work of it, plugging into his processor to do a deep scan. It never felt good to have such an invasive procedure done, but Prowl was used to it. His processor required more upkeep and monitoring that the average mech's.
Ratchet hummed to himself as he disconnected his medic line and resecured the access port. Stepping around the berth to face Prowl, he maintained a stern gaze. "Prowl, I can say with confidence that your battle processor is functioning as it should." The SIC was about to argue, but Ratchet raised a servo and interrupted, "Uh uh! Listen. Your battle processor is fine, but I noticed your emotion matrix seemed… unstable."
Prowl shuttered his optics a few times. He opened his mouth for a response, then closed it. Finally, finding his words, he asked, "Are you saying I am being overly emotional?"
Ratchet shook his helm. "No, I'm saying while you're battle processor is fine, stress is preventing proper analysis of the results. I understand we have been through a lot. The war is dragging everybot down."
Frustration boiled up in Prowl's intakes but he tried to quash it down. His emotions were not getting the best of him. There had to be another answer. "Ratchet, I don't think-"
"Look here, Prowl," the medic cut in with a sharp glare, "these things affect all autobots, even you. It can add up until it's too much to handle. As much as you want to believe there's a simple mechanical error, that's not it." He waited a moment to see if Prowl would try to argue again. The mech wisely chose not to. "Now," he added, "in terms of recovery options, I would recommend a mix of the following: reduced duty time with a focus on mental recovery during rest periods, conversational sessions where you discuss these unwanted thoughts or processing blocks with either myself or Optimus, as well as a small portion of high grade during rest periods to encourage relaxation."
No! None of that seemed right to the SIC. "I am needed on active duty." He pressed, trying to get the medic to see reason. "And if I share these uncertainties with Prime, he may come to question my abilities. We have lost too many autobots for another to be put in partial commission."
Before he had time to react, a wrench smacked the side of Prowl's helm. "Of course, we need all the mechs we can get!" Ratchet shouted back, obviously done with what little civility he tried to show. "But it's better to have half a mech than one that's not functioning. That's why you need to recover now before it gets worse. That's why Jazz isn't allowed on full duty. You have to take care of your needs before there's nothing left to take care of."
Prowl tried to think of a retort to convince the medic when the door to the private berth room opened. A wide-optic scientist glanced out. Following his line of sight, Ratchet turned. "Que, I hope you and Specialist Brook were able to talk things over."
Prowl's optics narrowed in on the femme. Why was she always there? Probabilities aside, something did not seem right. Prowl knew Specialist Walker and Que were on friendly terms, Jazz had reported as much. But he only heard of Specialist Brook and the scientist speaking a few times. One of which was while discussing what would later be stolen invention schematics. Was she trying to take advantage of him? Did she want him to lead her to the lab to continue their 'talk'? The upset mech could slip up and the femme could have her servos on another piece of dangerous technology.
Que nodded to Ratchet, the black charring on his outer armor not seeming to bother him. "Yes, the dear is wonderful. We actually want to go to the human rec room, see if we can get together with Adams other friends and remember him."
Oh. They were mourning together. Prowl's processor told him that made sense. More sense than his run-off suspicions. Perhaps Ratchet had a point.
Prowl saw a barely perceivable loss of tension in the medic's frame. "I think that would be a wonderful idea. You are medically clear, but make sure to wash up before your intakes clog."
Que nodded readily, walking out with the human near his pedes. Prowl did his best not to glare at the femme. His spark and processor were battling over what to do about her. Then, he realized he might have a solution to fix most of his problems. Turning to Ratchet he nodded his helm to the mech. "Thank you for your help. I will take everything you said under advisement generate a plan accordingly."
Turning on his heel struts, the mech quickly left the med bay, seeing Que and Specialist Brook head through the door leading to the berths and wash racks. He turned away to Prime's office. He would need the mech's approval first. The fears over a spy still being among them was what weighed so heavily on the mech's processor. Originally, he planned on making sure none of the viable suspects left the base in order to keep the trail and figure out their true motives. But with data depicting this Division, he could send Jazz out to investigate the new player. The smaller mech would be happy to feel of use again, especially in the field of his strength. With that new clue, he and no reason to keep any of the threats around. Removing Specialist Brook from Diego Garcia would reduce the threat and therefore his own stress. It was a win-win deal. He just had to convince Prime.
At the door, he sent a ping requesting entry. Once granted, he stepped in, seeing Jazz in one of the chairs. Prowl paused. Did he want Jazz to be present? The mech was meant to aid him, but after their earlier argument, he was unsure.
"Prowl, it's good you came. I was about to request your presence to discuss any changes in news on base." Optimus's words rang clear for Prowl. He wanted to know about the investigation. As soon as he closed the door, Jazz activated the signal disruptor, making the meeting entirely private. As he did so, though, he shot a questioning glare towards Prowl.
Trying to focus on his goals, Prowl faced the Prime. "First, I would like to discuss Specialist Brook."
His leader's optics lightened. "Specialist Brook? Captain Lennox and I were just talking about her. We are recommending her for another early promotion. She showed skill, bravery, and intelligence in the battle against Mech and the decepticons."
"I believe it is prudent to dismiss her from the team and have her relocated." Prowl replied quickly, refusing to look towards Jazz.
Optimus Prime paused, as if reprocessing his words. "My friend, she had proven herself as a powerful asset, why would you want her removed?"
He needed every reason to convince the Prime that they would be better off without her, regardless of the lack of proof. "There are plenty of humans satisfactory for the role." He explained. Though not his most convincing argument, it was at the very least true. N.E.S.T had been bringing in increasingly skilled recruits. That, and Ironhide's training program was showing promising results.
"Satisfactory enough to work with the twins?" Optimus questioned with his helm tilted in confusion.
Prime had a point there. But perhaps the twins could be Prowl's solution. "She's a distraction for them." He supplied. Of course, the twins tried to spend every waking moment with the human for some unfathomable reason. In fact, the only time Prowl had recently seen the femme away from them was just a moment prior in the med bay. Of course, even if the twins tried to follow her, Ratchet would have kicked them out.
"A distraction from what? Misbehaving?" Prime asked, seeming increasingly worried. "You noted in your reports their productivity has increased while brig time has dramatically decreased. And yes, their relationship is… unexpected, but there have been no negative consequences to warrant preventative action. Is there something you are not telling me?"
Prowl should have known he couldn't convince his leader without his full suspicions and evidence laid bare. "I still have serious concerns that she may be the spy." He admitted, noticing Jazz flinch.
Prime nodded, optics softening slightly. He already knew the femme was on the list of probable suspects, but he never seemed to fully accept her as a possibility. "I understand your frustration, but removing her could worsen the problem. If we get the wrong person, or if there are more, our chances of finding our enemies true motives dwindle."
Sensing Jazz's confusion at Primes words, the SIC decided to ignore it and push forward. "I disagree, Prime. She is a threat we can't risk keeping around."
"And what if you're wrong?" Prime asked.
"Then we keep searching." He supplied evenly.
The mech's optics narrowed, disbelieving his subordinate's words. "And what if the true enemy goes into hiding?"
Trying to keep his tone level, he replied plainly. "Then there would be no more leaks."
Optimus Prime was always an understanding mech, but Prowl couldn't seem to convince him of his viewpoint. "And what is your evidence that Specialist Brook is the spy?"
"There's not enough data to show a definitive probability but… I just… feel it."
The response must have caught Prime off guard, given his surprised expression. Gently, he addressed his Second in Command, "Prowl, you know I put a lot of stock in the opinions of my team, but this is uncharacteristic of you. Are you doing all right?"
"My processor is in complete working order." Prowl replied quickly.
Slowly, Prime responded, "I wasn't asking that."
Just as Prowl was forgetting Jazz's presence, the silver mech jumped out of his seat, apparently done being on the sidelines. "What the frag, Prowl? You haven't told him yet?"
"Told me what?" Prime's optics snapped between the two mechs, his vocalizations rising every so slightly in frustration.
Jazz cut in before the SIC could respond. "Prowl got a data packet with the enemy files, ones we intercepted and others we never saw, all decoded. It was sent as a suicide note by Specialist Adam Walker."
"That doesn't mean it was him!" Prowl tried to interject before his leader could come to the wrong conclusions. "It could be a diversion."
Jazz marched up to Prowl, an unfamiliar white glow emanating from the mech's visor. "He gave us all the slaggin' data we could need to boost our defense, and you never told Prime!"
"There's still more data to go over, I was waiting to give a full report." He tried to placate both mechs who stared at him in accusation and shock.
Prime addressed the black and white mech in a firm tone, "Prowl, we both know this should have been brought to my attention immediately. I'm concerned for you."
"There is no need to be." Prowl replied, deciding to send of a data pack with his personal processor scans to both mechs to convince them. "I am operating at full efficiency."
"Will you stop the slaggin' act." Jazz shouted, jabbing a digit at Prowl's chassis. "You're movin' about like a drone!"
"That's enough!" Prime's voice boomed over any kind of retort Prowl would have made.
Before anyone could put in another word, Jazz shot out the door, disrupting the field around the room. As the SIC stared after his friend, Prime sat silent. A breem passed before the commander spoke up again.
"Prowl, you should have brought this information to me." He repeated, authority dripping from his tone. "I want everything sent my way, and then you are ordered not to touch it again. I will handle this investigation from here on out." Softening a bit, he added, "Get some rest, friend."
-scene change-
Optimus Prime watched as his SIC left. Worry settled within his spark. In all the vorns they had served together, very few times did Prowl act anything less than the hyper functional tactician Prime knew he was. However, he should have expected something like this sooner or later. Prowl's battle processor always focused on probabilities, meant to give them an edge in battle scenarios. But the mech never took time to imagine the repercussions beyond impacts on finite resources and casualty statistics. So, when the All Spark was lost, the reality of it hit Prowl the hardest. He was the least prepared to endure the emotional impact from such losses. Even worse, before Ratchet managed to bring Jazz back online, Prowl had learned of his closest friend's demise. The mech was still in space, trying to reach the Earth, but utterly alone in mourning. Then, when he gained new hope in his friend returning, thanks to Ratchet's controversial use of the All Spark fragment, that hope was shattered upon Jazz's reawakening. By the time Ratchet put Jazz back into stasis, claiming he had no clue what went wrong, the small silver mech's rampage had destroyed a large portion of the island. Prowl had to watch his friend undergo countless scans and treatments to deal with this new unknown condition. And any future hope of using the All Spark to understand it was lost when Jazz absorbed it in its entirety. Furthermore, the betrayal of Mirage and the losses of Arcee and most recently Wheeljack undoubtably only caused even mores strife for the mech, as it did to all on base.
He should have seen the signs. Prowl was overrun with worry and disappointment. As a Prime, Optimus had the duty to care for his mechs. Prowl would not like it at first, receiving limited duty, but hopefully it would give him the time he needed to recover.
As Prime returned his attention to his data pad, he remembered the matter he had been working on before the debriefing. The American government had finally approved Cybertronian housing in the nation's capital. Hopefully, it would one day become a full autobot embassy. It was a small step in the right direction, as the humans would say. Apparently, the reported team up between mech, led by the treasonous Silas, and the decepticons, prompted the politicians to realize they wanted to work diplomatically with the autobots rather than risk losing their favor to some enemy with a better bargain. Of course, the Prime would never consider such a betrayal, but if thinking that way made things move along, he would say nothing to pause the progress.
Placing the housing there was a symbolic gesture, more than anything. Until then, when private meetings were held, ones that could not occur over human communication systems, representatives would go to Diego Garcia. With autobot liaisons being able to travel for such meetings, they were essentially given 'a seat at the table'. It was a move Prime and Captain Lennox both supported.
Prowl had been cautious, of course. He worried that the government was trying to split their forces. Admittingly, it would be difficult with so few of them left. But it could lead to future opportunities, such as autobot representation elsewhere, should they reunite with enough comrades to warrant such a move. Jazz, meanwhile argued that the humans merely didn't want to travel themselves and chose to have the autobots come to them. That, Prime could not argue against.
He looked at the request forms that had been sent, asking for design input before the blueprints were finished. Perhaps that was something he could give to his SIC. Helping build this would take the mech's processor off other issues, and it would be something he was comfortable with. The autobot commander had a sense his tactician would be unwilling to assign himself reduced duty hours as Prime hoped. Perhaps he had found a compromise.
He could send Bumblebee and Sam to DC during construction. According to his scout's reports, the boy was doing well in his studies, doubling his classes to get an early start on his maser's degree. The boy was being groomed to become the new autobot liaison. While Captain Lennox handled most of the autobot-human relations, it was too much for one person to do. The plan was for Sam to become the stateside representative for Lennox while finishing his final degree. Eventually, he was to become the main liaison himself. It was the best situation Prime could imagine. They needed close human allies to help them in these political endeavors, since many politicians refused to even acknowledge the autobots as more than machines. With the boy's 'internship' with N.E.S.T starting soon, he could be assigned to the building project, relaying Prowl's design orders. With the plan finalizing in Prime's processor, he felt satisfied at finding a universal solution. Hopefully, his SIC would agree with the plan.
Standing from his seat, the mech set down his data pads. He would wait for his SIC to relax a bit before relaying his orders. A data pack came from Prowl, showing everything he had worked on for his investigation. Prime new how much it must have upset the mech, but it was for the best. As soon as he finished his patrol around the island, he would go over the data.
Just as he was about to leave his office, a ping came from Ratchet, summoning him to the med bay. With it, came a data pack, oddly enough about Prowl. The information added to Prime's concern for his Second in Command. Perhaps he would have to make more adjustments that he originally planned. It appeared the patrol would have to wait. The Prime had a feeling the coming weeks would be incredibly busy.