The optics that stared back at Prowl were a golden, almost amber, color and he almost – almost – smiled. Before the war he had used yellow optics and it was gratifying to see himself with a similar color once again. More importantly, they were no longer Decepticon red. He might still wear the purple sigil on his armor, but at least his optics told the truth.
Lowering the metal sheet he looked up at Ratchet, realizing the medic had done exactly as he had said, nothing more, and had not taken advantage of having complete access to his systems while he was unconscious. It had been a long time since he had been able to trust those whom he was forced to turn to for medical care, but he was beginning to think Ratchet was one he could trust without concern. Perhaps.
"Thank you, Ratchet." He dipped his helm formally.
Ratchet's smug grin translated into almost careless movements as he gestured to the mirror expectantly. "I unlocked some of the controls for you. You should be able to turn them darker… just in case you find yourself needing to impersonate a Decepticon again."
Prowl blinked and then lifted the shiny metal piece again. Accessing the controls he concentrated briefly and watched as, sure enough, the optics staring back at him turned several shades darker. They never reached the deep ruby they had been before, an only truly became a burnt, rich amber, but it would probably be enough to fool the dimwitted types like the ones guarding the camp he and Hound had discovered. Those mechs had not even questioned what a Praxian was doing in the Decepticon ranks after Megatron's purge of their type.
It was an odd sensation as he watched them fade back to the lighter golden color they had been set to. "Impressive."
Ratchet's self-satisfied expression only grew wider and Prowl finally recognized it for what it was; Ratchet took smug, professional delight in being able to deliver more to a patient than what had been expected. Apparently, even if that patient was him.
He felt a twinge of guilt once again, knowing it had been his fault Ratchet and the other medics were selectively targeted now. Perhaps, one day, he would be able to right that wrong. But for now he pushed the unwanted emotion away and stood, sliding from the berth.
Ratchet took his mirror back and pointed imperiously to the med bay doors. "You are welcome. Now. Get out of here before I give you a reason to be in the med bay."
The order was punctuated by a low growl of the medic's engine and Prowl hastened to obey.
His first stop was to pick up Bluestreak from Chromia's keeping.
As if sensing it was him, the small gray and blue youngling was the one who answered the entry request chime, though Chromia was right behind him.
"Prowl!" Was the only warning he got before a surprisingly solid little body collided with him, clinging tightly to his armor. The small frame magnetized to his leg, and the tiny doorwings quivered in time with silent keens.
"Bluestreak." Prowl greeted the enthusiastic display with a gentle hand on the small back. "I am pleased to see you again."
"You were gone for a long time. I was afraid you weren't coming back. I couldn't recharge well." Bluestreak accused even as the trembling started to ease.
"You had Ratchet change your optic color." Chromia pointed out from several steps away. "Gold becomes you."
Prowl glanced at the blue femme and nodded formally. "It is a far better representation than their previous hue."
"I suppose so…"
"You changed your optic color?" Bluestreak interrupted, perked out of his momentary slump, straining to see. Then he was climbing Prowl's frame until he was perched high enough he could easily look into his guardian's face. "Whoa, did it hurt when he did it? Do they feel differently? Do things look different now? How long did it take? Are they going to go back red accidentally? How come you didn't get that done earlier? You don't look nearly as frightening like this, will that mean 'bots won't be as mean to you?"
Prowl could not stop the near smile that quirked his lip plates as he lifted his free hand to gently tap Bluestreak's helm. "Yes. No. No. No. Roughly two breems. No. It was not an option. I don't know."
Bluestreak's faceplate scrunched up as much as it was able. "Huh?"
"I know you must have questions, Bluestreak. But you must ask them one at a time or the answers are likely to make little sense."
The small blue helm cocked to the side as the youngling processed that statement. Then he straightened, smiling brightly. "Oh. I get it. Sorry. I'm glad you're home."
With that Bluestreak threw his small gray arms around his neck and squeezed tightly.
"As am I." Prowl answered quietly and found, as unexpected as the idea of Iacon being 'home' was, he meant those words.
Then he felt sensory energy brush across him and looked at Chromia, careful to keep his expression that of bland curiosity.
"I do hope you are planning to go refuel. Soon." She said by way of explanation. "In fact, if you don't refuel before returning to your quarters, I will report you to Ratchet."
At first, Prowl believed the threat to be in earnest. Then, as the light in her optics twinkled, he realized it was as much jest as it was serious. "Ah… please do not. I am sure he would not be happy to see me again so soon. I shall go refuel directly."
She gave him a devious smile and then shooed him away before closing the door to her quarters.
"I think she wants you to go refuel." Bluestreak said, nodding with all seriousness. "I've already had my energon and my tanks are full, but I want to go with you anyway. You've been gone too long."
Once he started walking toward the rec room, Bluestreak indicated he wanted down so he could walk as well. Pausing momentarily, Prowl allowed the youngling to regain his own pedes and then let his hand be grasped by the small blue and gray one that circled it. Side by side like this, the two Praxians entered the rec room.
Much to Prowl's chagrin, it was rather busy, actually more crowded than it had been the orn Inferno had asked him to leave. With a deep intake of air into his systems, Prowl started walking through the crowd toward the energon dispensers.
No one noticed them at first, but that anonymity did not last long. Just as the previous time, awareness of his presence spread rapidly and mechs stilled their actions to turn and stare. It happened like a wave, moving out symmetrically from those only a few meters away from the entrance.
Bluestreak noticed the sudden tension in the room and clearly was uneasy about it, sidling closer to Prowl, clinging to his arm while pressing against his leg and looking around nervously. When the attention did not slack, he turned anxious optics up to Prowl who could clearly read the unasked question and nodded.
He paused long enough to bend over so that Bluestreak could hook an arm around his neck and then stood, keeping one arm securely around the youngling. This action, predictably, only served to trigger a new round of murmurs and canted looks.
Prowl's engine revved quietly as he proceeded directly, if stiffly, to the energon dispensers, determined to take his ration and retreat, if not to his quarters then at least to the observation deck. He could not help but notice how most of the mechs hastily made way for him, stepping aside with either nervousness or fear, though sometimes disgust and obvious antipathy as well.
There was only one mech at the dispenser, one whom Prowl did not recognize. He alone was not immediately aware of his presence. However, as Prowl drew closer, the mech, blue and white with a touch of yellow, glanced over his shoulder. Prowl could see the moment the mech recognized him, a full body shudder rippling his armor and then hastily looking away, his vents flaring.
Feeling horrible to have engendered such an instinctively terrified response, though he did nothing to let that show outwardly, Prowl spoke quickly. "No."
The mech froze, optics wide in clear terror, looking at him again as if he might bolt at any moment. It was worse than First Aid had initially been. Prowl took a step backwards, dipping his doorwings apologetically. "Please, finish what you were doing."
The mech did as he was told, though his hands were trembling in obvious fear.
Bluestreak watched the whole thing from his vantage point safely in Prowl's arms, though now his curiosity had overcome his initial unease. He looked at Prowl with wide optics. "What's he so scared of?"
The words, spoken somewhat loudly so as to ensure they were heard over the general ambient noise, echoed in the sudden silence.
Every optic in the rec room was now focused on the pair, curious as to how the infamous Decepticon would respond. The mech Bluestreak had referenced froze completely as if afraid to move now that he had been singled out.
Prowl released a heated intake. He answered softly, though most of the mechs nearby – and certainly the one in question – could hear clearly. "I can not know the answer for certain, Bluestreak, though I strongly suspect it is what this symbol represents." He pointed to the Decepticon brand on his shoulder. "Of what I used to be."
Bluestreak's head canted slightly as he processed this. "When you were a De-cep-ti-con?"
"Yes."
Bluestreak was silent for a moment then frowned. "But if you aren't one any more, then why is everyone still afraid of you?" He swung his free arm around in illustration. "'Cause he isn't the only one."
Prowl's systems were heating in embarrassment as even more attention was focused on them. "I would imagine not." He said softly. "But it will take time for them to see that I am not a threat."
Bluestreak pouted, his faceplate scrunching up unpleasantly. "But they are being silly… and, and mean! Everyone always says 'hi' to Chromia when she brings us here, but not only are they being rude to you, they are doing it to me too. And I don't understand. I mean, you don't do anything to me, why would they think you would do something to them?"
Prowl released another vent, wishing he could be anywhere else but in the crowded rec room, at the center of attention, answering such an uncomfortable question. Peripherally he was aware that the mech at the energon dispenser was slowly becoming unfrozen and was gradually turning to look at them with wide optics.
He forced himself to focus on Bluestreak and ignore their audience. "Bluestreak, do you remember what we discussed about trust?"
Bluestreak's head canted to the other side. "That no one here trusts you, because you used to be an important Decepti-con."
Prowl nodded. "Yes. You must have patience with others." He nodded toward the mech at the dispenser who was facing them now, his lower jaw slack. "For example, he had no way of knowing that I would not push him aside or threaten him for being in my way because that is what most Decepticons would do."
"But… you aren't one anymore." Bluestreak objected plaintively. "Why would anyone think you'd act like one?"
Prowl's doorwings twitched before he could stop them. "It will take time to prove to them I am not a Decepticon."
"Oh." Bluestreak looked around at their audience as if only just becoming aware of it and then curled up against Prowl's chassis in a sudden bout of shyness.
"Prowl?" Bluestreak whispered against white metal armor. "Can you take your energon back to our quarters. They're making me feel bad."
Prowl blinked and had to fight down a growl at the hurt tone in Bluestreak's voice. "Of course, Bluestreak. We…"
The mech at the dispenser stepped hastily toward them "Um, no, no…" He hesitated when Prowl looked up at him and then quickly held out a cube of softly glowing energy. "Here. Um, don't le…leave because of, of me. Please."
Prowl's doorwings flicked against his will once again. "You are hardly the only one here who is clearly uncomfortable with my presence."
The mech looked around and grimaced at seeing the audience starring at them. Then he shook his head, systems heating as if only then realizing the whole scene was his fault because it was his fear Bluestreak had commented on.
He cleared his vents. "W…Well, you aren't the only one being stared at ri…right now either."
Prowl glanced around and saw that the smaller, blue and white mech was correct; all three of them were the center of attention, not just him and Bluestreak. He flared his own vents slightly.
The other mech smiled timidly. "I… um. Stay. P…Please? T…Take your energon with me? It, it's my fault. I… don't want the two of you to leave ju…just because I…I got scared."
Prowl stiffened at the murmured susurration that moved through the crowd. Then he glanced down at Bluestreak in silent question. The youngling was looking thoughtfully at the other blue mech. Then Bluestreak looked up at him and gave a tiny, timid smile of his own. Knowing the sparkling needed to be out with other mechs and not cloistered in their quarters, Prowl acquiesced and let his fingers close around the offered energon cube.
"Thank you. That is most generous…?"
"Beachcomber." The other mech relaxed visibly. "My designation is Beachcomber."
"…Beachcomber." Prowl filed that information away. "I am Prowl."
After an astrosecond's hesitation, Prowl shifted the cube carefully to the hand of the arm supporting Bluestreak and then, careful not to move too quickly and risk setting the other mech off again, extended his hand to Beachcomber.
All movement in the rec room stilled as Beachcomber looked, with open surprise written on his faceplate, at the proffered palm. Blue optics darted back up to search his own, now golden ones. Then, slowly, a white hand rose to touch his, palm to palm. The moment of contact stretched, as if time itself could not truly believe it had happened, and then restarted with a vengeance.
Murmurs broke out anew in those watching and the two mechs reclaimed their hands quickly. Feeling slightly out of sorts, Prowl followed Beachcomber to a corner table and let Bluestreak down to take his own seat. The Autobot let him choose his own chair, and Prowl chose the one that placed his back against the wall, and then Beachcomber slid into the one across from him.
It took a few fumbling attempts, but the two of them were able to maintain a relatively normal conversation. It was awkward to be sure, for both of them, but that did not mean that Prowl did not appreciate the effort. And while interest in them waned over time, it never faded completely.
As the others paid them less attention, Beachcomber's tension also ebbed. Like their audience, it never went away completely, but Prowl did notice that, after about fifteen breems, the stutter had completely disappeared, even if the nervous set of his armor did not completely relax.
Prowl learned that Beachcomber had been a data clerk before the war, a pacifist at spark who hated violence but had chosen the Autobots because he believed in their ideals and principles. It explained the strength of his initial reaction and Prowl could not help but feel that Beachcomber was stronger than the mech seemed to think of himself that he would accept the hand of friendship in such a situation.
In the chair perpendicular to both of the adults', Bluestreak beamed happily because his Prowl was making a friend. Perhaps his caretaker would not be so lonely any more. And that… that would be a good thing.
… … …
Several orns after his encounter with Beachcomber found Prowl himself sitting by himself in a relatively uncrowded rec room. Prowl told himself he enjoyed the isolation. At the very least he did not miss the drama. Yes, he had told Jazz once he would not be injured by loneliness; that did not mean he found it particularly pleasant.
He had been equally alone when among Decepticons, but that had been a matter of survival; one did not let one's guard down because a mech you called friend would turn on you just as easily as the next. The type of vulnerability it produced to let another individual truly get to know you was far too much of a liability among Megatron's troops. For this reason, the situation he found himself in was not new to Prowl.
What was new was witnessing the friendships that did exist on the Autobot base. It was first demonstrated the way Jazz, Ratchet and others had positioned themselves to protect Smokescreen that first time he had been taken to the med bay. He saw it every orn now in the way mechs would relax in each other's presence and it was a dynamic Prowl found he was missing in his own existence, though he also knew he would not be able to experience again for some time, if ever.
He was a former Decepticon and, no matter that he now saw the world through golden optics instead of red, he knew there would be some Autobots who would never forget his former loyalties and that such a history alone would disqualify him from being a worthy friend. It was reality and he did his best to simply accept it with the same resigned equanimity he did the fact he would doubtless have his processor scanned again.
So absorbed was he in his introspection, Prowl did not bother to look up when the rec room door hissed open, admitting yet another mech.
He had long ago given up the hope he would be able to develop another friendship such as the ones he had in the Praxus Enforcer Precinct. It was a reality he had accepted in the Decepticon army, it was one every single Decepticon abided by. What stung now was seeing that friendships were again 'safe' but knowing he would be denied that comfort and the strength that distant experience had taught him could come from such ties.
But reality was reality and brooding over something he could not change was illogical.
He lifted his half-finished cube to his lip plates and took a cautious sip in an attempt to ward off the twinge of pain that feathered at his processors. He lowered it again, straightening slightly as he saw Jazz swaggering toward him with a cube of his own.
"Jazz." Prowl greeted politely, shifting his balance to stand respectfully, but a negligent wave of a clawed hand kept him in his seat.
"How ya doin' Prowler?" Jazz swung himself uninvited into the seat across from him.
Prowl flinched at the nickname but answered the question. "I am doing adequately… Yourself?"
It came out sounding almost stilted, but the feeling generated by answering and then asking such a simple, innocuous question of Jazz was disconcerting to say the least. This mech had been in his processors three times and had seen more about him than any other living being, even the friends he had had back in Praxus.
This informal an interaction seemed… wrong.
Jazz nodded, as if completely unaffected by the unusualness of the situation, which, as far as Prowl knew, was the truth. "I can't complain."
Then the silver saboteur made a point of looking around, including under the table. Just as Prowl was about to ask what he was searching for, Jazz spoke again. "So, where's lil' Blue?"
Prowl folded his other hand over the one holding the energon cube. "He is with Bumblebee, spending the orn in Ironhide and Chromia's keeping."
Jazz just stared at him, which was not exactly the reaction Prowl had expected. Even so, he did nothing but return the dubious look with a carefully bland one of his own.
"Somethin' wrong with ya guardian subroutines, mech?"
The question took Prowl aback almost as much as the genuinely startled tone. Fully activated guardian subroutines would make it very difficult for him to leave Bluestreak in the custody of someone he did not trust implicitly, which no one on the base was. Surely Jazz could understand how that would not be a wise move on his part.
His response was delivered stiffly, his doorwings flaring slightly. "No, they are simply not engaged."
When Jazz's simply curious expression morphed into something almost scandalized, Prowl hastened to continue, explaining. "I am operating under the general protective subroutines every Enforcer has for dealing with sparklings and younglings. But it is not wise for me to engage actual guardian protocols at this time."
He had the distinct impression of Jazz narrowing his optics, though he could not see such an act through the visor that masked his expression. "Why is that?"
Prowl could not help the incredulous expression that crossed his faceplate, though it was also tinged with caution in that he thought he heard a somewhat sharper bite to the other mech's words. Thus he drew in a vent of air and explained.
"Once I engage guardian protocols there is no going back, as you are well aware. I do not want to think about what it would mean if I fail to pass my probationary period and have activated those subroutines as I highly doubt you would let him leave with me if you cast me out." His doorwings flinched slightly just putting that thought into words.
Jazz only stared at him, then shifted slightly in his seat, leaning back a little. "Mech… Ya are his guardian. Subroutines or not. He chose ya, for whatever reason. We wouldn't come between a charge and guardian 'less the charge's life was in danger and I know that'd never be the case with ya."
Now it was Prowl's turn to just stare, not entirely sure he understood the saboteur correctly. "That… is more than I expected."
Jazz straightened a little, frowning ever so slightly at that and it was a long moment before he spoke. He reached out as if to touch Prowl's shoulder but when the Praxian flinched slightly he froze and dropped his hand back to the table. "Just think about it, Prowler."
"I… I will." Prowl felt his balance systems hitch momentarily, though at what exactly he was not sure. "Thank you." The last came out almost as a question and it brought a tiny smirk onto Jazz's face.
"So…" Jazz hesitated after a moment as if struggling to find something to say. Almost anything he could ask about the Praxian's past would be redundant, not to mention positively rude, because he had already scanned Prowl multiple times. Other 'normal' questions were nothing but awkward as well. 'Anyone waiting for you back home?' Nope; Praxus was nothing but a pile of dust and debris now – not exactly the best conversation starter. 'What are you up to these orns?' Also awkward because he was sure it would be seen as an official questioning/ interrogation or would otherwise simply be inconsiderate. Same thing for inquiries about how Prowl might feel about his current living arrangements or any experiences he had had recently.
He glanced up from his energon to look at Prowl. The Praxian was watching him with the same careful expression that told the saboteur the other mech was guarded.
Surely there was something he could talk about that would not make the mech any more nervous. Then he had to suppress a smile at realizing he had been able to glean even that much from under Prowl's façade of unaffectedness. Then his processor locked onto a possibility.
Pitching his voice to hold a precise blend of simple curiosity and friendly inquiry, Jazz started over. "So, why did ya study Circuit Su rather than any of the other styles?"
Prowl jerked slightly as if the question was a physical blow and Jazz feared he might have pushed too far. He opened up his hands. "Its alright, mech. Ya don't have ta tell me. I ain't askin' for any reason than simple curiosity. Ya got a right ta privacy…"
When Prowl's optic ridge quirked at that, Jazz stumbled to a stop, realizing how ironic and hypocritical that sounded coming from him specifically. Especially when he himself had warned Prowl he had no privacy. When he himself had installed the monitoring devices in Prowl's quarters. When they both knew he would be conducting another scan of Prowl's processor; it was only a matter of time.
Jazz deflated, sagging slightly in his chair. Never before had the necessary duties of his job bothered him as they did right at that moment because never before had he had any interest in his assignments to any greater extent that that. But Prowl was… different. Fascinating. Complicated. Tragic. Valuable.
His vents hitched at that last thought, stuttering slightly. He was getting too personally involved and he knew it. Knew it could end badly for him. Would. He had other friends who were not troubled by the darker side of his job, but then he made sure they never knew the fullness of what it entailed, the true depth of what it meant. But Prowl… he had experienced it first hand.
Of course the mech would be guarded, suspicious even. And Jazz could not blame him, especially since they both knew what he would be required to do at least one more time.
Perhaps he had been premature in seeking Prowl out… pit, he had shamelessly used the tracking device to locate him. So much for privacy. He snorted air through his vents at his own hypocrisy. No wonder Prowl just stared at him like that.
Jazz was about to apologize and give up but then realized with the suddenness of a plasma blast to the cranial plating that he had approached this wrong. Prowl was not one for trivialities. And Prowl had seen Jazz at work, there was no need to equivocate with Prowl, to maintain the front he did for most of the mechs who called him friend.
Not that Prowl would ever consider him a friend.
He looked up to meet that now amber-hued gaze. "You're right. Ya don't have a right to privacy right now. But ya will someday and why ya chose to learn Circuit Su is not really applicable to anything having to do with the Autobots right now so the question is not somethin' ya have ta answer if ya don't want ta. And I wouldn't even blame ya if ya didn't want ta." He paused. "In your place I probably wouldn't."
He stilled his vents, waiting with subdued nervousness for Prowl's reaction. The Praxian studied him carefully, openly evaluating his words and demeanor. Then, plate-by-plate some of the tension eased out of the white and black frame.
"Thank you Jazz, for giving me the option." Prowl spoke slowly, measuring. "And for choosing to be forthright."
It was said as if Prowl had been completely aware of the dissembling Jazz had almost opted for and he silently thanked Primus for choosing not to. He smiled slightly, encoding a brief alert in his CPU to always choose open bluntness with Prowl whenever possible… it seemed to work better and, he realized, would be the only way he could ever earn and keep the mech's trust and respect.
"What can I say, Prowler? Ya bring out the best in me." Jazz immediately wanted to slam his faceplate into his hands. Only the slight coughing sound coming from the Praxian's engine kept him from doing so. Instead he chuckled slightly at the look on Prowl's faceplate.
"If this is the best, I fear to imagine what the worst is." The comment came low and dry and only served to turn Jazz's chuckle into a full out laugh.
And that only served to confuse Prowl even more as if he had not intended his comment to be humorous.
Jazz struggled to regain control and then hesitated, but decided to say it anyway. "You've already seen worse."
Any other mech would have recoiled at such a statement, would have shuddered at the memory and, while that might have happened behind that bland façade, all Prowl did was blink, his doorwings twitching ever so slightly. "Hmn. Indeed. Then I must concur. This is infinitely better."
It was Jazz's turn to stare, faceplate suddenly slack. Was… was that a joke? Surely not. No, it could not be. Prowl was still too serious, too uneasy around him to joke. But, if he looked closely, there was a small twinkle in the Praxian's optics… or was that a trick of the lighting? He just was not sure. But, perhaps, he would get the chance to find out… eventually.
Jazz's faceplate eased into a more relaxed smile and he dipped his helm in brief acknowledgement of the tactician's observation. He was rewarded by a further easing of the tension in Prowl's frame and a tiny, almost nonexistent, smile.
While there was still an awkwardness between them, while Jazz could not forget who and what Prowl was and what his job would require him to do in the future, while Prowl could not forget his true status and what Jazz would doubtless do to him again they were able to talk to each other. It was a discussion between mechs, not just between Decepticon defector and Autobot officer or between prisoner and interrogator, even if it was those things as well.
It was a strange and unlikely dynamic that, Jazz found himself hoping as he made his way back to his quarters nearly a joor later, he hoped Prowl found as rewarding as he had.
But Prowl was well on his way to proving his defection and earning a place among the Autobots. It was still fragile, the trust that had been built to date, but it was trust where before there had been none. And the discussion he had had with Prowl gave Jazz hope that perhaps, when the other, less pleasant aspects of their relationship were no longer applicable, there might be something there that would last.
Yes, I am aware that this chapter is substantially shorter than most of the more recent ones, but that is simply because it is at a good stopping point. Yes, this was mostly a touchy-feel good, almost fluffy chapter. But I figured Prowl needed a break, the poor guy. So yes, this chapter is basically a transition piece and yes there are a lot of minor points (almost trivial details really) in this chapter that will come into play later, so have faith: I wouldn't waste your time *just* to write fluff. :) And I believe the next chapter will make up for the brevity of this one. *Wink*
Be honest now, this was one of the moments a lot of you were waiting for, wasn't it? The moment where Jazz and Prowl actually start to construct that enduring, unlikely, tested by fire friendship that enthralls so many of us. Before anyone asks or speculates: No. I am not taking their relationship any deeper than that of close and trusted confidant, and a brother-in-arms forged in the trials of war and made possible by perfectly complimenting personalities. There will be NO romantic paring between Jazz and Prowl. Period.
Okay. Moving on. Don't worry, there is much more action and tribulation in store for our favorite tactician (you didn't think that this is all it would take for the 'Bots to completely trust him, did you?) and that action starts with the next chapter. So please, enjoy the breather while it lasts. Still accepting speculation on who the 'possible traitor' might be. Don't assume he has been mentioned in the story yet. Remember, Prowl has only actually encountered a handful of Autobots on the base and the story has been mostly from his POV. If he hasn't met the bot in question, neither have we. :) On that note, please review and let me know what you are thinking!
