A little more than two joors after he powered down, Prowl was brought online suddenly, his sensors having detected a disturbance. Was there a threat?

His optics onlined instantly, hands tightening around Bluestreak protectively. He almost reached for his rifle, only to remember at the last astrosecond that his subspace pullers remained disconnected and that attempting to access his weapons would slap him into stasis. He huffed, irritated, looking for the danger.

It was Jazz. The saboteur was standing at the foot of his berth, staring at him, his visor a blazing sapphire blue in the otherwise pitch-black chamber. Prowl's engine revved lowly at the intrusion.

"Stand down." Jazz's voice was clipped, commanding but not overtly arrogant. "You did not lock the door."

Prowl frowned, easing himself into an upright position, releasing his hold on Bluestreak so as not to risk disturbing him. "I could say the same. Why are you here, Jazz?"

Illuminated only by the light of his visor, the silver minibot's lip plates frowned slightly. "Ta check on lil' Blue. Ta check on ya. Ta remind ya that ya don't have any privacy here. Ta remind ya of your place."

"I see." Prowl wanted to tell Jazz to get lost, that he had done what he wanted and that his presence was no longer required. But he did not dare. His position among the Autobots was far too tenuous and he suspected Jazz was intentionally pointing that out.

Then Jazz produced a small cube of energon and placed it on the table. "This is for Blue' when he wakes." He produced a datapad. "This is for you. Have it finished within three joors, 'cause that's when Ironhide will be here to start your evaluations."

Prowl watched his former interrogator closely. "Understood."

Jazz flashed him a smile that was more warning than friendly and sauntered out. Prowl watched him, releasing a vent of air as the door closed. Then he looked at the cube of energon sitting on the table. He hesitated a moment and then stood, he grabbed the datapad and activated it. While it was clear he was not to be given full rations of energon, he was pleased to see they were not shorting Bluestreak.

He walked to the far wall, using the movement to work out the remaining kinks in his joints, and started perusing the files on the datapad. They consisted entirely of Autobot protocols and regulations. There were over eight hundred regulations on the pad. He released a sigh of air through his vents, knowing it would be impossible for him to process the entirety of the datapad's information in the time allotted. But he would do his best and hope punishment for failure would not be too arduous.

Thankfully, he found the reading interesting, though he could not help but make note of holes in some of the procedures. He tagged what he found, along with noting several recommended ways of solving the noted short-comings as well as several calculated probable ramifications for each recommendation.

Thankfully, the same tactical computer and processor set up that allowed for him to manage battles and troops on several fronts simultaneously, allowed him to process the data quickly, even if he was making recommendations as he went. Therefore, he was almost a third of the way through the files when the sensation of being watched brought his optics up to the sparkling.

The tiny smile that barely touched the corner of his lip plates was unstoppable. "Hello. Bluestreak, I presume?" The little helm bobbed affirmatively. "We have not been properly introduced. I am Prowl."

Prowl stood, placing the datapad on the table as he walked closer to the sparkling. Bluestreak whirr-clicked happily and reached up to touch Prowl's hand in greeting.

Prowl blinked. "You understand what I am saying?"

There was a hesitance in the mostly gray youngling, then his helm bobbed in another nod. Prowl blinked again. "Have you had standard language datapacks downloaded yet?"

Big blue optics stared, his head cocked quizzically, and Prowl realized that was a 'no.'

Nodding, Prowl reached for the cube of energon Jazz had left and handed it to Bluestreak. The youngling smiled and lifted it, downing half of it in one gulp. Then, young optics widened and he pulled it away from his lip plates, staring down into it.

There was only a small amount of the glowing energy left, but he slowly lifted it up to Prowl.

Prowl stared dumbly at the cube, then at Bluestreak. "You do not want it?"

Bluestreak hesitated, looking at the cube. He pointed to it, then pointed to Prowl and offered it to him again.

Prowl blinked, understanding, but staring a moment before he actually responded, so caught off guard was he. Slowly he shook his helm. "Thank you, Bluestreak, but that energon is for you…" It was on the tip of his glossa to lie and say he had already had his, but the sparkling trusted him for some reason and he was loath to do anything to break that trust. It had been so long since anyone had trusted him, longer still since he had been able to trust anyone else.

Trust was, after all, a rare commodity among Decepticons: one that was likely to get a 'bot killed.

In looking at the earnest optics that stared up at him with unabashed trust and open concern, Prowl knew he could not lie. He would not, could not, do anything to break the little youngling's trust. Before he was consciously aware of moving, Prowl found himself kneeling in front of the sparkling.

He spoke quietly. "Bluestreak, that energon is yours. I am sure I will get my own energon in a little while."

Bluestreak put a tentative hand on Prowl's chassis and pat it gently, his large optics questioning. Prowl released a soft vent of heated air. How to explain?

"Bluestreak, I am going to be very honest with you… our home was destroyed by a an army that the 'bots at this base are fighting. Everyone here wants the best for you, we want to keep you safe."

Bluestreak looked to the side, his faceplates furrowed in thought. Prowl gave him time to process the information. The optics that were turned back to him were sad, swimming in lubricant. Then he patted Prowl's chassis again, questioning. What about you? Was unspoken.

"I want you to be safe as well, and I will do everything in my ability to ensure that you are." Prowl assured.

Doorwings perked a little at the reassurance, but Bluestreak shook his helm and pat Prowl's chassis again and the tactician realized he had misunderstood.

He released another vent resignedly. "I am not trusted here, Bluestreak. That is why no one is pleased that you want me to be your guardian."

Big blue optics widened even further as Bluestreak's helm canted to the side. It was an unspoken demand to know why. Prowl resisted the youngling's inquisitive expression, but when the little gray hand tentatively stroked his arm he knew he did not have a choice.

He tore his gaze away from the trusting face turned up to him expectantly. He was about to do what he desperately wanted to avoid: destroy Bluestreak's trust in him. But he could not avoid doing so, because if he lied he would do the same thing. He released a vent. "You wish to know why no one trusts me with you?"

Bluestreak nodded.

Prowl shuttered his own optics briefly. "I… I am not trusted because I used to fight for their enemy… for the side that destroyed our home."

Bluestreak did not respond for a long moment, almost as if he was not sure he should believe Prowl's words. But then wide blue optics blazed and the little helm shook wildly, hands pushing desperately against Prowl to put distance between them. Prowl reached out for him, but Bluestreak trilled suddenly afraid.

Feeling his spark rip apart as he allowed Bluestreak to back away, Prowl watched in muted horror as the youngling pushed himself against the furthest wall, curling in on himself. The little frame shook in time with keening sobs.

Alarm shot through Prowl. He was a tactician. Comforting sparklings was not something he was programmed for. Oh, he had learned a few tricks, but this was beyond his experience. Lacking a better idea at the moment, he reached out and picked up the small cube Bluestreak had dropped and moved slowly to where the youngling was now cowering.

"Bluestreak… you need to finish your energon." It was lame and sounded as lame to his audios as it felt to say it.

Bluestreak, for his part, just curled tighter in on himself, pressing himself against the wall piteously.

Prowl knelt, not wanting to crowd him. "I did not mean to frighten you, Bluestreak." There was no response. Still at a loss, Prowl hesitantly reached out to place a hand between the trembling little doorwings. His spark ached for the sparkling. "I would never do anything to hurt you."

Bluestreak looked up, accusation in his blue gaze as he whistled and clicked agitatedly. But that was not sufficient to express the youngling's irritation apparently, as he then launched himself at Prowl, pounding tiny fists against whatever armor plate he could reach. Prowl's optics widened in surprise at the assault, and he pulled his arm away.

But Bluestreak was not mollified. The tantrum was not to get Prowl away from him; it was something else. It was a release of all the emotions – the anger, the fear, the hatred, the helplessness – that the orphaned sparkling had not had an opportunity to express at those who had destroyed his home and killed his creators. Blinded by the depth of his grief, Bluestreak charged, striking wildly at the nearest available target.

That the youngling felt safe enough to give vent to the pain he head kept internalized escaped Prowl at the moment. He was so surprised that he did not respond immediately. He was not in danger from the assault, Bluestreak was only scratching his paint, even if it felt like his spark was being torn apart.

"Bluestreak… I know you have lost a lot. I am no longer aligned with those who destroyed Praxus. That is why I am here." Another small fist landed on his armor. "I did not mean to hurt you, but I wanted you to know the truth. I understand if you no longer want me to be your guardian…"

Bluestreak made another angry wail, his optics blazing. Prowl blinked, not knowing what had triggered that. The sparkling continued to berate him in clicks, whistles and beeps, doorwings spread wide with obvious anger. At least the assault had stopped.

Prowl was struck with the interesting conundrum that he was both glad Bluestreak could not speak intelligently – because of what he would probably be saying – and a desire to be able to understand what he was wanting to communicate.

Now Bluestreak was standing with hands on his hip joints, waiting for a response. A response Prowl had no idea how to frame. "Bluestreak I… I'm sorry. I… " An idea struck him. Even if Bluestreak demanded a different guardian afterward, there was something he could do. "I will speak to Ratchet about getting you language downloads."

Bluestreak stepped back, looking puzzled at the sudden change in topic, trilling softly. Prowl obligingly explained. "Once you have the upgrades, you will be able to communicate more clearly.

Though his optics were still awash with lubricant, the anger and hostility seemed to evaporate. He gently pat Prowl's chassis softly, questioningly, as if seeking confirmation.

Prowl nodded. "You have every right to be angry Bluestreak. I am too. Not at you, but at those who have done this to you. I believe you are ready for the upgrade and I will do what I can to help you get it."

Bluestreak considered him closely, then whirred softly.

… … …

Jazz joined Ironhide and Ratchet, hunched around the monitors in the security office. Currently, all three were focused on the screens showing the feeds from the monitoring devices in the Decepticon defector's quarters.

But the ex-Con had not done anything worth watching. They had set up a scenario designed to tempt him.

Ironhide grumbled. "He should be low on energon by now."

Jazz nodded, arms crossed over his chassis as he watched with interest. Prowl had onlined as defensively as he would have expected, but had not otherwise responded to the blatant invasion of privacy.

"He is." He confirmed. "He's only had one small cube since he arrived. And he was leaking energon from his wounds for a while."

He frowned, Prowl had done nothing but take up the datapad and begin reviewing it. Never once had he even touched the cube, leaving it to sit there, though the silver minibot knew it had to be mocking the needs of his frame. But in watching on the monitor, one would be hard pressed to even presume the tactician was in any way affected.

"Bluestreak is powering up." Ratchet said suddenly, redrawing Jazz's attention.

Three sets of optics watched carefully as Prowl became aware of the little one's attention. Within moments the adult Praxian handed the cube of energon to the youngling without even a hint of hesitation.

Jazz blinked, sharing a surprised glance with Ratchet. Decepticons, even those who defected, were not known for having altruistic motivation. They were further taken off guard when Prowl clearly refused to accept the small amount of energon Bluestreak offered him.

"You think he might actually have a moral code in there, somewhere?" Ironhide demanded gruffly.

"It is possible." Ratchet answered.

Jazz watched carefully, his processor racing. Then the youngling freaked out, scrambling away from Prowl as if terrified. Or infuriated.

Jazz growled, the noise echoed by Ironhide. "That fragging glitch!"

Ironhide was on his pedes, but Ratchet shot out a hand to stop him. "Wait!"

Despite every instinct telling them not to, both warriors waited, their frames tense as they watched. Prowl hesitantly approached the sparkling, dropping to one knee.

"It could just be a psychological response to the trauma." Ratchet intoned softly. "Bluestreak has not had a chance to grieve. If he trusts Prowl, that could be what we are seeing. I don't think it was anything Prowl did… see how he is trying to comfort him? Remarkable."

Ironhide grunted noncommittally, then growled again as the Sparkling responded by flying at the former Decepticon with tiny fists. The weapons specialist was on his pedes instantly. "He might hurt the youngling for that. No 'Con'll allow something like that to go unpunished."

Jazz was up as well, moving for the door. "Slag. He's right!"

Ratchet tried to stop them. "If we barge in there, he'll know he's being monitored."

Jazz whirled back, optics blazing behind his visor as Ironhide continued for the door. "If we don't, Bluestreak might not be alive to care."

"Slag." Ratchet was likewise on his pedes with a swiftness that belied his bulk.

All three made it to the Decepticon's quarters at a dead run. They burst through the door with such suddenness that Bluestreak squeaked in fright and jumped onto Prowl's chassis, clinging to him.

… … …

Prowl barely had time to register the sudden invasion before he found his arms full of trembling sparkling. Only recognition of the three new-comers kept Prowl from responding defensively.

Ironhide's weapons were spinning warningly, Jazz appeared braced for anything, and even Ratchet looked worried. It did not take Prowl long to deduce that they were aware of the tantrum Bluestreak just had and were concerned for his safety. That meant they must have had him under surveillance.

Of course. Though he was tempted to take offense, he was all too aware that with most Decepticons an attack like that would be responded to violently. They had a right to be concerned about the youngling's safety, even if it was unnecessary.

"Don't move, 'Con." Ironhide's growled command carried dangerous promise and Prowl was reminded of the weapon specialist's threat regarding traumatizing Bluestreak.

Prowl nodded, looking down at Bluestreak to see wide, scared optics looking back at him.

"Do not worry, Bluestreak. None of them will harm you." He spoke softly, even as he lifted his hands slightly in surrender.

A low, questioning whirr was the sparkling's response along with another gentle pat to his chassis.

Prowl's doorwings flicked. "Do you remember what I said about trust?"

Bluestreak nodded, then his optics widened in understanding. Indecision warred briefly on his young face, then he lowered himself to the ground, turning to face the three new mechs. He kept one hand on Prowl, as if seeking comfort.

Jazz smiled, though it was laced with tension. He waved Bluestreak away from Prowl. "Why don't ya come o'er here, little guy. Lets leave the mean 'ol 'Con and go have some fun."

Prowl did not move, letting Bluestreak make his own decision. But the little blue and gray youngling shook his helm, curling back against Prowl's chassis.

Prowl caught the hint of indecision and concern that flicked through the three Autobots and released a vent. A quick check of his chronometer confirmed it was only fifteen breems from when Jazz had told him his evaluations would begin. He looked down at the youngling .

"Bluestreak, please go with Jazz. Do not worry. It is time for me to start my… training. That is not something you can accompany me to. Jazz will watch out for you."

Bluestreak hesitated, looking from Jazz to Ratchet to Ironhide, then up at Prowl. Blue optics searched red for a long moment, in which none of the Autobots dared even cycle air. Finally Bluestreak reached up to gently touch Prowl's cheek plating.

It was either an attempt to elicit a promise or the giving of a promise. Prowl was not sure. Perhaps it was both.

Then the youngling smiled brightly and nodded. With a happy trill he then bounded over to Jazz.

With an unreadable glance from Bluestreak to Prowl, Jazz ushered the small Praxian from the room.

Once they were gone, the tension level skyrocketed. Once again aware he no longer had Bluestreak to guard him from any negative reaction the weapons specialists might have.

"What did you do to him?" Ratchet demanded, his engine growling in threatening harmony with Ironhide's.

Prowl's emotionless mask settled completely back into place as he schooled his features. "I have done nothing, as you surely know."

"That's slag!" Ironhide stepped forward, towering over Prowl threateningly. "He was obviously upset with you and now he is trying to defend you from us."

Prowl cautiously gazed up at the irritated Autobot, but did not dare stand from his kneeling position just yet. He gauged his options and decided to do the same thing he had with Bluestreak; he spoke the truth. "I was honest with him. He was curious as to why I was not having energon. He wanted to know why none of you trusted me. He was not pleased when he learned I was of the same faction that destroyed his home."

"And killed his creators." Ironhide growled.

"Yes." Prowl shuttered his optics at the painful reminder.

Ratchet crossed his arms, not satisfied. "No wonder he went ballistic. So, why did he go from that to almost protective?"

"I do not know."

Ironhide huffed and he looked at Ratchet. Prowl knew the two were communicating, doubtless deciding what to do with him next. He waited, the weapons still armed on Ironhide's arms reminding him of his place. He had no say in what was going to happen.

Finally Ironhide shifted, his oversized cannons powering off. "Come with me."

Prowl blinked, but swiftly rose to his feet and wordlessly followed the large black weapon's specialist. He counted himself fortunate they had not questioned him more severely.

It was not a little matter, the caring for a sparkling. If they thought he had mistreated Bluestreak…

Of course, that was not to say he was not about to face another form of discipline for the perceived infraction. Ironhide had 'promised' him severe consequences if he traumatized Bluestreak at all.

… … …

Prowl was taken to a training range. There he was put through several exercises to test his marksmanship with various weapons. Following that he was put through another series of exercises that pitted him against Decepticons in increasingly difficult situations. In truth, they were simply more complex marksmanship tests.

It was not challenging at all for Prowl until he was faced with a hostage situation. A Decepticon held a smaller, neutral femme at gunpoint in an attempt to get away from him. Prowl easily ignored the taunts the holographic Decepticon threw at him as he carefully calculated his options.

After carefully reviewing the numbers three times, Prowl was confident with the odds. The probability was in favor that he could hit the Decepticon, so he leveled his training weapon, took aim and pulled the trigger.

As expected, the holographic enemy staggered, a hole appearing between his optics as he let go of the neutral hostage before dropping to the ground.

But Prowl had no opportunity to savor his simulated victory before his weapon was torn from his hands and he was pushed savagely backward by a large black arm across his chassis. He just barely caught himself from retaliating when he recognized his assailant was Ironhide, not another simulated enemy.

Prowl Managed to suppress a snarl of irritation. "What?"

The arm across his chassis shifted to his throat, pushing him against the wall again. "What the frag do you think you're doing? You fired at a neutral civilian!"

Prowl's systems stilled in confusion. "There was a 68.89% chance I could hit the enemy, so I took it."

Ironhide's angry faceplate loomed closer, the hand on his collar strut tightening. "You slagging glitch! Unless there is at least a ninety percent chance that you won't hit the innocent hostage, Autobots don't do scrap like that!"

Prowl was pushed harder into the wall as Ironhide growled. "You got that? I don't care what standards you followed as a 'Con. Every life is precious and if I ever see or hear of you pulling scrap like that for real, I'll kill you for treason myself."

Prowl remembered how Ironhide had ordered his mechs not to fire when he had been captured because he was holding Bluestreak and realized the mech spoke the truth. He took a moment to evaluate the Autobot looming over him. The anger was real, but so was the shocked disbelief and that gave the tactician pause. That action had been something that had differentiated the Autobots from the Decepticons in Prowl's processor… why he had consented to hand Bluestreak over to them.

He was pushed into the wall, his doorwings scraping painfully, but he could not tear his attention from the broiling rage in Ironhide's expression as more dormant enforcer protocols were re-awakened in his CPU. Prowl's legs weakened.

There had been a day when he would not have taken that shot, when he would have had to be 90 percent sure before he would have. That had been his basic operating principle, one he would never have deviated from. Until he had joined the Decepticons.

Until he had allowed himself to be influenced by the policies and attitudes of a faction that would blithely obliterate and entire city of innocent neutrals.

Prowl suddenly felt nauseous, his tanks roiling at realizing just how far he personally had fallen just to follow the strictly logically dictated course of ending the war quickly. All the vorns he had told himself that as he had not actually killed innocents with his own hands, he somehow was not as at fault, he now saw the truth. He had believed the ends justified the means and had forgotten that by abandoning principle he abandoned the very reason for fighting.

Cybertronians were not mindless killing machines without a conscience, but reasonable, ethical individuals. By suppressing that part of his programming, Prowl had suppressed his very spark. A shudder worked its way down his spinal struts.

He shuttered his optics briefly, wondering if he could ever regain what he had lost, become what he had once been, or had his time under Megatron warped him too much? He hardly noticed his sensory doorwings scraping painfully against the wall.

After a spark beat or two, Prowl onlined his optics, forcing himself to meet the still angry, deep cobalt gaze of the Autobot weapons specialist.

Under those blazing blue optics, Prowl felt the reprimand and welcomed it. He kept his frame absolutely still, submitting to the larger mech. "I understand." He spoke softly. "Your correction is… appreciated, Ironhide. It is my hope you will continue to correct my behavior as necessary."

Ironhide's optics widened slightly and then he slowly stepped back, releasing Prowl. Instinct told Ironhide more had just happened there than initially met the optic. Then he grunted, suspicious.

"That is enough for today." Ironhide's gaze raked over Prowl's form, which did not move even though he was no longer being held against the wall. "Come."

Prowl moved then, falling into step as Ironhide took him swiftly back to his quarters. Ironhide stopped just outside the closed door.

"Jazz is with Bluestreak." He pointed to the door.

Prowl nodded in understanding then looked at Ironhide, hesitating momentarily. Then he spoke softly, quickly. "Thank you for your time, today."

Prowl did not wait to see Ironhide's reaction but walked into his quarters.

Jazz was sitting at the desk, reading the datapad Prowl had left there. Both saboteur and youngling looked up at his entry. Bluestreak whirred and darted to him, throwing his short arms around Prowl. Not expecting such an enthusiastic greeting considering how they had parted, Prowl reciprocated with one arm, stroking the excited youngling between the doorwings.

Then Bluestreak pushed away from him, trilling. Not entirely sure what the youngling wanted, Prowl knelt to put him optic to optic. "What is it?"

Warbling and clicking Bluestreak pointed to Jazz and then gestured around to various panels on the wall. Understanding almost immediately, Prowl smirked, looking up at Jazz.

"Changing the monitoring devices around?"

Jazz managed to look far too innocent to be believable. "Monitoring devices?"

Prowl shook his head. "I assure you, I had no intention of removing or even searching for the ones already here. There is no need to try and mask or change their locations."

Jazz stared for a long moment, then smiled ruefully. "Kid gave me away, didn't he?"

Prowl gave a slight shrug of his doorwings, standing once more. "These are his quarters as well." He looked at Bluestreak. "Don't worry about what Jazz was doing. He only wants to make sure you are safe."

Bluestreak thought about that, then looked from Jazz back to Prowl letting out a quiet, questioning trill.

Prowl released a short snort of air "No, I doubt he cares much as to whether I am safe."

Jazz's grin spread wider. "Nope." Neither adult noticed Bluestreak's frown. Jazz gestured around the room suspiciously. "You are taking this rather well."

Prowl grunted. "I understand the situation. Such surveillance is only logical. Besides, you reminded me just this morning that I have no privacy."

"Right." Jazz stood, putting the datapad back on the desk. "Well, I'll just…"

Bluestreak tapped Prowl's leg, the movement interrupting Jazz. Prowl, however knew immediately what Bluestreak was after.

"Right, of course." Prowl looked up at Jazz, positioning himself in a deliberate posture of respectful entreaty. "Jazz, would you please escort Bluestreak and I to the med bay?"

Jazz frowned. "Somethin' wrong?"

Prowl shook is head sharply. "Not at all. I merely want to fulfill a promise I made to Bluestreak."

"Oh? And what promise might that be?"

Prowl blinked, that question revealed that they must not have had audio capture devices in his room – though that could easily have been fixed by Jazz already. "I promised to request something from Ratchet that he is interested in."

"Oh. This should be interesting." Jazz motioned with one hand to the door. "After you."

… … …

Jazz led the former Decepticon to the med bay, curious about what was about to transpire, but Prowl kept his silence. Bluestreak, however, did not. He trilled and whistled excitedly the whole trek. When he glanced back, Jazz was surprised to see that the little youngling was contentedly holding Prowl's hand.

How a young one, who had seen his creators killed in front of him could trust a Decepticon was beyond Jazz, though a part of him hoped Prowl would be able to live up to it.

Ratchet walked up to them as they entered. "Jazz?"

Jazz quickly lifted his hands shaking them rapidly in denial then pointed to Prowl. Optic ridge rising incredulously, Ratchet turned his attention to the two other interlopers.

"Ratchet." Prowl intoned as if on cue. "I would like to request Bluestreak be given the standard language datapacks."

Jazz could not help snickering quietly at the look Ratchet adopted, though he too was curious. Then Ratchet's stunned expression morphed swiftly into fury.

Jazz was then impressed with how Prowl managed not to react to Ratchet's tirade. "I don't care what you slagging 'Cons did, we do not force younglings to mature too fast by slapping upgrades on them before their systems can fully support them. If you…"

"He is ready for the language upgrades." Prowl interrupted calmly, outwardly unperturbed by the wrench-wielding CMO.

"And you are a medic now?"

Prowl remained un-phased. "He understands what we say and he wants to be understood. He understands enough to try and ask for the upgrade."

Ratchet, having already lifted the wrench, stopped, blinking down at Bluestreak. "How would you know what to look for to know when a youngling is ready for an upgrade.?"

It was Prowl's turn to blink, making Jazz think he was surprised Ratchet stopped. "I was an enforcer since my creation. We were trained to notice when sparklings are in need of upgrades as failure to provide necessary upgrades is often evidence of other areas of neglect."

Jazz had never seen Ratchet brought out of a full-blown rage that quickly by anyone other than Optimus. But the medic was now scanning the youngling carefully. When Ratchet blinked again, this time in consternation, Jazz found himself once more stifling a snicker.

Into the pause, which apparently Prowl read as clearly as Jazz, the tactician spoke. "I know that before the war it was customary for caretakers to either purchase or barter for their younglings first upgrades."

Both Ratchet and Jazz's attention snapped back to the older Praxian.

"And just what are you willing to give?" Ratchet asked carefully.

Prowl answered without any inflection. "I have no possessions at this time as everything was seized during my capture. So I am willing to offer what I can. His upgrade in exchange for my next energon ration."

Jazz and Ratchet stared at him, neither one believing what they had just heard.

Jazz recovered first, stepping forward noticing that Bluestreak was also staring at Prowl, though in awe. "It has already been an orn since you had any energon." The saboteur noted softly.

Prowl simply nodded, keeping his optics on Ratchet, not seeing how Bluestreak's optics had widened at the exchange.

"Why do you care so much about him?" Ratchet demanded.

Prowl considered Ratchet, his ruby optics flashing to Jazz briefly as he debated how much to share. Jazz could see when the decision was made in the slight relaxation of Prowl's doorwings. The mech finally spoke, his voice low.

"My core programing is that of an Enforcer. My decision to join the Decepticons was strictly based on logic, not taking ethics or higher morality into consideration. Once I realized that lapse, my only option was to do what I could to right those wrongs."

Prowl's gaze dropped to Bluestreak, but Jazz continued watching the tactician. "Bluestreak is an innocent youngling whose home and family have been brutally torn away from him. I was unable to prevent that from happening. This… this is something I can do."

Jazz found himself staring, completely at a loss, but his brief insight into Prowl's mind left him with no doubt that the Praxian was serious. A glance at Ratchet confirmed the CMO was thinking the same thing. It gave Jazz a spark of hope that his fledgling willingness to give the Decepticon a chance was not misplaced. It was not trust, it was too early for trust, but it was something.

Finally Ratchet spoke. "I will give him the upgrade."

Prowl regarded the CMO for a moment, then nodded solemnly and Jazz realized the tactician had assumed his proposal had been agreed to. Jazz knew in that moment Prowl expected to have at least one energon ration withheld in exchange for Bluestreak's upgrade.

Bluestreak, however, was frowning, looking at Prowl worriedly. When Prowl returned his attention to the youngling Jazz almost fell over to see the taciturn Praxian smile ever so slightly. He would have missed it if he had not been looking for it. Bluestreak returned the smile with a timid one of his own.

Then Bluestreak reached up and took Prowl's hand and walked toward Ratchet slowly, pulling an acquiescing tactician with him. But when the medic attempted to plug the download cord into his dataport, Bluestreak flinched away.

Jazz watched as Prowl frowned and found himself tensing, just in case the former Decepticon took poorly to the display of weakness. But he need not have worried.

Prowl merely knelt, putting himself optic to optic with the youngling. "Ratchet will not harm you." There was no response from Bluestreak and Prowl tried again. "Have you ever had a data download before?"

Bluestreak shook his helm, clinging more closely to Prowl.

"It is not painful." Prowl assured the youngling with remarkable gentleness. "It may make your processor feel full until your systems incorporate the new data, but that is all. And it will pass."

Jazz could not help but watch with an increasing sense of surrealism as Bluestreak reached up and touched the dataport at the back of his neck then out to touch Prowl's dataport, the same one Jazz had used during his interrogation, with timid fingers. It was amazing that Prowl allowed the contact. Even more so that he seemed to interpret it as a silent question.

"Yes, I have done this many times and have never been hurt by it." Big, pleading blue optics lifted to Prowl's face and Jazz saw the tactician release a vent. "I will show you."

The Praxian turned his ruby gaze up to Ratchet. /We should demonstrate the procedure for Bluestreak./

The statement was sent out on a tight comm. to both Jazz and Ratchet.

Ratchet blinked, in as much shock as Jazz was. /If you download the language pack, the duplicate data might cause problems 'till your processor can tag all of it for overwriting./ The medic warned on the same frequency.

/I will not actually download the data./ Prowl assured.

Ratchet paused, then reluctantly slid the dataplug into Prowl's open dataport.

Bluestreak flinched as the cord sank home, but when Prowl neither moved or gave any indication of discomfort, he relaxed. With another small trill, he reached out with a timid hand and gently fingered the connection and Jazz watched with increasing amazement as Prowl held perfectly still for the youngling's inspection. Then, optics satisfied, Bluestreak looked back up with a smile on his faceplates.

Seeing this, Prowl released the cable only to suddenly find his arms full of sparkling. From this place of safety, Bluestreak looked up at Ratchet and babbled something in a string of clicks and whistles then smiled again, pointing at his own dataport, presenting it to the medic.

Ratchet actually startled Jazz anew by chuckling at the little one's antics as he proceeded to connect the download pack to the sparkling.

It did not take long. As complicated as the Cybertronian language was in all it's common forms, it was actually one of the easiest downloads a youngling would ever receive, primarily because the innate understanding of language was preprogrammed into every frame, not by the frame builders, but by the sparks that gave the frames life. It was a mystery none of the best scientists in Cybertronian history had ever been able to explain.

With another, almost tender smile, Ratchet unplugged the youth. "Now, go recharge. It should only take a decaorn or so to fully integrate. If there are complications, let me know."

Prowl nodded, bowing slightly. "Of course."

Still in Prowl's arms, Bluestreak rocked side to side slightly, a fuzzy light in his optics as he struggled to integrate the language files. He was no longer really seeing his surroundings as he whistled lowly to himself.

Ratchet looked at Prowl. "You know how to put a sparkling into recharge?"

Prowl did not answer right away, considering Ratchet carefully at the suspicious tone. "Yes. But as I doubt you are comfortable trusting me to that extent, perhaps you should do so yourself."

Ratchet blinked. "Of course."

Once Bluestreak was firmly into recharge, clicking contentedly in Prowl's arms, the Praxian stood. He looked calmly at Ratchet. "Thank you Ratchet."

"You did good here." It was said as if Ratchet was having an armor plate pried off.

Prowl allowed a tiny, almost there, smirk to ghost across his faceplates. "Perhaps there is hope for me yet, medic?"

Ratchet grunted. "Maybe."


This chapter was quite a bit longer than the others. Don't get used to it, I am not aiming to make them all this long, though I know a lot of you like the longer chapters. It just so happened that I had a certain amount of stuff I needed to cover and splitting it into a separate chapter would have left one being really short. I didn't want to do that to you guys, so I combined it. Lucky you, right? And the only reason these updates have been so close together is because I've been off work for the holidays… don't get used to that, either. Sorry.

Anyway, please review.