Jazz cursed under his vocalizer as he pulled into the jumping Ark control room behind the Datsun.
Autobots were crowded around, practically hanging off the rafters, kicking speculation about.
Waiting for the guillotine to fall.
Red Alert, especially, was almost having kittens.
"Haven't any of you got anything better to do?" Jazz snapped, transforming.
"Haven't you got anything better to do than chase after cowardly skulkers?" Smokescreen spoke up with surprising force.
Red Alert pushed through the crowd.
"Prowl! You've become an outright security risk! You're coming with me right now,"
Jazz caught the security chief around the midsection as he made a beeline for the Datsun, and lifted him off the floor a foot or two.
"Jazz! Put me down and let me do my job!" Red Alert squalled, struggling in the saboteur's grip.
"Red, let Prime speak to him first," Jazz said in a low tone.
The response vehicle flailed about, trying to elbow himself free, his back against the Porsche's grille.
"You know something don't you! That's why you keep defending him! Both of you, Decepticon sympathisers!"
"You paranoid fool! If I knew anything about what's going on with him, I'd be doing whatever I could to reverse it!" Jazz exclaimed, trying to restrain the Lamborghini's arms.
"Let me go Jazz!"
Inferno ploughed through the other Autobots and fronted the Porsche threateningly.
"Put him down,"
"Inferno, I'm not trying to hurt him man! I'm-"
They fell silent as Optimus Prime entered, Ironhide behind him.
The look in the commander's optics would have melted tritanium alloy.
Jazz released the Lamborghini, and he and Inferno backed off.
All this time Prowl had sat wordless, still in alt mode.
"What on Cybertron is going on here?" Prime rumbled, and held his hand up as the room exploded with accusations and fanciful explanations.
"I don't want to hear it."
He waited until the cacophony dribbled into silence.
"Jazz...you said you were in the desert, and that you had Prowl?"
Optimus Prime asked quietly, turning to his saboteur and giving the Datsun a brief glance.
"Yeah...after the battle I realized Prowl wasn't with us, so I went to find him," Jazz explained, handing over Prowl's rifle.
Prime glanced at it, then subspaced it once again.
He paused for an astrotick, thinking, then turned to the tactician.
"Prowl,"
The Datsun didn't make a sound or move an inch.
Ironhide gave him a sharp kick in the rear bumper.
"Transform while Prime's talkin' to you! If you're not careful, I'll reprogram some respect back into you, and it won't be gentle!"
Prowl snorted and took his sweet time transforming.
"Thank you Ironhide," Prime said dryly.
Jazz waited with growing apprehension as the Autobot commander paced.
He paused and looked at the black and white mech.
"I never thought this was possible, let alone that it would become reality Prowl!
I have completely lost all trust in you," Prime informed him, while most of the Ark looked on, mentally poleaxed.
"Where in the Universe did you think you were going!"
Prowl, who'd been gazing into the distance with the distinct impression of someone who didn't give a slag, now gave his commander a direct, insolent stare.
"Away from them," the tactician declared, jerking his hand at the crowd, "And him," he added with a spiteful glare at Jazz.
"And especially you," Prowl spat vehemently.
"Why you-" Ironhide began again.
Prime held up a hand.
"It's all right Ironhide. Let him say it," he said calmly, looking Prowl in the optics.
"Prowl, please don't," Jazz pleaded from behind the tactician, in a tone meant only for his audios.
The Datsun ignored Jazz and Ironhide both, and did not break his glare.
"I curse the day the Matrix ended up in your hands. We wouldn't be stuck on this pathetic planet, and the war would have been over long ago, under a commander who actually has some manifolds and foresight. You have neither," Prowl sneered, folding his arms.
Even Jazz couldn't have said a word to save his life at that moment.
A few low whispers began ripple through the crowd, who, if they'd been spiteful before, were now outraged, to put it mildly.
Ironhide turned away from Prowl, as if he couldn't stand the very sight of him.
Prime held up a hand to quell the angry murmurs and addressed the Datsun.
"I probably should have done this sooner, but I had hoped your actions and attitude would return to normal. I see I have been badly mistaken Prowl,"
Optimus Prime said evenly.
"Aren't you always," Prowl snapped.
The Autobot commander ignored his words.
"I'm hereby stripping you of all rank and authority. You're now an Autobot in name only."
"It's not my Day of Creation, is it? Because that's the best thing I've heard this millennium," Prowl said sarcastically.
"Slag it, we're going to take you apart and it won't be long," Sunstreaker swore hotly from the back of the crowd.
Optimus Prime regarded his former second in command coolly.
"Prowl, I'm also placing you under house arrest. I am truly sorry it has come to this, but you leave me with no other option," he said quietly.
Prime glanced around.
"Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, until further notice, I want you to guard Prowl's door,"
The crowd parted to let the two seething warriors approach the Datsun.
"Do not touch me," Prowl warned, low, as the Lamborghinis advanced on him.
"Sunstreaker. Sideswipe. Escort him to his quarters. Without physical restraint," Optimus Prime emphasised.
The two of them plainly didn't like that, but stalked out, Prowl between them, without laying a hand on him.
X
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"Prime should have kicked your aft til your optics bled," Sunstreaker hissed in the tactician's audio.
Like lightning Prowl turned on them.
"Is that a challenge?" he asked, loud and clear.
"Do you want it to be?" Sideswipe said flatly.
"If we did you over it still wouldn't make up for all the slag you've been giving everyone," Sunstreaker added hatefully.
"You two think you can take me? Come on then, do it!" Prowl goaded the warriors, who hesitated.
It wasn't so much the fact of taking on someone whose authority had, until a few astrominutes ago, been second only to Prime's, or that Prowl probably matched or bettered either of them in physical strength, that made the brothers pause.
It was the look in his optics that was sending shivers through both Sunstreaker's and Sideswipe's terminals.
"Come on! You know I'm unarmed," Prowl antagonized, fists clenched by his sides and right door-panel drawn back.
"Hey! What's going on here?" a distinct voice interjected, and Jazz stalked down the hall to the flashpoint.
He'd followed, knowing a confrontation was a real possibility.
"Stay out of it Jazz," Sunstreaker warned, without removing his optics from the tactician.
"I think you both need to upload some common sense," Jazz snapped.
He turned to the Datsun.
"Prowl man, seems I outrank you now-"
"The dirt on his treads outranks him now," Sunstreaker put in sarcastically.
"Shut up," Jazz bristled, "Don't forget, I still outrank you two,"
He turned back to the glowering tactician, about to say that he'd done some fast talking, and convinced Optimus Prime to let him be in his quarters unguarded.
The Datsun beat him to it, however.
"Jazz, I don't need your heroics," Prowl snarled, brushing past him and stalking away.
"That's what you keep defending?" Sideswipe sneered.
Jazz watched the black and white door-panels disappear into their owner's quarters, and stepped up close to the yellow and red mechs.
"Yes. And I'll keep defending him until I know what's going on, got it?" he hissed with uncharacteristic venom.
"You're an idiot then Jazz, a dead-set idiot," Sunstreaker said loudly.
The Porsche shrugged.
"Do I look like I give a damn? I hope not, because I don't. Now get out of here, he's not going to be treated like some outlaw,"
Jazz glared at the brothers as they started to object.
"Got a problem with it? Go whine in Prime's audio."
The Lamborghinis exchanged a glance, and began sauntering down the hall,
verbally running the tactician down to the ground.
Jazz watched them go, then quietly tested Prowl's door.
Locked tight, probably from Teletran's main internal diagnostics in Prime's office.
The saboteur leaned forward and briefly laid his forehead on the door, wishing with all his soul Prowl would just tell him what was going on.
"Oh man, what a day," Jazz groaned under his vocalizer.
X
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"So he just bolted?" Bumblebee asked Jazz in disbelief.
"Yeah," Jazz mumbled without elaborating.
He'd somehow ended up in the common room, not thinking.
Naturally it was overflowing with hostile and/or stunned Autobots, picking over the afternoon's events with all the subtlety of a swarm of starving vultures.
And they'd converged on the Porsche instantly.
Jazz tuned out as best he could, wanting to be left alone, carefully replaying Prowl's latest exploits in his mind's eye.
He glanced up sharply as the accusations and name-calling directed at the absent tactician turned downright disgusting.
"You foul-mouthed creep. Where in the Universe did you pick that up Sunstreaker? I'm not sure that's biologically possible even for a human, let alone an Autobot!" Jazz exclaimed angrily, bringing his fist down on his table loud enough to cease all chatter.
The Porsche stood up, furious.
"I've had it with you lot. Yeah, Prowl's recent shenanigans are unbelievable and probably unforgivable. Yeah, he needs his aft kicked! And yeah, nobody knows what's going through his CPU, including me!"
The rest of the Autobots shifted uncomfortably under the saboteur's white-hot glare.
No one had ever seen the effervescent mech so outraged.
"But I'm sick of this, and sick of the lot of you. Where do you think this kind of carry on is going to get us?"
"Shut up," he snapped, as Sunstreaker opened his mouth.
Jazz looked around the room.
"I'm going to see Prime. If any of you give the slightest slag about Prowl, you'll come with me."
X
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Prime glanced up at the clutch of Autobots crowding his office.
"What's the problem?" he asked, but the question was unnecessary.
"Prowl's the problem Prime, and you know it," Jazz said cheerlessly.
His temper had cooled as quickly as it had flared.
A handful of Autobots had detached themselves from the mob in the common room to go with the saboteur, although Jazz had his doubts about Sideswipe and Red Alert joining them.
They fitted themselves around the commander's smallish office.
And looked at one another silently.
"I just don't get it. Is he sick? Is there something wrong with him that he's not telling us?"
Wheeljack speculated, rubbing his chin, and kicking off the discussion.
"That can't be it, he's as healthy as a newly-created turbo-fox," Ratchet pointed out.
"Maybe it's just us Wheeljack," a quiet voice spoke up, and they all looked to the young gunner.
"What do you mean Bluestreak?" Prime asked evenly.
The silver Datsun sighed, long and deep.
"I think Prowl just doesn't want to be an Autobot anymore...maybe he's had enough," he said quietly.
"But why wouldn't he just tell us?" Jazz said, getting to his feet.
Sideswipe sat up.
"I don't think Prowl wants out of the Autobots. I think he wants out altogether."
"Why do you say that man?" Jazz whispered, feeling like a block of ice had settled in his middle.
"Just his behaviour Jazz...he's been pushing his friends away...being so disrespectful...and especially the way he's behaving about Ratchet and the medbay...I just think that's weird,"
"I can't believe what I'm hearing," Jazz said loudly, "Prowl is not suicidal, do you hear me!"
"Of course he isn't," Bumblebee agreed vehemently.
"You're all missing something terribly obvious here," Red Alert vaulted into the debate, "It's plain that tactician of ours is planning to defect!"
"Take that back," Jazz snapped, turning on the red and white Lamborghini.
Red Alert didn't back down.
"Jazz, face the facts! He's not doing his duties. He destroyed the makings of a potential potent energy device. He disappeared in the midst of a battle, probably to join the enemy and turn on us -"
"Shut your face!" Jazz ordered, "Have you lost your mind? You know as well as I do that the only way Prowl would ever become a Decepticreep would be via some wishful thinking in Megatron's CPU!"
"I can't believe what's happening, but I have to agree with Jazz," Mirage said softly, staring at his hands, "We can't let ourselves think that way."
Red Alert flung his hands up.
"How are we supposed to think Mirage, when it's so obvious!"
He turned to Optimus Prime.
"Optimus, I recommend he be placed under round-the-clock surveillance," Red said firmly, placing his hands on the commander's desk and leaning forward.
"Red Alert, Prowl is under house arrest. I don't think he's going anywhere," Wheeljack said hesitantly.
"Correct Wheeljack," Optimus Prime said evenly.
"I just wish he'd let us help," Bumblebee said softly, echoing Jazz's constant sentiments.
Ironhide, who hadn't added a word to the debate so far, cleared his vocalizer.
"If he keeps it up...he's going to lose the trust of every Autobot in the Ark."
They all turned as one to Prime at that, silently asking for some reassurance from their leader.
Optimus Prime looked round at his unhappy, discouraged troops, and spoke quietly.
"Prowl has chosen to head down his own path, and nothing we can say or do will change that."
X
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Jazz hadn't seen the tactician for nearly three days.
He just could not comprehend how volatile Prowl had become.
Bumblebee had volunteered to bring the Datsun his Energon, but after Prowl had smashed three receptacles -full ones- by chucking them over the Volkswagen's head into the hall, Prime had taken it upon himself to do it.
Jazz had offered to be the one, but Optimus Prime wouldn't allow him.
The tactician had not yet pitched anything at the Autobot commander.
Up until the Desertion, as certain Autobots had christened it, Mirage had still been sticking by Jazz in their defence of the tactician.
Probably because he knew how badly it felt to be on the outer...even though unlike the situation Mirage had been in, Prowl was doing this to himself.
Bluestreak, Bumblebee and Ratchet had also continued to refuse to badmouth him, but after Prowl's behaviour toward Optimus Prime...well, that had been the straw that broke the dromedary.
To be honest, Jazz hadn't heard any of them say anything against Prowl, but they weren't exactly going out of their ways to defend him anymore either.
He knew that Ironhide didn't even want to see him; he'd been so ashamed at the Datsun's actions during the skirmish.
Jazz wasn't sure how long he could keep standing by the tactician on his own, but he was bound and determined to do it as long as he could.
After seeing how violent the Datsun was becoming, Prime had changed his mind.
He'd assigned Sideswipe, Tracks and Sunstreaker to alternately guard Prowl's door, no reprieves this time.
The yellow Lamborghini had spent most of his first shift threatening and taunting the silent Datsun through his door.
Jazz had come off duty and arrived just in time to hear Sunstreaker intrinsically detailing a threat.
It seemed to involve covertly handing a grievously injured black and white former second-in-command over to the Decepticons, to do with as they pleased.
Jazz had made a threat of his own, one that involved paint stripper, acid, and a paralysed but conscious yellow Lamborghini, if Sunstreaker didn't shut the Pit up.
Sunstreaker had been a very quiet sentry since, especially after Jazz reminded him that he was right next door.
The Porsche could be very intimidating when he wanted to be.
Sideswipe and Tracks weren't interested in making threats.
Sideswipe would make a cursory check to see if the Datsun was still with them, then simply carry out his shift and leave.
Tracks tried talking.
Not about anything significant, but even though he'd lost all respect for him, Tracks somehow felt that Prowl still deserved to hear another Autobot's voice.
Not that the Datsun acknowledged him.
X
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Jazz startled awake from a troubled recharge.
The resounding crash was heard again, originating in Prowl's quarters.
Jazz stumbled into the hall and to the tactician's door.
Tracks was quickly keying in the enter code.
"What's he doing now?" the big warrior asked anxiously.
"I don't know man, but it doesn't sound good," Jazz said grimly as the locks released.
"Tracks man, let me go in," the Porsche said to him quietly.
"I'll be fine," he added as the Corvette hesitated.
"Well, all right, but I'm going to inform Prime," Tracks said, stepped aside resignedly, and the saboteur cautiously entered Prowl's quarters.
"Oh man," Jazz exclaimed.
The room was totally trashed.
Prowl was seated on his recharge bed, back to the door and arms folded under his chest.
It was just about the only thing in his quarters still in one piece, probably because it took at least two Transformers to shift one of them.
"Prowl?" Jazz asked carefully.
The tactician did not respond.
Jazz slowly walked around so he was facing him, and started.
Energon trickled down Prowl's midsection, and Jazz realized he'd done a good job of injuring his hands at some point of his rampage, but it was his optics that shook the saboteur.
Flat, cold, and filled with icy fury.
A stranger's optics.
"Prowl, you have to go to the medbay, you can't stay like this," Jazz said softly.
"Please let me help you. I don't know what's going on with you, but you're still my friend,"
He hesitantly laid a hand on the Datsun's shoulder.
"Don't touch me," Prowl snapped, shrugging away and off his bed, past Jazz.
The saboteur watched helplessly as he stalked across the room, kicking broken pieces and shards of this and that out of his path.
He paused, back to the Porsche, fists clenched by his sides, and Jazz saw several drops of Energon fall to the floor.
Jazz cautiously stepped up behind him.
"Prowl man, let me take you to the medbay," he whispered.
"Leave me alone Jazz," Prowl snarled, slowly and deliberately.
"No, I won't leave you alone," Jazz snapped, his patience suddenly fraying like an old rope.
The tactician turned with ice in his optics, and Jazz refused to break visual contact.
The two black and white mechs stared at one another.
Jazz felt his Energon pounding through his lines, felt their friendship hanging by the thinnest of wires.
Prowl suddenly lunged and drove Jazz against his locker, door-panels drawn back until the tips almost met.
"You will leave me alone, if you know what's good for you," he hissed in a tone that made the saboteur shiver.
He let go of Jazz and stalked back to his recharge bed.
The saboteur's commlink chirped and he startled.
"Jazz, report," Prime clipped.
"Prime, Prowl's injured," Jazz said, uneasily eyeing the Autobot he used to think he knew as well as himself.
"Is it life-threatening?"
"No Prime, but-"
"Tracks and Sunstreaker are on their way. Are you all right?"
Jazz glanced down at Prowl's Energon-stained handprints on his grille.
"I'm all right, but Prowl needs some medical attention quick-smart."
"Fine. I'll notify Ratchet. Jazz...keep your distance. Prime out."
Jazz cursed the Universe in general, then glanced at the silent Datsun.
"I don't know what you've done with my friend, but I sure do miss him," he said quietly.
He turned as Tracks entered the room, Sunstreaker in tow.
"C'mon man, you're not serious," Jazz pleaded as the Corvette pulled out a set of Energon shackles.
"Direct orders of Optimus Prime," Tracks said flatly.
They approached Prowl cautiously, and Sunstreaker pulled him roughly off his bunk to his feet.
The Datsun offered no resistance, and Jazz was grateful he still had enough common sense to do that.
The Lamborghini took the shackles from Tracks.
"You're going down, you filthy Pit-spawned scrapheap," Sunstreaker hissed in his audio.
He yanked the tactician's arms behind him, taking an obvious revengeful pleasure in making the handcuffing as prolonged and painful as possible.
"Slag you Sunstreaker," Jazz said with quiet fury, and roughly forced the warrior out of the way.
"Have you ever heard of a little thing called compassion," he snapped and indicated the dripping Energon as he gently, unwillingly, set the shackles in place.
Prowl stared stonily ahead and did not acknowledge pain, treatment or Autobots.
"You want compassion shown to that? You're crazier than he is," Sunstreaker snorted, pointing at the tactician.
"Be quiet Goldenrod, let's just get him to the medbay," Tracks threw at the Lamborghini, only wanting the whole thing to be over.
"I'm coming with you," Jazz declared as they hauled the Datsun into the hall.
"Jazz, for Primus' sake will you leave me alone!" Prowl snapped, turning on him.
Sunstreaker pulled him back.
"What're you all staring at?" Jazz couldn't help growling at the Autobots gathered in doorways and up and down the hall, silently watching the fiasco.
X
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As soon as they entered the medbay Prowl yanked free of the warriors.
Sunstreaker reacted instantly, latching onto the Datsun's still tender left door-panel with a curse.
"Sunstreaker, let him go!" Tracks exclaimed, clearly seeing how much pain that caused, even though Prowl didn't utter a sound.
Ratchet appeared as the Lamborghini put the Datsun against the wall.
"Sunstreaker, don't," Ratchet warned sharply, not wanting the tactician injured any further.
The warrior reluctantly backed off at the medical authority, giving Prowl a deadly glare.
"Get those things off him," Ratchet ordered, pointing at the shackles.
Prowl submitted long enough for Tracks to remove the restraints, then fronted the yellow warrior.
"Want to take it outside, Sunstreaker? I could still sit you on your aft, even like this," Prowl growled, offering Energon-smeared fists, and Tracks quickly put himself between the two.
"Out," Ratchet ordered, clapping a firm hand on the livid Lamborghini's shoulder and propelling him toward the door.
"Out, now, both of you. I'll be fine," he added at Tracks' uncertain look.
"And take these with you,"
Ratchet chucked the shackles to Sunstreaker.
He then turned to Prowl, who'd slid to the medbay floor, knees drawn to chest, staring at the medic with deep mistrust.
Ratchet shook his head, lost.
The quiet, unflappable, reliable, tactical genius had never, but never, displayed the slightest temper toward another Autobot, under any circumstance.
And Ratchet had never seen such fear in his optics.
He kneeled to the mech's level.
"Prowl, let me help you," he said calmly.
"Stay away from me!"
The medic studied Prowl for an astrotick, more concerned about the Energon dripping from his hands than his sudden Ratchetaphobia.
In any other case, with a patient acting this way, Ratchet would recommend having a friend nearby to provide some moral support.
Obviously Prowl did not consider the medic a friend any longer, and Ratchet doubted whether any other former friend would volunteer, apart from Jazz.
But the tactician clearly did not want any contact with the saboteur either.
The black and white mech laid his forearms on his knee-joints and buried his face in them, leaving his bleeding hands free.
Ratchet carefully reached for his right, but the instant Prowl felt his touch, skittered upright panickedly.
"Don't touch me! You bring pain, and you enjoy it!"
"Prowl...I've known you for several millennia now...poked and prodded and examined inside and out. I've always thought I've never known a more even-tempered or quiet mech, and it's killing me to see you like this," Ratchet said softly.
"The last thing I want to do is hurt you, or any Autobot,"
His keen medical sense was telling him the Datsun was clearly in pain and Ratchet desperately wanted to treat him.
Prowl leapt up suddenly and threw himself at the medbay doors, which Ratchet had foresightedly locked.
"Let me out! Now!"
"Slagging hell," Ratchet hissed to himself, wishing, not for the first time, that he had at least an assistant.
He got to his feet, and Prowl faced him, flattened against the doors.
"What are you going to do to me?" he whispered in terror, staring at the medic like he was a complete, and bloodthirsty, stranger.
"Primus Prowl. First and foremost, I'm not going to hurt you," Ratchet said gently, horribly concerned by this point, and not only by the tactician's mental state.
The black and white mech had laid his hands, palms down, either side of him, and Energon was running to the floor.
"Prowl, you're bleeding pretty badly. I can make it better," Ratchet said quietly, as though he were speaking to a child.
"And your door-panel hurts, doesn't it? I can fix that too,"
Prowl stared at him, but the medic couldn't read anything in his optics.
He suddenly faced the doors again, pawing at them frantically, flicking Energon over walls and floor.
"Let me OUT! You want to hurt me! They all want you to hurt me!"
Ratchet slipped up behind the panicked Datsun, and managed to lock his arms about his midsection, and hands around Prowl's wrists in a crossover hold.
Thus a struggle ensued.
"Let me go! Let me go!" Prowl cried, trying as hard as he could to free himself from the medic.
He kicked and flailed, upsetting instrument trays with his wayward feet, straining with his entire body and all his strength to get out of the medic's hold.
Ratchet used his superior size and weight to their full advantage, and struggled close enough to a wall communicator to activate it with his elbow.
"Optimus Prime to the medbay, ASAP!"
Ratchet set himself to just keeping a grip on the black and white mech, and it wasn't easy.
Even injured, Prowl's strength was nothing to scoff at.
Mercifully the commander showed up in seconds and managed to take over a hold on the Datsun.
The medic quickly dug out a rarely used medication, and with Optimus Prime's grip on Prowl, was able to administer the sedative.
Prowl fought it, struggling futilely in Optimus' hold but eventually lost consciousness.
Prime laid him on an exam bay so the medic could treat his injuries.
"Prime, why is he so afraid of me?" Ratchet asked, shaken and upset.
Optimus Prime rubbed his optics.
"Ratchet, I have no idea. But I'm sorry you had to go through this."