First Aid had pointed Prowl nervously to a corner when he had returned to the med bay. The young medic had clearly been nervous in Prowl's presence without his superior around to 'control' him. Despite everything he had just endured, Prowl felt a touch of sympathy for the junior apprentice and so he had retreated to the indicated corner without comment.
Curious, he continued to watch First Aid surreptitiously as the red and white medic ran the med bay in his mentor's absence.
It was quickly clear to the Praxian that the younger mech, while obviously still an apprentice, was surprisingly skilled and knowledgeable and would one day be able to run his own medical ward. He lacked confidence however, but that was something that could only be gained through experience.
The med bay doors hissed open and Prowl looked that direction only to see Ratchet storm in. Blue optics met red and the CMO growled darkly. First Aid approached his mentor with a data pad, but Ratchet held up a hand to stall him as he stalked to where Prowl waited.
Prowl had seen that look numerous times on Megatron's face and knew he was about to have his aft handed to him in a painful manner. For what, exactly he did not know, but he knew it was coming. Steeling himself, Prowl did not try to defend himself as a black and chartreuse hand closed over his collar strut, pulling him forward, olfactory sensor to olfactory sensor with the medic.
"I told you never to do a medical grade software integration on your own again." The words were spoken softly enough only Prowl could hear, but that did not make them any less threatening. "Yet you went and tinkered with your ethical programs? Your command cortex? What were you thinking? Or were you thinking, you glitch-helmed slag pile of scrap!"
Prowl winced internally, realizing what the medic was irate about. "The integration was successful, medic…"
"I don't care if it was successful!" Ratchet's grip tightened, denting the metal under his hand. "You could have introduced who knows what kind of glitch to your systems and, since it's in your command cortex there is precious little I can do to fix any such problems without turning you into a drooling, mindless drone with a spark. You are fragging lucky you didn't do it to yourself!"
Prowl was silent for a long moment, surprised at the trace of true concern Ratchet seemed to have for his wellbeing. He answered softly. "I had no choice."
"No choice?" Ratchet's anger was making him almost yell. "Now you don't have a choice. You… you…" the volume fell back to a near whisper. "You took away your own choice."
Unspoken was a demand to know why. Prowl released a vent of air. Ratchet had already been in his head. If anyone would be able to understand, it would be him. "I forgot the ethics I once held to, medic. And with terrifying ease. It is my intention to ensure that never happens again." He might not intended to enslave himself to the extent that he had, but it is too late to change that and knew he now had no option but to adjust. "It is better than the alternative." He finished in a near whisper
Ratchet just stared at him. "I should still weld your aft to the wall for disobeying an order… an order I gave for your own fragging wellbeing!"
Prowl's face gave nothing away of his inner thoughts, though he was a sparkbeat in answering. "If you truly believe I deserve it."
And Ratchet knew that Prowl was serious. Just as he had been about the exo-frame harvest. What Ratchet knew of that programming confirmed that if Prowl considered himself as to have disobeyed a direct order, he would feel compelled to submit to whatever punishment was meted out to him. Because he had no choice.
He remembered Optimus' reminder about Decepticon medics and most of the irritation bled out of Ratchet's frame. He straightened, releasing the Praxian. "Next time… next time you feel the need to make such a drastic change to your core programming, for Primus sake, ask me first."
When Prowl's optics widened a fraction in surprise, Ratchet shook his helm. "I am a medic, Prowl, not a cruel Decepticon butcher. As much as I think you are a glitch-mouse to doing what you did, I do respect your motivation. I would have helped, I may have been able to find another way, one that would not take away your autonomy. "
Prowl was staring, then he averted his gaze. "I understand. My apologies, then for not seeking your advice. It is… rather novel for me to be able to even consider such an option was available."
Ratchet snorted. "Yeah. That's what the Prime said. That's the only reason I haven't disassembled you already, fragging glitch. This is the last time I let you get by with that excuse though, understood? I don't care if every instinct you have in that decrepit processor of yours says you can't trust me, it does not change the fact that I am the CMO, which means – so long as you are under Autobot jurisdiction – I have full authority over anything and everything to do with your little black and white self. I don't have to agree with what you want to do, and I wouldn't have, but it is your right and would have posed no risk to any slagger but you. I might have tried to talk you out of it, but that is my job! In the end, if you had insisted, I would have just made sure it was done as safely as possible." Ratchet fell silent for a moment, peering at him closely then he spoke, his voice just a hair less harsh. "Do you believe that?"
Prowl considered the question, searching Ratchet's gaze. "I… would like to." He said softly.
Ratchet harrumphed. "Doesn't matter, I guess, because it's an order now. You will at least seek my advice before making changes to your coding again."
Ratchet's optics were hard, hiding the hint of disgust he felt with himself for what he had just done. He had used Prowl's revamped coding against him and they both knew it. The way the Praxian stiffened only drove home that point. But Ratchet forced himself not to care, he had done it for the hard-helmed mech's own good. That was his function as Chief Medical Officer: to take care of the mechs under his watch to the best of his abilities regardless of anything else, even if he had to do so in spite of the mech in question.
Prowl knew there was only one way he could answer Ratchet, knew he had no choice in the matter any more and he knew the medic had done that intentionally. It did not exactly help his ability to trust the CMO. But as he continued to look at Ratchet's expression he could see hints to genuine concern and a grim determination that was all to similar to Prowl's own.
At length he bowed his helm – as they both knew he would – and gave his response. "Understood, sir."
Ratchet straightened to his full height, satisfied with that victory at least. "Good. Now, I'm going to work on Sunstreaker. If no one's fixed you by the time I'm done I'll get to you then."
With that, Ratchet spun and left him, disappearing into the surgical suite. If Prowl had to wait for repairs just that much longer… well, perhaps it would be suitable penance for pissing off the only medic not absolutely terrified of him. And Ratchet was fine with that too.
… … …
Joors passed since Ratchet disappeared behind the doors to the surgical suite where he was ostensibly working on Sunstreaker. Prowl had been left completely to his own devices. None of the other medics were even brave enough to tell him he would have to wait and left him to figure that out himself. As irritating as that might be, Prowl did not blame them. They were junior personnel and probably knew that the nervousness of working on an 'enemy' would lead to mistakes. Then, not only would they have to face a 'Decepticon's' temper, but also the wrath of their own boss. So he waited without complaint.
As the Joors passed, Prowl's fuel level slowly dipped closer to critical. While his systems had eventually stopped the flow of energon from his injuries, he had lost quite a bit while not having had much in the way of reserves to begin with.
At some point Sideswipe had been released, though he had gone nowhere except to alternate between pacing anxiously in front of the doors that hid his brother or to sit on a stool beside those same doors. The frontliner had initially given Prowl a strange look, one that was not kind but not overtly hostile either, but had then decided to act as if the Praxian did not even exist.
Prowl was fine with that as well, not feeling up to dealing with the annoying frontliner in addition to everything else.
As his energy level continued to drop, Prowl sank onto a stool as well, struggling to stay out of stasis. He had suffered enough humiliation for one day. Falling into an unconscious heap on the floor was not an indignity he wanted to allow. Unfortunately, the throb in his processor from Jazz's scan had created a rhythm that he was finding harder to resist as it tried to lure him into a place that would, at least, be free of pain.
In an effort to stave off the inevitable, especially since he knew it was still at least an orn before he was likely to receive any additional fuel, Prowl began to shut down all unnecessary, high-energy systems.
He had just rerouted power from his optics when the med bay door hissed open. He did not bother to acknowledge the new arrival until a young voice called out in exhausted relief.
"Prowl!"
Prowl straightened from where he had leaned against the wall, his optics onlining instantly as he looked at Bluestreak. He was dimly aware Sideswipe's attention had also been captured but ignored the frontliner as staunchly as Sideswipe had been ignoring him.
Bluestreak rushed to him, followed eventually by Chromia.
Stopping just in front of Prowl, Bluestreak looked up at him with worried optics that quickly roved over his frame, taking note of the damages he could see. Prowl smiled ever so slightly at the youngling's concern over him. He was unaware how his severe, pain-laced expression softened in that moment. Sideswipe saw and did not want to believe, so he turned resolutely away, huffing slightly.
Chromia, on the other hand grew more thoughtful as she watched the Decepticon tactician put a hand on Bluestreak's helm in quiet acknowledgement and welcome of the little one's presence.
Little hands reached up to grasp the adult's wrist as Prowl started to remove his hand, pulling the appendage back towards his smaller chassis – an action the tactician did not resist – until the backs of black fingers rested lightly against blue plating. "I'm glad you're back. I was so worried about you, I couldn't recharge. I was afraid you would be damaged or killed and I would've lost another caretaker and I don't think I could handle that. But you're back now and I don't have to worry…"
"I am back." Prowl said softly, gently cutting off the anxious ramble, his voice carrying a degree of weakness Chromia had never heard before and it made her frown even as he continued. "You do not need to worry so."
Bluestreak smiled at that, then hesitantly moved forward, releasing Prowl's wrist only to reach up and touch the tactician's lower chassis, his large blue optics questioning, pleading. After a moment, taken to divine the youngling's intent, Prowl nodded and let his arm circle Bluestreak as the sparkling climbed his frame to settle over his spark. Within moments, he was in recharge.
Chromia spoke softly, though she let a touch of accusation slip into her voice as well, not wanting to be completely taken in by the sight she had just witnessed. "He hasn't had more than a joor or two of recharge since you left. He was worried."
Prowl nodded, turning his attention up to her, the mask over his emotions thinned by exhaustion and physical weakness. "I am sorry my absence troubled him so."
Chromia snorted at that, not wanting to admit to the genuine regret in the Decepticon's voice. "You are his caretaker. What did you expect? Of course he cares about what happens to you. I hope you are worthy of it."
Prowl did not answer, let alone offer the retort Chromia would have expected – the retort she had tried to illicit – from her accusatory words and provoking tone. Slightly irritated to be thrown off so easily once again, she scanned the black and white Praxian.
All pretense fell from her voice as she processed the results. "You are injured."
It was an understatement and they both knew it. Nevertheless, Prowl simply nodded. "It is nothing critical."
Chromia frowned. The injuries might not have been critical when they had been received, but his energy level hinted at very low levels of energon. Critically low levels of energon. "When did you last refuel?"
"At least an orn and a half ago." Prowl stated simply but without inflection. Even in his weakened state where it should have been harder for him to hide his emotions, there was nothing there. It was as if it was simply an accepted fact that he was deprived of fuel and that was all there was to it. As if he expected nothing different and was simply resigned to that reality.
At her prolonged silence Prowl had looked back at her. Chromia scowled. If he dropped into stasis, he would not be able to care for Bluestreak and it would worry the dear little spark unnecessarily and that was unacceptable. She saw the Praxian wince at her expression but took no pleasure in it.
Like a femme on a mission, she stalked over to one of the cabinets lining a far wall and rummaged through its contents. That none of the medics sought to stop, or even interfere, with her either attested to her right to be there or their own fear of confronting her. She was, after all, a lot like Ironhide but a much more volatile version.
Finding what she wanted, the blue and silver femme fished the cube of energon out of the storage space, double checked its label and then returned to Prowl.
She thrust the cube at him. "Medical grade. Drink it."
Prowl blinked, but accepted the energon willingly. He unsealed the cube, taking a few cautious sips as if waiting for it to be yanked out of his hand. When nothing of the sort happened, he quickly drained it. Almost immediately the energy rushed through his systems, brightening his optics and restoring function to other systems that had started to shut down to conserve energy. His tanks were nowhere near full, and the effects of only one cube would not last longer than half an orn, but it was an improvement.
He looked at Chromia to voice his appreciation but found himself wincing slightly as she motioned sharply, summoning a nearby medic. That medic happened to be First Aid.
First Aid made his way cautiously to the feisty femme and the presumably dangerous Decepticon, careful to keep the femme at least slightly between him and the greater threat.
First Aid's optics caught momentarily at the sight of a sparkling sleeping so contentedly in the arms of the red-optic mech, but he brushed that aside, remembering everything he had been told about this particular Decepticon.
He cleared his vents smiled warmly at Ironhide's sparkmate. "What can I do for you, Chromia? Is everything all right?"
Chromia, frowning anew, gestured to Prowl. "Why has he not been repaired?"
First Aid stiffened in alarm, not liking the tone of Chromia's voice. "Um, see, Ratchet is still in surgery with Sunstreaker and…"
"Are you incapable of fixing him?" First Aid nearly trembled under the scowl the femme pinned on him.
"Of, of course not! It's just…" he quickly defended, but the shaky glance he tossed at Prowl betrayed his true feelings. He was terrified. Afraid of Prowl for what he had once been, what it was presumed he still was. And now he was afraid of Chromia in that she might force him to confront his greater nightmare.
Prowl understood, better than Chromia probably did and perhaps even more than First Aid might think. Most medics were, by nature, pacifists. For that reason very few had sided with Megatron. Unfortunately, because of the important nature of their job, they were often intentionally targeted in battle. What better way to ensure your enemy would loose than to ensure they could not be fixed once they were damaged? What better way to do that than to take out as many of their medical staff as possible? Once the enemy was unable to repair damages delivered to them in combat it was only a matter of time before they either surrendered or ceased to exist: a foolproof way to end the war.
Prowl would never have ordered sparklings to be killed or neutrals to be targeted, but Autobot medics had chosen a side and he had once considered every Autobot the enemy. It had been his own order that placed them specifically in the Decepticon crosshairs.
He did not blame the young medic his trepidation nor his desire to be anywhere but within striking range of the individual he must have known was responsible for that fact.
His newly restored ethical program harshly condemned him for such sparkles deeds, and the guilt was compounded by the terror he saw in the young medic's gaze.
"First Aid…" He spoke softly, interrupting whatever Chromia might have been about to say.
Prowl saw First Aid wince at the direct address, as if he expected to be struck and knew he had to proceed very carefully.
He averted his gaze non-threateningly, "I understand your concerns with treating my injuries. But you are in no danger from me. I give you my word."
First Aid shifted uneasily, though he seemed almost angry. "Yeah you're a Decepticon and you guys aren't exactly known for keeping your word! Uh…"
First Aid suddenly shifted backward as if unable to believe he had spoken so boldly, clearly growing more terrified.
Not wanting the medic to flee, Prowl instinctively reached out with the arm not cradling Bluestreak and caught First Aid's wrist. In his grip, gentle as it might be, First Aid trembled visibly.
Feeling even more guilty, Prowl released the medic, dropping his gaze respectfully to the white and red mech's chassis, his doorwings dipping apologetically. It was the posture that surprised First Aid into pausing his retreat long enough for Prowl to speak.
"It is true. Decepticons do not generally keep their word. When you speak the truth, you should do so without fear." Prowl looked back up, seeing the medic's posture had relaxed ever so slightly at his words. "I was sent to Praxus to be killed in the assault for no other reason than that I am Praxian. I am no longer one of them and I do not wish for you to fear me as though I were."
First Aid seemed to consider his options then, with a visible gathering of his courage, he face Prowl directly. Chromia was there to protect him, after all. "There was a day when medical personnel were considered non-combatants and were spared in battle."
Prowl felt his own systems hitch as the understated verbal accusation mirrored his own spark's disgust as his past actions. "Yes." The amount of stress in his voice caught the two Autobot's attention. "That is but one of many decisions I wish I could undo. That any Autobot medic would consent to treat me is a kindness I do not deserve. Do not think I am ungrateful."
Prowl lifted his optics up to the medic's, speaking even softer. "If you are willing to do the work were your safety concerns allayed I would be much obliged."
First Aid frowned, suspicious. "What do you mean?"
Prowl hesitated. He was about to take a major risk and he knew it. If First Aid were inclined toward seeking retribution he would be walking straight into it. But a part of his spark argued that it would only be fair, despite how illogical it was to volunteer for such a thing. So for that reason Prowl explained, his vents hitching as he realized once he did so his ethics program would force him to comply regardless of what First Aid chose to do.
"Immobilize my frame, put me in stasis, restrain me to the berth, have Chromia or someone else hold a gun to my helm. Whatever would make you feel safe enough to do the work." He could see First Aid's optics widen in clear indication he was feeling overwhelmed and Prowl drew in a vent of air. "I am also willing to wait until Ratchet is available if you do not wish to treat me."
"Why… why would you do that… agree to all that?" First Aid all but whispered.
"I know what I am to you." Prowl stated softly. "I do not blame you for any animosity you may feel toward me. But you are a good medic; it is easy to see why you are Ratchet's apprentice. I have seen you work, yet your fear and insecurity keeps you from being as good as you could be. If I can, by any means, help you overcome that, then it might be a down payment on a debt I will never be able to repay."
First Aid continued to stare at him, but at least he was seriously considering Prowl's words, his posture and the tone of his voice. It was in a medic's programming to seek to help, to fix what they could fix and to do no harm. That was part of what made being intentional targets so frightening to them. Some, like Ratchet adapted easier than others.
When Prowl said nothing else, when he pushed no further, First Aid allowed his medical programming to take precedence in his processor and ran a scan over the doorwinged mech.
"Hm." He found himself mumbling softly. "It will be hard to get to your chassis with Bluestreak there. I suppose I can…"
Chromia reached out and took Bluestreak. The sparkling whimpered weakly, but she held him close to her spark before he could online completely, then she stepped back.
Now facing the former Decepticn without the sparkling between them, First Aid gathered himself and pointed to a nearby med berth. "Have a seat."
Still sensing the fledgling cooperation of the medic was tenuous at best, Prowl silently did as asked. Once he was seated, First Aid considered him critically, calculating how close he would have to be to the mech to do his work. Unfortunately, it was well within grabbing range. And those red optics terrified him because of what they represented. And despite the mech's words, he did not trust him.
"Um…" He hesitated, what if the ex-Decepticon refused to follow his next command? Would he have the courage to force the issue? "Uh, put… put your hands flat on the berth."
To his great surprise, Prowl did exactly as he was told, resting his hands on the metal surface in such a way that it would not block access to any plating on his frame, as if knowing he might be immobilized in that position. Hesitantly, First Aid reached out and magnetized the berth, trapping Prowl to its surface.
To the Praxian's credit he did not so much as flinch, though he was all but defenseless, the position his arms were in – now that his hands were trapped to the berth – kept him from being able to move much at all. And First Aid realized with a start that he had probably done that intentionally. The look in Prowl's optics as the tactician looked up at him confirmed that, especially as Prowl dipped his helm in acceptance of the restraint.
"Uh… your pain grid offline?" First Aid asked, recovering some of his own composure.
Prowl nodded once again. "Yes."
First Aid lifted his hands, hesitated and then moved a step closer to start working on the scorched, crumpled armor on the tactician's chassis. When Prowl said nothing, his movements grew more firm and sure, though he frequently shot glances at the 'Con under his hands. He expected anger or haughtiness or… something. While Prowl winced from time to time, his posture remained that of respectful submission, completely non-threatening, and it never waivered.
As time and his work with the repairs progressed and Prowl never even hinted at doing anything untoward, First Aid continued to relax. He even began chatting, nervously at first, with his patient. Prowl did not contribute much to the conversatin, only giving occasional encouragement for First Aid to continue.
By the time the junior medic was finished with the platting on Prowl's chassis, the damage to his his shoulder and leg, he was almost completely relaxed… well, as close as he could be considering he was working on a former Decepticon who was responsible for the Decepticon's policy of targeting unarmed medics on the battlefield.
He was almost able to smile as he moved around the berth to evaluate the damage on Prowl's back and doorwings..
The half-smile fell from his lip plates as he got his first good look at Prowl's doorwings. He froze.
Prowl, not unexpectedly picked up on the change in his demeanor. "Is something wrong, First Aid?"
"Uh…" All the lessons he had received about not letting patients know how nervous or inexperienced he might be were was forgotten in light of the unassuming question. "I don't have much experience with doorwings." He blurted
Immediately First Aid wanted to slam his face into the metal of his palms. Prowl's softly spoken, "If you are not comfortable continuing, let us wait," brought him up short. He would have expected some kind of biting insult at his incompetence. Even some of the Autobots – Sideswipe and Sunstreaker to name two came to mind – would have done so for such a comment.
Warily, First Aid circled back in front of Prowl, looking at the former Decepticon with trepidation. "I'm sorry…"
"Do not be. Inexperience is not something to be ashamed of." Prowl answered reassuringly. Reassuringly?
The unexpected kindness in the Praxian's tone prompted the medic to continue, explaining his failings. "See, Smokescreen and the couple of other Praxians on base they… well, they don't let me near their doorwings because of how sensitive they are. I… I know the theory, but…"
He trailed off, unspeakably embarrassed. Surprisingly, Prowl completed the thought for him, his voice completely nonjudgmental. "They wish only to be treated by someone with long standing practical familiarity."
First Aid nodded miserably. "Yes… though I don't know why I told you any of that."
Prowl continued to look at First Aid, completely understanding where his fellow Praxian's were coming from. Doorwing repair was never pleasant and inexperienced hands made such a procedure even more uncomfortable.
Logically, however, having only one medic with the ability to work on doorwings was a poor tactical situation. Especially with medics being actively targeted by the Decepticons. What would happen if Ratchet was killed or disabled? Prowl could also not help but calculate the possible benefits of being able to gain First Aid's trust, but that was a minor point in his next decision. Regardless of the potential personal benefits, it was imperative that Iacon's medical staff not be limited to only one medic with the ability to repair doorwings.
He looked up at First Aid's worried optics. "Perhaps it is time you got that experience."
First Aid's optics snapped up to meet his, a look of total shock written across his face. "Excuse me?"
Movement behind First Aid caught Prowl's attention and he glanced past the red and white mech to see Ratchet approaching, wiping his hands on a cleaning cloth. He was confident Ratchet would agree with his assessment of the situation: the CMO would not be a very good manager if he was not interested in growing the knowledge and abilities of his staff. And, First Aid was his apprentice.
Prowl looked back at First Aid, a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk tipping his lip plate. He pitched his voice to be heard by Ratchet as well. "I am a prisoner of war and therefore in no place to object should Ratchet see fit to use this opportunity to let you gain much needed experience in doorwing repair…"
The tactician's optics flicked back to Ratchet, seeing the senior medic's surprise at the statement, saw the silent question that swiftly followed and gave a small nod to confirm the offer.
"He's right." Ratchet said suddenly, still staring at Prowl. The sudden address made First Aid jump slightly, whirling around to face his mentor. "It's about time you get your hands dirty with those things rather than just watch me."
Only then did Ratchet look at the junior medic. He pointed imperiously back toward the supply cabinets and rattled off a list of half a dozen tools they would need. Once First Aid had scampered off to get them, he looked back at Prowl, then at Chromia who was still holding Bluestreak.
Ratchet dropped his voice. "Even as a POW, you don't have to do this."
Prowl, exhaustion still wearing thin the mask he would have preferred to keep over his emotions, smirked again, ever so slightly. "He will not gain the experience to work on others if he does not start somewhere. It is not wise for such a valuable skill set to be limited to only one mech."
Ratchet snorted. "Of course it isn't. But no one else seems to agree with me about that." He paused, looking at Prowl appraisingly. "You know, no matter how good a medic is or how much of the theory they have learned, a first attempted at a procedure is not usually easy. This isn't going to be fun for you."
Prowl nodded, optic ridge quirking ironically. "Having a doorwing repaired never is. However, all of the so called medical staff working for the Decepticons are actually scientists having to learn on the job without a real teacher."
"Yeah, well, there is a reason for that." Ratchet said bitterly. It was the first time that subject had come up between them and Prowl quickly averted his gaze. He had been amazed Ratchet had not referenced that fact before hand.
"Yes. Another reason why I do not begrudge First Aid this opportunity to improve his skills." Then, even softer he added. "Besides, no matter how poorly he might do, I have no doubt he will perform the task infinitely better than any Decepticon 'medic' that has worked on me."
A look sheer horror flashed across Ratchet's optics as he suddenly understood where Prowl's patience with physical discomfort came from. Then a surprising swell of true sympathy took its place. The CMO opened his mouth to say something, but shut it as First Aid returned and slipped back into 'dispassionate professional' mode.
Prowl saw the change happen and lowered his gaze to a neutral point on the far wall and waited. He was still virtually immobilized – which was probably a good thing or he would have had to fight the temptation to drum his fingers. Two medics, both with the knowledge and the skill to cause him serious harm were standing directly behind him and he was all but blind to their presence because of his damages. Both medics had more than enough reason to wish him harm, that they had both chosen to fix his damages instead was a commentary on their character that floored him and demanded his utmost respect.
That did not mean that he found it easy to be helpless under their tender mercies.
Though he could not get more than a vague sense of motion from behind him, Prowl could still easily hear Ratchet as he instructed First Aid. "The first thing you do when working on doorwings is to immobilize them. The last thing you want is for one to twitch while you are welding or cutting damage free. For most Praxian frames, that relay control is here, in the dorsal paneling between the doorwings themselves."
First Aid asked a question which Ratchet answered. Then the CMO continued. "Now, if you have a willing, cooperative patient able to follow commands, you can tell them where you want the doorwing before you immobilize them. Saves time, saves effort. However, if your patient is delirious or combative or simply unable to do as asked, you immobilize and then you have to position them yourself."
"So we ask Prowl to hold his right doorwing at…"
"Normally, yes." Ratchet interrupted his apprentice. "But that is the easy way. Manually manipulating doorwings is not as easy as it appears… Don't look at me like that, First Aid. Prowl volunteered for this. So… What are you waiting for?"
"Right." First Aid's engine gave a small whining sound, then he raised his voice to address Prowl. "Um… I'm going to immobilize your doorwings now."
"Understood." Prowl said evenly.
A moment later his motor control of his doorwings was gone. He knew where they were and could still feel them, but nothing he could do could move them. He kept his gaze firmly on that spot on the far wall as Ratchet told First Aid how to position an immobilized doorwing. Though it was an odd feeling to have any part of himself manipulated in such a manner, Prowl gave no indication of the discomfort he felt when damaged plating was (presumably) brushed accidentally sending white hot pokers through his pressure grid.
Ratchet had been so skillful with the same procedure when Prowl had still been in the interrogation cell, that Prowl had actually not noticed his doorwings being manipulated into position. It highlighted more clearly why none of the other Praxians allowed anyone else to do such work.
Prowl released a vent of air.
"Careful." Ratchet admonished. "Just because they are immobilized, don't forget he can still feel everything that happens to them."
"Right. Sorry." First Aid sounded miserable, which surprised Prowl.
"Focus!" Ratchet snapped and then, doorwings finally positioned as they wanted, the repairs started.
It took nearly a joor and a half as Ratchet worked First Aid through the whole procedure. There were a few times when more pressure was applied than necessary, or an instrument slipped, but over all, it was nothing compared to what it would have been like if Breakdown had been the one perform the procedure.
As function fully returned to the doorwings, Prowl focused back on Ratchet. He was in mid sentence. "… The rest of it we'll just have to let his self-repair systems finish."
His wings were remobilized and both medics walked around the berth to face him. First Aid looked a little nervous, but Ratchet sent him to clean up the tools that had been used.
Once he was gone, Ratchet leaned forward, suddenly threatening. "I'm going to check your primary command cortex for any unintended errors you might have introduced. You give me any trouble and…"
"I defer to your judgment, medic." Prowl said quietly and reluctantly allowed access to his primary neural dataport. He had already learned that particular lesson once and that was enough.
With an audible blink at his ready capitulation, Ratchet inserted his cable. Thankfully, he waited patiently until Prowl opened the equivalent of a narrow passage through his firewalls to the indicated coding. Ratchet swept through his scan with speed that was on a par with Jazz's and, regardless of the ache he left in his wake, Prowl was grateful for that.
With a grunt, Ratchet pulled back and withdrew his cord. "There is a minor instability between the logic and emotional interfaces. I will need to monitor it to see if it will destabilize further or, perhaps right itself over time."
"I appreciate your efforts, medic." Prowl answered quietly.
Ratchet snorted. "Well see about that."
Ratchet looked up to search for First Aid and gestured him back over. "Finish up and he's free to go." He looked over at Prowl. "You remember Prime's orders?"
"Yes, sir." Prowl assured.
Both apprentice and tactician watched Ratchet walk away. Then they glanced at each other. Neither seemed exactly sure what to do. Then Prowl dipped his helm, noting First Aid's increasing nervousness. "Thank you, First Aid."
First Aid seemed to suddenly remember Prowl was held down to the berth and quickly released the magnetic field. Even so, Prowl was not quick to move, not wanting to frighten the timid medic.
When Prowl's lack of aggression continued, First Aid tried to smile.
"Um… you're welcome, Prowl." Then the junior medic's systems heated as his nervousness increased. He shifted his weight from pede to pede. "Thank you."
Prowl canted his helm slightly in silent question, truly not understanding either First Aid's sudden anxiety or why he would feel compelled to express gratitude. Sensing the Praxian's consternation, First Aid smiled slightly and was quick to continue. "Thank you for having confidence in my abilities."
"Ah." Prowl allowed his expression to soften slightly as he nodded. "You are welcome. You did well. If at any point in the future I am in need of medical assistance, I would not object to receiving your services again."
First Aid's optics widened as if not expecting that. Prowl did mean every word though, without his new ethical program even coming into play.
First Aid half-smiled self-depreciatingly. "Even for a doorwing?"
Prowl slipped off the berth and was pleased when First Aid did not immediately move to put a 'safe' distance between them. He nodded. "Yes. Even for a doorwing."
Smile turning genuine, First Aid started to step away when Ratchet suddenly called out. "Have you locked down his weapons and long distance comm. systems yet?"
First Aid froze, balking, suddenly almost as tense as he had been when Prowl had first entered the med bay.
Prowl released a shallow vent. He met the junior medic's borderline panicked expression with a rueful one of his own. Seeing the younger mech's hesitance, the tactician settled back onto the berth, resuming the position he had just been released from.
Slowly, hesitantly, First Aid inched closer. Sure, the former Decepticon had cooperated earlier, but he had wanted the repairs. No self-respecting mech wanted to have their weapons and communications controls locked. Instinctively, the medic knew that if Prowl was going to retaliate in any form it would be when he was within striking distance during this procedure.
As if sensing his inner thoughts, the Praxian looked up at him, frighteningly red optics searching for a long moment. Then, to First Aid's utter shock, the ex-Decepticon settled into a unmistakably submissive posture, indicating his complete surrender to the performance of the procedure. It was an effort to help put him at ease, First Aid realized.
First Aid froze mid motion reaching for the controls to magnetize the berth, staring at the totally quiescent mech in front of him and realized Prowl was not even going to protest being restrained to the berth again.
His optics widened. Prowl had returned to the berth specifically so that First Aid could restrain him if he felt the need. It was the only explanation, because such a simple procedure could be done with the patient in any position, even standing.
That realization almost had First Aid's balance systems glitching. It took him a painfully long time to recover enough to resume functioning. In that entire time, Prowl never so much as twitched.
When he could move again, First Aid's hand clinched and then he just stepped toward Prowl, making the decision not to magnetize the berth this time. He was not truly surprised when the control panel slid open for him.
Finding his fingers suddenly shaky, First Aid wasted no time in disconnecting the other mech's weapons and appropriate communication systems and then locking those same controls with medical only overrides.
Once finished, he withdrew hastily. "S…sorry."
He did not know what he was apologizing for and that made First Aid's systems heat again, especially as the Praxian finally relaxed, returning to a more normal posture. Red optics considered the junior medic for a long moment.
When the words came they were not what the apprentice expected. "Do not be."
First Aid's gaze snapped up in time to see Prowl take a step toward him. He tensed as the black and white mech reached up, only for a hand to land reassuringly on his shoulder. "Do not apologize for doing your job, First Aid."
At that First Aid allowed himself to relax completely, armor plating shifting and settling over his frame. Perhaps everything he had seen personally about this Prowl was the truth and the rumors were just that… or it was true that the former Decepticon tactician had truly had a change of spark. That was what Jazz had suggested, regardless of what the Twins or Smokescreen had said.
The younger medic barely had a chance to nod his thanks when Ratchet's gruff voice intervened. "He's right. You did your job. He just has to deal with it." The yellow-green medic turned to Prowl. "Now. Get out of here, Prowl."
Without missing a beat and giving no indication of having been insulted or slighted, Prowl dipped his helm. "Yes, sir." He looked at First Aid and repeated the formal gesture of respectful acknowledgement. "First Aid."
Without noticeable hesitation he turned to Chromia, who had borne silent witness to all that had just happened and reached out to take Bluestreak. She handed the youngling over as if in a daze and tracked his progress towards the med bay doors. She glanced briefly at the medics and then hurried after Prowl.
She was beside him within four steps, following him as he made his way obediently back to his quarters.
"You are unusual." She said at length as they turned down the hall his quarters were off of.
Prowl did not pause as he continued walking. "In what way?"
Chromia huffed. "You just are not what I expected."
They were at the appropriate door and Prowl entered the code to open it and turned to look fully at the blue femme. His voice and posture remarkably polite "In a positive way, I hope."
They shared a long look, Prowl's stoic and expectant, Chromia's guarded and uncertain. Between them, clinging to Prowl's chassis even in recharge, Bluestreak clicked peacefully. When, after a long moment, Chromia made no indication of replying to Prowl's question-like statement the tactician nodded to her formally and ducked into his quarters, the door sliding shut after him.
Chromia stared at the blank expanse of gray metal for a long moment, but never did she hear the locking mechanism engage.
… … …
Chromia sent a ping to her sparkmate, her attention still lost in thought at she tried to process all she had seen in the med bay over the last couple of joors. The reply she got to the ping told her Ironhide was in the Prime's office and that she was welcome to join them.
Smiling slightly to herself, she set a course that would take her there directly. Perhaps speaking to her other half would help put what she had seen today in proper perspective.
Prowl was a Decepticon. He had been responsible for a lot of Autobot losses from the moment he had joined Megatron's forces. She should not be as conflicted as she was about him.
She was admitted to her leader's office without delay only to find Jazz was there as well.
Optimus looked at her, smiling warmly. "How is Bluestreak, Chromia?"
Chromia returned the informal greeting with a nod and answered the question asked. "Better. Happy to see Prowl." She gave a tiny shake of her helm. "Crawled over his spark and fell right into recharge. Which is hopefully what both of them are doing right now. Prowl was exhausted as well."
She looked at Ironhide and asked the question that had started the whole fiasco in the med bay. "How much energon was he given when he was sent out?"
Ironhide frowned slightly. "An orn's worth at full rations, so half-ration. Per protocol. Why?"
Chromia huffed air. "He was almost in stasis when I got to med bay. Ratchet was still working on Sunstreaker and none of the junior medics would even get close to him."
Jazz's visor brightened at that statement and he leaned forward slightly. "Ya mean he didn't even ask for energon?"
Chromia's gaze snapped toward the saboteur, not at the words he uttered, but at the tone behind them and something began nagging at her, the flicker of a thought that just was not finding expression. Her gaze turned thoughtful. "Has he ever?"
Now it was Jazz's turn to lean back slightly, considering. "Not for 'imself. For Bluestreak yes, but not for 'imself."
Ironhide's helm was canted slightly in thought. "Now that I think about it, no. And he seemed mildly surprised whenever I've offered it to him."
Silence descended on the small group as they took that new observation in and added it to all they had made, individually and collectively, concerning the former Decepticon.
Optimus broke the thoughtful silence first, his thoughts dwelling on how Prowl had accepted without complaint a relatively brutal processor scan and then refused to even request sustenance, though he was clearly in desperate need of fuel. Was it a well-hidden pride and arrogance or was it, as his spark was telling him, genuine submission and compliance with the restrains and expectations placed on him?
"Hmm." He started, drawing the instant attention of every other 'Bot in his office. "I know it is customary to keep defectors on half-rations until their loyalty is proven by successfully completing the integration process, but I think we should make an exception for Prowl."
If he had expected protests, he was pleasantly surprised. Jazz and Ironhide simply nodded; Ironhide hesitantly so, Jazz actually donning a slightly relieved look. Seeing in two of his most trusted compatriots tacit approval of his plan, Optimus looked back at Chromia and frowned.
The blue femme remained agitated. "What else happened, Chromia?"
It had to have been dramatic to have elicited that strong a reaction out of her, but she had not protested his unorthodox move and so he waited patiently for her to find the best words to express herself.
He did not have to wait long. Chromia shook her helm as if in disbelief at what she was about to say. "I had to almost twist First Aid's arm to get him to even run a scanner over Prowl and… slaggit! The blasted 'bot wasn't even inclined to demand to be fixed. He probably would have just sat there for orns until someone remembered him."
Ironhide and Jazz exchanged a glance and Optimus steadfastly did not share in that exchange. His own order to the Praxian came back to him: "You will stay there until you can be seen to by a medic and then you will return to your quarters unless given orders to do otherwise."
Chromia's report indicated he had followed it to the letter, apparently even if it would have been to his own detriment.
The full weight of what that truly represented hit the Prime like a constructicon's pile driver. He knew Prowl's new ethical programming. He knew the amount of power it gave him over the other mech. He would need to be much more careful how he worded his orders, for Prowl's sake. Especially if he hoped to have the mech choose to completely side with the Autobots some orn. And he knew he must be careful how he approached that topic, for if he pushed Prowl, it might become a decision made in duress and that was not something the Prime was going to allow.
Ironhide found his voice first. "So… did Ratchet fix him?"
"No." Chromia shook her helm again. "First Aid did."
All three mechs were stunned by that. First Aid was by no means a brave or daring individual. That he would dare to do something so uncharacteristically bold as treating a relatively high-ranking Decepticon was highly unexpected. Unless…
"What did he do? Knock him out?" Jazz asked for all of them.
Chromia shrugged weakly. "No, though Prowl volunteered if that would help First Aid not be afraid of him. He offered a lot, actually. Ended up just restraining him to the berth."
She laughed softly, but it was more a sound of awe mingled with consternation than amusement. "He even schemed with Ratchet to let First Aid work on his doorwings. His doorwings, Prime. Even knowing First Aid had never actually touched one before. Just so he could get experience because it wasn't 'logical' for only one mech on the base to have the skills to do so. Ratchet specifically told him he didn't have to do that. It was Prowl who insisted First Aid be allowed to learn."
She shook her helm yet again and looked up at Optimus, her optics blazing. "Optimus, it reminded me of the time you conspired with Ratchet to let First Aid get experience with fine motor wiring by working on your hand back when no one else trusted him enough to let him near such delicate work."
That took all three of the mechs aback once again. To the Prime's knowledge, this was the second time Prowl had been compared to him and Optimus was truly intrigued.
"Indeed?" Optimus released a vent. "I think it is time I get to know Prowl a little better."
For all that his weapons specialist and head of Special Operations were willing to cut Prowl some slack when it came to energon rations and as much as Jazz seemed to want to like the former Decepticon, both reacted strongly to that suggestion. Jazz tensed, sitting straighter, his mouth open, likely to object. But it was Ironhide who got the words out first.
"No!" He pulled himself up short, softening his tone as if remembering it was the Prime he was speaking to, not Orion Pax the archivist. "Not yet Optimus. Let me send him out on a few more patrols. Just in case."
Optimus considered his friend and bodyguard for a long moment and glanced at Jazz, silently inviting his input. Jazz nodded once, echoing Ironhide's sentiment.
The Prime understood their reticence. Despite the fact that Prowl had no choice but to obey, that he could not seek to harm him or any Autobot for now – thanks to that ethical programming – Prowl only had one option to remove those restraints. He could control whom he saw as an 'ally' and if he should change his mind about the Autobots, he could be come a very dangerous mech. Though the matrix was encouraging him to trust Prowl, the Prime knew it was a foolish risk to do so just yet.
Optimus released a vent, acquiescing to his trusted friends senior officers advice.
"When are you sending him out? I thought it would be a few orns before the Twins are cleared by Ratchet for active duty." He directed the question back to Ironhide.
Ironhide's voice remained resolute and he intentionally did not look at his sparkmate, as if not wanting to witness her reaction to his next statement. "I'm not sending him back out with the Twins. His next patrol is going to be with me."
Wow. Okay. Well, I hope it's clear why I had to separate this one and the last one. That would have been well over 13,000 words combined. Anyway. Moving forward. At least Prowl is starting to make some progress right?
I do feel the need to add a little disclaimer. I am not really that familiar with First Aid's character and can only go based on what I have read in other Fanfics. I apologize if it is OC-ish, but I will at least keep it inline with what I have developed so far. If you are highly familiar with First Aid's cannon character and would like to critique my portrayal, I would welcome any constructive comments. If it is close enough to cannon but not quite, hopefully the differences can be 'explained' by the fact this story takes place early in the war, etc…
Also, some concerns about Prowl's 'enslavement' to his ethical program have been raised… which is good. Rest assured I, as an individual am not comfortable with a permanent master/slave type of thing…even if it is to his own coding. I promise I will not leave him totally at the whim of his programming… but it might take a while. :)
As always, I ask for your reviews and insights/ input into all of this.
