Happy Thanksgiving, every one!
Ratchet kept a sensor on the shorter, door-winged mech as they made their way to the med bay. The Autobots they passed in the halls would either skirt around them in obvious fear or turn heated glares on the soon to be ex-Decepticon. Either way, there was no missing the fact that his reception was less than welcoming.
For his part, Prowl seemed impassive to the negative attention. At least outwardly. His time in the tactician's head had given Ratchet some insight into the mech's thoughts. Enough to be able to see the tell-tale signs of the stress the hostility was causing.
And yet it stopped there. No anger, no resentment, no bitterness, no hatred. Just stress.
When the reinforced doors to the med bay hissed open, they were greeted by the noise only excited yet exhausted sparklings could generate. Smokescreen and the handful of other damaged survivors of the massacre were still in the medical ward along with the two sparklings in their number. Said sparklings were currently playing together at Jazz's pedes as the minibot spoke quietly with Smokescreen.
It was unclear who noticed their entry first, but awareness of their arrival spread like wildfire. All activity in the med bay ground to a complete halt once its occupants saw the black and white, red-optic mech who followed the CMO. Fear, anger and alarm all shot through the various mechs present.
Behind him, Prowl's doorwings shifted slightly, uneasy.
But the silence stretched unbroken. Until one of the sparklings, the larger one, squealed joyfully and launched himself away from Jazz to zip across the length of the med bay in a flash of gray and blue. He was heedless of the various cries of alarm from the adults present.
Without pause, the sparkling jumped onto Prowl's leg and scrambled up his frame to press himself over Prowl's spark.
Caught off guard by the excited – and blatantly happy – greeting, Prowl nonetheless placed one arm under the sparkling and the other around his back.
The sight of a rumored nearly emotionless Decepticon tactician cuddling an Autobot sparkling – any sparkling really – was so incongruous that none of the other 'Bots said anything for a long moment.
Ratchet alone was not in complete shock, having seen Prowl's reactions to the sparkling from his scan. "Well. That was unexpected."
Prowl looked up from the sparkling he was holding to give the medic what he had to term a wry expression.
"I found him in the wreckage of a partially destroyed building when the attack first began." Prowl reminded the medic. "Apparently I made a good impression on him."
First Aid, who had been standing by the door when they had entered spoke. "I'd say. It's amazing really. It's like he was waiting for you. You are the first one he's seemed comfortable with. As strange as that may be."
First Aid's optics widened, as if he could not believe he had said that and Ratchet's apprentice cringed when Prowl's red optics flicked to him. Surprisingly, Prowl's gaze was averted quickly as soon as he saw the young medic's reaction, almost as if the tactician was trying to avoid setting First Aid on edge.
When the tactician spoke, he did so very quietly confirming Ratchet's assumption. "Yes. As strange as it may be."
By then, the sparkling was clicking, settling into recharge. Ratchet chuckled slightly at the brief expression of shock that flickered across the former Decepticon's face when Prowl made the realization the youngling was recharging in his arms.
Only to frown with concern when Smokescreen spoke from where he sat on his berth. "Well. I'll be. That's the first time he's gone into recharge since we got here."
Prowl blinked, looking up at the other tactician, clearly taking in his counterpart's condition and the energon drip that was still connected to his systems and the various fresh weld marks that crisscrossed his frame. His optics traveled over the monitors hooked up to smokescreen, a concerned frown flicking briefly over his faceplates.
Smokescreen cocked an optic ridge, having also observed Prowl's assessment. "So, Prowl. We meet again."
Prowl took a tiny step toward the other tactician but stopped when Jazz made a subtly defensive move. "Indeed, Smokescreen. I regret it is in such a manner as this."
Smokescreen sneered, his optics blazing. "What? Aren't you proud to be a Decepticon?"
Prowl flinched ever so slightly at the anger and bitterness in those words, knowing he was the cause. No one missed the undertones of unspeakable loss in his former apprentice's voice. Prowl took a few cautious steps closer to the other tactician. Ratchet stiffened, ready to defend the injured Smokescreen. So did every other able-bodied mech. Prowl froze, taking in their reactions.
Displays of that nature were unknown among the Decepticon ranks.
Despite the growing tension, Prowl took another wary step toward the injured Autobot, speaking lowly. "It has been a long time since I have been proud of my choice, Autobot Tactician Smokescreen."
The flick of the other Praxian's doorwings indicated his scornful disbelief was there for everyone to see.
Prowl allowed his own doorwings to move subtly in a way that hinted at the shame Ratchet had detected during his scan of Prowl's processors for having had any part in assisting Megatron, even though the assault on Praxus had been done completely behind his back.
The tension whipped between the two tacticians, hinting at the depth of the history between them. Prowl's doorwings drooped slightly. "I assure you I had no role in the attack that destroyed Praxus, nor do I condone such a tactic."
Smokescreen huffed angrily, ice-blue optics glinting dangerously. Ratchet had the distinct impression that if his physical condition had not prohibited the action, Smokescreen probably would have attacked Prowl.
Prowl looked aside before drawing himself up formally and returning his now neutral gaze back to the other tactician. "Autobot Tactician Smokescreen, the future of Cybertron depends on the Autobots' ability to counter these new tactics being used by Megatron, and the Autobots rely on you. If at any time you believe my abilities or knowledge would be of assistance towards that end, they are at your disposal."
Smokescreen blinked his optic shutters in surprise, then narrowed them suspiciously. "You are our prisoner. If we want anything in your head, we can just take it."
Ratchet and Jazz reacted minutely to that; it was not an entirely accurate statement…unless Prowl violated his parole. All optics, however, settled almost nervously on the Decepticon, waiting for his reaction to the open threat.
Prowl, still holding the now soundly recharging sparkling, simply bowed his head in formal acknowledgement of the other tactician's observation, as if it were an accepted and undisputed fact. "Nevertheless, the offer remains."
An uneasy silence settled over the med bay after that. Ratchet cleared his vents, gesturing for Prowl to follow into a more private treatment room and was not truly surprised when the Decepticon tactician complied without fuss.
"What's the plan, Doc-bot?" Jazz asked, leaving Smokescreen's side to sidle up next to Prowl in the medic's wake.
"He has accepted Prime's offer to defect." Ratchet informed the saboteur and anyone else within audio range. "I will be installing the tracer programs and the tracking device."
Jazz frowned, his optics dropping to the still clicking bundle of gray and blue in Prowl's arms. "What about lil' Blue there?"
Ratchet was about to answer, but Prowl beat him to it, looking down at Jazz without any outward indication as to whether he felt uncomfortable being that close to his former interrogator. "'Blue?"
Jazz blinked. "Oh, yeah. Bluestreak. Tha lil' one's designation. He seems ta like it at least."
Prowl shifted his gaze to the sparkling in his arms, the hard light in his optics softening a hair. "I see. If he is content like this, I will continue to hold him."
Jazz blinked, his vents hitching for just an astrosecond as those ruby optics flicked up to meet his.
Ratchet's gruff voice interrupted the moment. "I cannot offline you for the procedures if you are holding him."
Prowl looked up at the medic thoughtfully. Only because Jazz was still looking at him, was he able to see a hint of trepidation flicker behind those impassive faceplates. "Offlining is required for those procedures?"
Ratchet stared at him for a moment, seeing the same thing Jazz had. "Required? No. But not very pleasant if online."
Prowl's gaze was inscrutable, though the tension racing through his frame was almost palpable, at least now that Ratchet knew to look for it. "I will leave it to your medical judgment as to what is best for… Bluestreak. If this is his first recharge since the assault on Praxus however, I have no wish to disturb it. I believe I can survive your installations while online."
Something about Prowl's demeanor made Ratchet think the Decepticon would prefer to be online even if in agony than offline; as if he did not fully trust that he would be onlined afterward. A glance at Jazz confirmed the special ops agent had seen the same thing.
"Very well. Come." Ratchet pointed to a berth and watched as Prowl walked to it feeling a hint of something he could almost call sympathy for the Praxian. Then he looked down at Jazz, as the silver minibot made to follow. "What do you want, Jazz?"
Jazz jerked to a halt, flicking a clawed hand towards Prowl. "If he's gonna be conscious for this, I'm gonna be here to back ya up. Jus' in case."
Ratchet drew in a sharp intake of air, his armor flaring in indignation that Jazz would make such a unanimous decision without consulting him. He was about to give the smaller mech a piece of his processor but then caught the slight jerk of Prowl's head: a reluctant nod of acceptance.
Ratchet deflated, releasing the vent. "Fine." He spun away from Jazz and stalked to Prowl, aware Jazz followed closely only to take up a position out of the way, but close enough to jump in if necessary.
Prowl watched Ratchet with well-controlled wariness as the medic retrieved a tracking module. He held it up briefly for Prowl to see clearly before gesturing for his arm. "I will place the tracking device first. Give me your right arm and…"
"I would suggest placing it under the dorsal plating between my doorwings." Prowl said quickly but without inflection, lifting his optics from the module to Ratchet's faceplates. "That is not a spot I can reach on my own."
Jazz and Ratchet exchanged a look of shock. Then they looked back at Prowl in unison. Then Jazz smirked slightly, reminded of watching Prowl lighting up the pathways to that personal file. "I dunno Ratch. He's got a point. Why do we put those things where tha one wearin' 'em can just take 'em off?"
Ratchet huffed air through his vents. "Very well. You haven't turned your pain receptors back on, have you?"
Prowl shook his head. "Not yet."
"Keep it that way." With a barely audible grumble Ratchet circled the berth to stand behind Prowl.
For his part, Prowl was careful not to jostle the recharging Bluestreak as the indicated armor plating was carefully removed. Even with his pain sensors offline, the pressure the procedure inflicted on the local pressure grids was exceedingly uncomfortable. It took a supreme act of will and self control not to transmit that discomfort in anyway to the peaceful, blissfully ignorant youngling in his arms.
Aside from not wanting to do so for his own reasons, Prowl clearly remembered Ironhide's snarled warning back in Praxus about traumatizing Bluestreak in any way. He was not about to test the weapon's specialist's resolve.
Thankfully, Ratchet made quick work of welding the device in place and then re-attaching the armor plate. Prowl could feel the minute mass of the tracker and was quietly pleased. In that specific location, as sensitive as it was, he would never grow so used to it he would forget about its presence: there would always be a tiny prick; a reminder.
No matter how much the Autobots might someday come to trust him – as unlikely as that seemed at the moment – so long as that tracking device remained he would be reminded how fragile trust could be. It would help him not to forget how he ended up in this place to begin with, in that he had arrogantly trusted only in his calculations and cold logic without taking anything else into consideration.
Finally the armor plate was completely re-attached and Prowl shifted his doorwings, helping the piece settle more firmly in place.
Ratchet circled back in front of him, crossing his arms over his chassis. "Well. You handled that well."
Prowl's doorwings twitched again. "One learns to live with physical discomfort when living under Megatron's command."
"I don't doubt." Ratchet held up a data hub. "Now, the tracer…"
Prowl refused to cringe, but he looked warily at the medic as he gently interrupted him. "I will need to scan it and mark it as an accepted program modification or my firewalls and malware programs will eventually dismantle it."
Any pleasantness in the medic's persona evaporated, replaced almost instantly with cold, hard suspicion. "Why would I believe that?"
Prowl responded to the question asked, not the barely muted hostility in the CMO's tone. "I wrote the programs to counter Soundwave's code manipulation. Any coding changes that I have not specifically approved are automatically targeted and overwritten."
"They are effective too." Jazz piped up, much to Ratchet's obvious annoyance. "Not that I trust you, or anything." He added quickly as Prowl shot him a surprised glance.
Prowl eyed the saboteur appraisingly for a long moment, glanced at the clearly irritated and short-tempered medic and then released a vent. He looked at the peacefully clicking sparkling in his arms and then slowly raised his gaze back to Jazz. "You are, of course, welcome to oversee the process."
It was said with a grimace the tactician was not quite able to suppress. Jazz was taken aback by the suggestion, but Ratchet was looking thoughtful. "You know, actually, that isn't a bad idea."
Jazz shifted his gaze to the medic as Prowl fought to prevent himself from groaning. He watched as Ratchet stepped away to rummage through a drawer for several astroseconds before returning with an interfacial hub. It was the type that allowed medics to safely access the processor of a mech who had been infected with a nasty virus. 'Safely' being a relative term. What it really did was allow more than one medic to connect to a single patient so that each medic could watch the digital back-side of their compatriots when attempting to manage a dangerous virus.
Prowl managed to contain any reaction he might have had as the device was set on the berth next to his right thigh. He looked up at the medic who had just deposited it and released another vent at the expectant look in Ratchet's bright blue optics.
Breaking off his gaze when Ratchet cocked an optic ridge in silent challenge, Prowl was forcibly reminded of his place. In reality, he had no rights here. He was a prisoner, at liberty only at the Autobot's sufferance.
Resignedly, the tactician reached for the appropriate cable and slid the tip into his own dataport. After a moment's hesitation, as if they were surprised at his actions, Ratchet and Jazz did likewise.
Prowl grimaced as the combined force of a one-way connection with two minds pressed against him. He shuttered his optics to shut out extra sensory data to a suddenly taxed processor. He did not so much drop his firewalls as he created a narrow opening through them, lighting up the appropriate pathways to the area he needed Ratchet to put the new coding.
After a brief moment, the CMO complied.
Prowl quickly scanned the code, learning exactly how it worked and what it would do under what circumstances.
His optics shot up to look at Ratchet. "This is still programmed to self-deactivate in three vorns."
Ratchet nodded once. "We are Autobots. We do not keep individuals loyal through threats and intimidation."
Prowl shook his helm minutely. "This is not about intimidation. It is about appropriate safety precautions. If you removed the automatic self-deactivation you can still manually remove the coding at a later date."
Ratchet's optics widened, though Jazz's expression remained masked behind his visor. Ratchet spoke slowly. "You would be taking a major chance agreeing to something like that."
Prowl canted his helm to the side ever so slightly. "You are taking a major chance in attempting to integrate me into your forces. It is an exchange I am willing to make."
Prowl was able to feel Ratchet's grudging acceptance of the compromised through the interface connection, though he could also detect his reluctance. Deeming that was permission enough, Prowl set to work modifying the tracer codes as necessary.
With the rapid efficiency by which he would later become known, Prowl deftly completed his work, all under the watchful 'gazes' of Ratchet and Jazz. When he was satisfied, Prowl presented the completed coding to his two monitors for approval.
Jazz and Ratchet exchanged another look.
Ratchet spoke first. "Impressive. Very well. All we have left is to integrate the new version and give your systems time to adjust. I still don't like doing something like this…"
Prowl acted before either Autobot could, taking the new codes and integrating them into his command-systems. His processor ached from a combination of the forced integration and the double interface connection, even so he recognized their stunned disbelief at what he had just done.
Prowl blinked his optic shutters, not understanding the reaction. "You indicated discomfort with installing a tracer program without a definite deactivation date. I simply saved you the ethical conflict."
Ratchet snarled something unintelligible about wanabes and 'bots being too smart for their own good. "Fragging idiot! Now I have to see if you royally screwed yourself."
Without warning, Ratchet dove deeper into Prowl's processor, double checking the code integrity all through Prowl's primary and secondary command cortexes. He did not bother being gentle about it.
Jazz laughed, though with a touch of pained sympathy as Prowl cringed visibly under the medic's irate mental assault. "You asked for that, mech. He doesn't like it when us non-medical types do his job for him."
Prowl winced. "So I noticed. A mistake I…" flinch, "…shall not…" wince, "…make again." Cringe.
With another angry snarl, Ratchet unplugged from the interface hub – an action Jazz quickly mirrored – before yanking it out of Prowl's port. Prowl hid whatever minor discomfort that action caused but then a yellow-green hand grabbed his throat in a manner that was eerily similar to Megatron's
Ratchet leaned in close, cerulean optics blazing. "Don't you ever, ever do something so slagged-helmed and bolt-processored again. Understand me?"
Prowl was rigid, but he was careful to hold Bluestreak secure to his chassis, not wanting to risk further traumatizing the youngling. The mask he had learned to wear over his emotions while under Megatron's command fell back into place with practiced ease.
"Understood, medic."
Ratchet blinked, taking a half step back, suddenly understanding the aloof, impassive air that the red-optic Praxian affected so easily. It seemed to be a conditioned response when he felt threatened.
With a short huff of air, Ratchet forced his armor to settle over his frame. "Good. Now. Your weapons will remain locked down until we feel you are ready to go on patrol."
Prowl nodded and then stiffened as Ratchet reached for the controls at the base of his neck. Even so, he did not dare move as Ratchet began fiddling with his communication systems, re-enabling the ex-enforcer's short-range comms.
Prowl's optic ridge quirked in silent question as Ratchet lowered his hand. Ratchet smiled slightly. "You have short range communications, good for use within the base only. Long range communications will likewise not be released until you are sent on missions."
Prowl acknowledged the information, looking down at Bluestreak again, speaking softly. "And attempting to access either before the block is removed is enough to trigger the tracer code."
Ratchet was about to say something, but Ironhide wandered in before he could, gesturing back to the main portion of the med bay. "They said the kid clung to the 'Con. I see they weren't exaggerating."
Prowl simply nodded, shifting in a way that hinted at increasing uneasiness. Ratchet likewise did not say anything he simply shrugged when Ironhide looked at him for an explanation.
"Hmph." Ironhide looked back at the youngling in question. "Well, I doubt he'll let us take him away from the mech again. Seems he wants the new resident 'Con as his guardian."
Prowl's doorwings flicked sharply if minutely in harshly muted panic. His optics flashed. "I am hardly an appropriate candidate for being Bluestreak's guardian."
"Yeah, no joke." Ironhide released another irritated vent. "But the little one refused everyone else."
Prowl went absolutely still, eyeing the massive weapon's specialist. Ratchet thought he saw a flash of alarm in those ruby optics but it was suppressed just as quickly, replaced by a mask of blandness. "What do you plan to do about it?"
Ironhide looked at Ratchet, then glanced at Jazz. Both looked in tandem at Ratchet. Ratchet thought for a moment, considering Prowl again. The Decepticon was very aware of their interactions but was clearly choosing not to interject and was instead watching the three of them warily.
After a long moment Ratchet shrugged with one shoulder. Ironhide lifted an optic ridge but Ratchet shook his helm sharply at the silent question. Then Jazz and Ironhide were in a minor staring contest of their own.
Then Jazz huffed. His engine growled and he pushed past the larger mech to stand right in front of Prowl. He made a rather intimidating sight, optics flashing behind his visor. "You will be coming with me. Your quarters will be next to mine and you will clear any and all activities through me. At least for now. I will be overseeing your guardianship of Bluestreak as well. Understood?"
Prowl nodded carefully, though he was clearly leery of having an overseer who seemed to resent the job. Ratchet almost smirked; knowing Jazz well enough to know the silver minibot was using that as a facade to hide how happy he was.
Jazz pointed a clawed finger in Prowl's faceplate. He opened his mouth to speak, then snapped his lip plates closed. That claw rotated until Jazz's palm was upward and then flicked in a summoning gesture.
Without waiting for a response, Jazz spun on his heel and stalked away. Prowl's optics shuttered in surprise, but he quickly slid from the berth and followed closely, Bluestreak still held tightly in his arms.
"For now the only place you are allowed to be without escort is your quarters. Later, when I feel comfortable with it, I might include the Rec. Room, the observatory deck and so on. Eventually, but not yet." Jazz glanced over his shoulder to see Prowl following obediently. "Clear?"
Prowl jerked a nod but Jazz had already turned back the direction he was going and did not see.
They walked in silence after that, winding their way through the base. Due to the late hour, there were few others who observed their progress. Those who did could not help but double-take at the remarkably unusual sight the three of them made. When they reached the higher ranking housing level, there were no observers.
Truly, it made more sense to house him in a more secure level, such as the level reserved for higher ranking 'Bots. More security on the level. Fewer bystanders to complicate matters. He was close at hand if needed by Intelligence. Security's headquarters were only two and a half corridors away from where the potential threat would be housed. It was perfect, really.
Jazz grinned as he stopped in front of one door, turning to look at Prowl. Those doorwings flicked upward when the ex-enforcer saw his expression. "This is the door to my quarters." He pointed to the door opposite it. "This is yours."
He turned just enough to punch in the key code to Prowl's quarters and the doors hissed open. He gestured to the now open portal. "You leave this room without an escort and you are breaking your probation."
Prowl looked slowly from the now open doorway to consider Jazz. Those ruby optics were difficult to read. After several astroseconds, when Jazz was becoming more convinced the Decepticon defector was about to object, Prowl somehow managed to stand even straighter.
Prowl nodded formally. "Understood."
Without another word or even hint of hesitation, Prowl stepped into the empty room, letting the door slide shut behind him.
… … …
Prowl stood in absolute silence, surrounded in complete blackness as the door closed, shuting out the light from the corridor. Like most Cybertronians, Prowl was not overly troubled by the lack of visual data, especially with his doorwings fully operational again. He waited, but to his surprise he never heard the sound of the door's locking mechanism. He stayed completely motionless, waiting for an entire breem, but nothing happened. He was left alone.
Releasing a vent he sent the signal to brighten the lights.
He looked around, taking in the small chamber visually at last. It was sparse, consisting of a recharge berth, a table with one chair and a basic computer terminal. However, a scan of the terminal proved that power flow was disconnected.
He drew in another intake of air. He was not in the brig, but this chamber was basically another cell, just without that designation. He had exchanged one for another in addition to a tracking module and a program that would snap him into stasis if he even thought the wrong thing.
And yet it was more than he had expected the last time he had held Bluestreak. Not much more, but with the possibility of more. He was mildly surprised Jazz had not locked him in.
A test of some kind, no doubt.
With the soft whine of hydraulics, Prowl settled onto the berth, looking at the sparkling still clinging to his chassis, clicking peacefully. Bluestreak was so innocent, dependant and yet full of potential. It was processor blowing – and just a little tank churching – that he would be entrusted with his care. Even if he was going to be watched closely.
He thought briefly about Smokescreen's threat. How likely was it to be carried out? He honestly was not sure.
For the first time in a very long time, even by Cybertronian standards, Prowl could not calculate with any degree of certainty what the next orn would bring. It was a distinctly uncomfortable position for him to be in. Knowing he had no way of changing that fact at the moment was likewise disconcerting.
He peered at the softly clicking form of the blue and gray sparkling and almost smiled. The Autobots did not trust him, even after two deep processor scans and the installation of a tracking device and a tracer program. He had no way of knowing exactly what it might take for him to gain their trust, if it were even possible. But this small, helpless, innocent sparkling trusted him.
Whatever the next orn might bring, Prowl was determined to do what was right by Bluestreak. He did not want the little one's trust to be in vain. He knew part of that meant being a decent role model, especially if Bluestreak viewed him as a guardian, simply because mimicry was a major vehicle of how younglings learned. It was a heavy responsibility, and not one Prowl was confident he was worthy of.
But the logical centers of his processors reminded him it was a waste of time to worry about possibilities he had no conceivable way of predicting. So he focused instead on his immediate circumstances.
He was still a prisoner, albeit with limited parole. He had been entrusted with the care of a sparkling. While not critical, his tanks were low on energon and likely to remain low until he could pass his probationary period. His systems were stressed and, thanks to the loss of Praxus, his emotional centers were…
He cut off that line of thought. Not knowing what was to happen to him the next orn, it was only wise to conserve energy, which meant avoiding emotional extremes. Doubting Bluestreak would allow himself to be removed from his chassis as of yet, Prowl simply reclined on his berth, keeping one arm wrapped around the limpet like youngling. Settling down as comfortably as possible, Prowl did the only thing that was logical to do in his situation.
Setting his sensors to wake him with the slightest disturbance, Prowl powered down and triggered his own recharge cycle.
This chapter was not exactly everything I wanted it to be. I have reworked it more times than I want to admit and still can't quite put a finger on exactly what is bugging me about it. Anyway, I finally decided to just post it and move on.
I know it's a holiday and everything, but please leave a review.
