On the sixth day of Jazz's absence, Prowl felt like his protoform might crawl up and out of his own armor. Disallowed from Autobot mission frequencies, forbidden from accessing signals that would have strained his systems, Prowl forced himself to focus solely on his current assignment—training the insubordination out of half of the base.
A powerful rev of an engine came up along the vertical cliffside of the plateau. It was close, but not so close that Prowl needed to move out of the way. His pedes ached from standing so long, and they would have hurt even worse if he had to walk.
Warpath's tank turret began to creep inch by inch into view. Beside him, clinging to his treads, Bluestreak and Powerglide both tried to drag his frame up while keeeping him from sliding down. Warpath's engine was completely drowned out by Bluestreak's steady cheering and Powerglide's cursing.
Just behind them, Blurr had discovered the limitations of running fast, coming just short of the precipice. On either side, Cliffjumper and Cloudraker both had their hands full keeping him from sliding down.
But it was Blades who slowly came into view, one of the few Autobot fliers, painfully hovering up the side of the plateau. Straining under the weight, the helicopter groaned as he carried Brawn, who hung from one hand from Blade's undercarriage. Brawn was also groaning loudly, and the reason appeared in Brawn's other hand—Tracks in altmode, wincing as the smaller bot grasped his grill too tightly.
And then Tracks was up against the cliff, and his spinning wheels finally grasped dirt and brought him up under his own power. Brawn and Blades both dropped down onto Tracks' roof, flat on top of each other and venting heavily, as Tracks rolled up toward Prowl.
"We...we made it, sir," Tracks gasped. "I think I lost all my coolant on that one."
"You better have," Brawn grumbled. "If I find out you was carrying full tanks..."
Prowl nodded once at them, letting the threat go unmentioned. Brawn was not angry, and stomping on all outbursts would only backfire.
"An impressive win to our modified hill climb," Prowl said. "You have won the privilege of early dismissal to the mess all."
"Right," Blades grinned. "And this time, Tracks, you're carrying us!"
The three of them rolled down the long ramp to the base. Prowl watched them go, then turned his attention to the other groups. Most of the Autobots were at varying heights against the cliff, but Blurr slid down and took his teammates with him. That left Bluestreak and Powerglide finally reaching up over the plateau, digging their fingers into the dirt, hauling Warpath the last few inches until the tank treads grabbed the earth so that they could all collapse in exhaustion.
"Only a minute behind," Prowl commented. "Excellent work. When you are capable, you may head to the mess hall."
Warpath transformed, raised a single thumbs up, then let his hand flop back in the dust.
Powerglide lay on his back, steaming with coolant. "What...the pit...is this supposed to prove? What kinda...slagging race...is this?"
"As with all good training exercises," Prowl said, logging their time on his datapad, "it is based on an actual incident. Two Paradron Medics brought a mech with a broken transformation cog up a sheer cliff."
Splayed on his front, Bluestreak craned his helm to see him. "Did the mech make it?"
Prowl finished typing. "No, but I am confident that you and Powerglide would improve on their time. In the event of an actual medevac, Ratchet will have this data to draw for assisting mechs."
"...huh."
Bluestreak put his hand up toward Prowl. Few mechs would have behaved with that much familiarity with their second in command, but both were Praxians—just a handful left of a vibrant city utterly destroyed by Decepticons. And they had known each other for a very, very long time.
Prowl moved to take his hand, but he hesitated halfway. With an apologetic vent, he stood straight again.
"I am still too structurally compromised," Prowl said. "If I attempt to help you up, I will collapse."
Bluestreak's look changed to concern, and he turned on his hands and knees and clambered up on his pedes.
"Are you really okay enough to be out here? Ratchet wouldn't have signed off on you if you weren't okay, but then if you're that hurt...but then I guess if you have to babysit all of us who got into fights..."
Bluestreak looked past Prowl where Soundwave stood, optics lowered, locked in a light recharge cycle.
Throughout the past few days of their training exercises, Soundwave had been a constant presence, silent unless taking orders from Prowl, still unless following at Prowl's shoulder. A constant processing murmur reverberated through his frame as he unceasingly performed whatever functions he'd been given.
"Is it really true that he saved you?" Bluestreak asked.
Prowl nodded once. "Yes."
Bluestreak frowned and looked back over the vast desert before them. Numerous autobots scrambled at the bottom in three-mech teams, struggling to bring themselves up to the top.
"Now that I know what it's for," Bluestreak said, "it doesn't seem like it's busywork or punishment. That's what all of us were thinking when you assigned it. But now that I know it's something mechs had to do before and that there's something real behind it, it kinda feels bad that we can't really do it so easily."
"It is not an easy task," Prowl said. "All mechs are not meant for all jobs. I cannot shoot as well as you do."
"I can't calculate like you do," Bluestreak chuckled. "Wouldn't want to, even."
"The right bot for the right job," Prowl said.
Bluestreak looked at him for a long moment. Even as Warpath and Powerglide finally gathered themselves up and headed for the mess hall, Bluestreak considered his question. When they were alone, Bluestreak asked.
"Why?"
Prowl heard all of the different questions wrapped up in that. Why the training exercises? Why Soundwave? Why were the cross-factionists still being trusted? Why Starscream? Why the prisoner down in the brig?
Prowl did not miss the way Sunstreak and Sideswipe both stood a little straighter, listening attentively. Anything he said here would immediately reach the rest of the Autobots.
"How much about the assassination attempt is known?" Prowl asked.
"Just that there was a bomb," Bluestreak said. "And that he...he took the blast."
"During one of many interrogations," Prowl began, "a drone disguised as an Autobot came inside and sealed the chamber. It was directly in front of me. It drew its turrets at what would have been point blank range—"
Bluestreak winced.
"—and then I could not see the drone. Soundwave had stepped in front and struck it repeatedly. I do not recall hearing automatic fire, but from the wounds he suffered afterward, Soundwave must have taken several shots before he disabled it. After he inflicted enough damage, the drone detonated. It destroyed most of the room, and it nearly killed both of us."
Bluestreak studied Prowl's frame and the concentration of patches and cracks on his frame, then mentally envisioned Prowl behind Soundwave and puzzled out the way that the blast must have unfolded.
"Did he know it was rigged to explode?" Bluestreak asked.
"Not until the last moment," Prowl said. "He had little time to act."
"So he backed up and—"
"No," Prowl said. "He engaged and tried to disable it up until it exploded against him. When he woke, he spliced our fuel lines together to keep me alive."
Bluestreak's lips parted. "Why?"
"...for many reasons." Prowl tilted his helm. "But ultimately because Megatron can no longer keep up the lie that what he wants is what is best for all mechs."
Bluestreak looked at Soundwave again. His fingertips twitched with the constant command to disengage a targeting lock on Soundwave's sparkcase. The warbuild stood taller than both of them, and his armor plating made for an intimidating target. It didn't matter that his armaments had been visibly removed, leaving indentations where sonic arrays had been stripped off. They knew what a warbuild was capable of. Bluestreak had seen all too clearly through his sniper scope when lining up a shot.
He met Prowl's gaze, and the unspoken lay between them.
Praxus.
Prowl closed his optics.
"We're done for the day," he said. "I will see you tomorrow."
Bluestreak put his hand on Prowl's. Turned to leave. Kept a wary watch on Soundwave the entire time, and transformed, rolling too quickly back to the Ark.
Prowl stood for a few more minutes before taking mercy on everyone else, ordering them to return early the next morning before dismissing them for the evening. A heap of collapsed bots gave weak salutes and untangled themselves from the bottom of the plateau, giving rides to those too tired to transform. The line back had all the air of a demoralized retreat.
"Ain't any of 'em gonna start a fight," Sideswipe chuckled. "They're all running on fumes."
"Mission accomplished for now," Prowl said. "The real test will be keeping them from fighting when they are not spent."
He glanced back at Soundwave.
"Re-engage, please, but continue processing. We are returning to the officer's mess."
Soundwave's optics rekindled with their usual golden glow. He took a long vent, standing straight, and glanced down at Prowl.
"Query, continue processing indefinitely?"
"Yes, for as long as Red Alert sends you data."
Prowl briefly considered if their paranoid security officer would continue to trust Soundwave, but in truth, the data sent involved more base functions and synchronous movement than actual sensitive material. And, if necessary, Red Alert could always order Sunstreak and Sideswipe to gun Soundwave down where he stood. Unlikely that he would do that without asking Prowl's opinion, but...
Escorted by the twins, Prowl and Soundwave walked the long way to the ark. By mutual agreement, neither strained their transformation cogs nor risked exposing their healing systems to the drifting sand. And Prowl made sure that the elevator they took was both empty and large enough to fit all four of them. Only when they were well ensconced in the Ark did Sideswipe and Sunstreak go off duty and leave them unguarded.
A message came on high priority.
I'm sending along your medical logs, Ratchet said. Soundwave's, too. You're both fit to leave the medbay for your own quarters, provided you come by for scheduled checkups and don't push yourself.
Understood, Prowl said. And then paused. Hm. That...presents a new difficulty.
No quarters for the boom-box, huh? Ratchet shook his helm once. Well, that's definitely a 'you' job. Just don't park him next to my berth, huh?
Oh? Do you sleep anywhere but the medbay? Prowl asked.
Aft. Just whatever you do, make sure he gets a real berth. He took a hell of a beating, too. If he wasn't a warbuild, he wouldn't have made it.
Neither of us would have, Prowl said. Thank you for the update. I will see to his quartering.
The exchange took only a moment. Choosing Soundwave's quarters took even less time—large enough for his frame, removed from the Autobot general ranks, isolated from the rest of the officers, and close so that Prowl could keep him under watch beyond what Red Alert had set up. He had chosen it by the time they reached the mess hall.
There were no other officers when they entered, just a single mostly-empty cube a few tables away. Too early for most of the command cadre, too late for Perceptor and Ratchet, and Jazz...
No. Thinking about Jazz still hurt.
Prowl directed Soundwave to fetch two cubes and sat down to wait. His struts ached as he finally took the weight off of his joints, and he lowered his helm as all of the tension eased out of his shoulders.
"Prowl...in need of medical attention?"
Soundwave set the cubes down but didn't sit.
"No," Prowl said, waving one hand without looking at him. "I'm fine. I am merely tired."
"Understood." Soundwave joined him at the table, sitting across, and put his hands around the cube. He didn't drink, staring into the glowing energon. "Prowl's plan, working?"
"Bluestreak did not fire on you," Prowl vented. "Nor did Powerglide or the others. That is...progress."
Soundwave didn't respond.
Prowl straightened, rotating his neck and easing a kinked wire. He took a long draft of his cube, noting that Soundwave began drinking as well.
"You will not be returning to medbay," Prowl said. "Save for regular checkups."
Soundwave waited. He must have wondered where they intended to put him, but he didn't press for answers. Prowl had the sense that if he didn't clarify, Soundwave would recharge there in the mess hall. Prowl considered, taking another draft, and still the other mech waited.
"You will be restricted to quarters when not under my orders," Prowl said. "Or anyone else's, although I doubt you will be summoned. Your information is, at this point, no longer viable and must be considered out of date. Your main value lies in data processing and conditioning mechs to your presence."
Soundwave nodded once, acknowledging without argument.
"You are not being remanded to the brig, but you will remain under lockdown for everyone's safety. Including yours."
Another nod. Soundwave took a drink, and his optics drifted closed. Prowl had never seen him relax. Possibly no one ever had. Soundwave didn't smile, but his faceplate lost the tension at the corners of his optics. His edges smoothed out so that the light gleamed without flaw.
Soundwave was very shiny.
Prowl finished the cube but made no move to stand.
"You will be in the berth across from mine."
Now Soundwave reacted, optics slightly wide, and he regarded Prowl in surprise.
"Such proximity permitted?"
"I foresee no objections to it," Prowl said. Then, more slowly, as if he hadn't considered the thought before. "...do you object?"
Soundwave did not know how to respond. It made no sense to be placed so closely when there were farther, more secluded rooms. Jazz would have kept him in the brig, and Soundwave would have willingly stayed there as long as Jazz came to visit. There was a sense of clandestine secrecy, as if Jazz were breaking rules to meet him, and the long hours away made their stolen minutes so much sweeter.
But to be taken out of the brig and kept close, kept under watch, kept busy under a heavy processing load that left him little free will save to follow Prowl's command...brought a familiar stability. Prowl was second of the whole Autobot faction, above Jazz even, but more than that. Prowl was superior. Prowl's logic could be trusted. Even though they were not in each other's cortex, Soundwave thought that he could map out the logic tree that Prowl had created. And the logic tree held certain branches that, if Soundwave followed them, led to one appealing conclusion...
Their optics met.
Yes. Prowl had come to the same conclusion.
85% accordance and growing.
"Hypothesis created," Soundwave said. "But uncertain. In need of more data points."
Prowl tilted his helm. "'Hypothesis'?"
"Soundwave...1.5% out of tune."
With Jazz? No, Prowl thought, that hasn't changed. With civilians? With car culture? Then with who—?
Oh.
Prowl met his look.
"More data points...can be arranged," Prowl offered tentatively. "To bring you more in tune."
Soundwave gave a slow nod. "Complete harmony, perhaps impossible. But such harmony, desired."
But Prowl was waiting for Jazz. Prowl was a commanding officer. Prowl had numerous reasons not to trust Soundwave completely, even now. Prowl had the trust of the base riding on his cold logic. The base needed Prowl's impartiality and emotionless dedication to his duty. They wanted a glorified calculator.
But there were no other mechs who would work themselves into self-righteous indignation over mathematical formula. And certainly no other mech with such golden optics.
"Complete harmony is indeed impossible," Prowl said. "But the attempt would be..."
He struggled for something that didn't imply anything improper and couldn't find the word.
"...desirable," Soundwave said.
They held each other's looks for a long moment. The moment grew, then grew heavy. Soundwave finished his cube and stared into it.
"Programming matrices," Prowl said as if it needed clarification. "Logic trees."
"Base functions for database management," Soundwave added in agreement.
"Comparing battle algorithms," Prowl said. "We could discover the link between our favored formulae."
Soundwave's laugh was more of a vent—short, soft, startled at the suggestion. "Prowl's campaign solutions, often superior."
Prowl felt a wave of satisfaction. "Not going to defend Haytham's parabolas?"
"Parabolas, not in question. Prowl's computations..."
Soundwave paused, allowing for the full sense of what he was about to say.
"No. Prowl...superior."
This time, the thought between them did not land awkwardly or with disgust. Prowl studied him again, reading the small adjustments of Soundwave's optical servos. Seated this closely, the uniform golden glow colored every lens and switch of Soundwave's optics so that they blended and melted together, giving Soundwave a gaze focused on Prowl with hungry admiration.
A memory rose up—smoke, burning oil, the metallic tang of bent steel—and Prowl flinched as if struck. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to bring it up. He didn't want it in his memory banks. But if he didn't ask, it would always be there.
"Were you at Praxus?"
Soundwave's look fell away from Prowl, pulling inward as memories drew Soundwave back.
"Negative. Stationed at Kaon at time, developing control over Cybertronian communications grid. Praxus..."
Soundwave paused, loathe to discuss it. This topic hurt Prowl. The atrocity cut close, but to excuse himself from it was beneath both of them.
"Praxus, not related to communications grid. Praxus...not considered."
Prowl didn't move. He had only survived by virtue of being hundreds of miles away in another city, on an assignment he no longer remembered. When he had finally returned to find only Bluestreak amidst the carnage, the war that had seemed so far away was suddenly devouring his whole world. To hear that someone could simply not think of it...
"1.5% out of tune," he murmured.
Soundwave opened his mouth to respond. Closed it and lay his hands on the table.
"For now," Soundwave agreed. "For now."
Prowl met his gaze. Didn't smile, but gave a small nod. They passed another few moments in silence, and then in mutual agreement, they rose from the table. Prowl's pede socket buckled and refused to straighten, and he took Soundwave's offered hand. By the time they reached the door, Prowl was moving under his own power but still holding Soundwave's hand.
Two tables away, seated behind a mostly-empty cube of energon, Mirage finally lowered his invisibility and finished his drink.