Greetings everyone, I appologize for the craziness regarding this chapter and the problem FFnet had with allowing updates. I thank you for your patience and hope it has been worth it. :)

Note: Just a refresher on Turning Point's time line (in case anyone is getting frustrated that Prowl isn't being trusted more than he is.) This is just a rough timeline estimate, please, no ranting and raving if I am off a little.

1st Decaorn: Chapters 1-7 (first part was his capture and then one orn in the brig, rest of the orn training/ evaluations with Ironhide, first orn of 3-orn patrol with the Twins)

2nd Decaorn: Chapters 8-11/12 (first part, rest of patrol with the Twins, the debriefing and repairs. His patrol with Ironhide.)

3rd Decaorn: Chapters 13-14. (there was a time jump between Prowl's first Patrol with Ironhide and his tactical analysis... yes it is there it is just kinda slipped in.)

4th - 5th-ish Decaorn: Chapter 15 (That was his long-term patrol with Hound... 5 orn travel out and 5 orn travel back = 1 decaorn right there, not to mention the several orns they spent out in the field before Hound was captured. However, the 5 orn travel back to Iacon actually takes place in chapter 16)

6th Decaorn: Chapters 16-19 (Keep in mind that Prowl's debriefing in chapter 16, his repairs and the incident in the rec room with Bluestreak and Beachcomber all take place relatively quickly. Jazz's conversation with Prowl takes place the orn after Beachcomber's [2 orns] Chapter 18 takes place over 3 orn or so [travel to the 'Con camp] and then chapter 19 is at least half an orn.)

So, basically, by this point Prowl has only been a defector for 6.5 - 7 decaorns at the most. That is the equivalent of what? six and a half weeks for us humans? A month and a half, almost two? Although I think a 'month' for them is 8 or 10 decaorns... or something like that. I've never really figured that out, but that's my story and I'm sticking to it. :)

So, even with everything poor Prowl has endured, he has only been on the 'Bot's side for roughly the equivalent of a month. And he was a high-ish ranking Decepticon: the face of Decepticon tactics for nearly a decavorn. It would be the same as if a high ranking Nazi officer defected during WWII. Would he be trusted very much after only spending a month in the Allies' custody? Just a thought, and perhaps to shed some light on Prowl's patient endurance to this point...

Anyway, without further delay: Chapter 20, Recovery.


The hold of the transport ship was eerily quiet, save for the groans and rattles of the ship itself as Ratchet continued to work on Prowl. He was not doing much, for there was not much more he could do in the field. Mostly the medic's actions were simply to fill the silence of the ride. Ironhide, who knew Ratchet well, could see that fact easily. For that reason, the weapon specialist kept his attention on Prowl.

The mech was a mess. At first glance it seemed like his shoulder guards were missing entirely, but that was not the case. They appeared to have been pried part-way off, the metal twisted so that it was only a vague mockery of the shape it was supposed to be and then parts of it had been crudely sawn off. The armor plating on Prowl's legs looked only marginally better and the twisted metal and wires that spilled out of the nasty gashes in the outer plating told a story of much greater damage beneath. There were claw marks dug deep enough into his chassis armor that shreds of it were missing completely. Dried and still coagulating energon covered his frame and hinted at other injuries that could not be seen on the outside.

Ironhide had to agree with the CMO: He was at a loss as to how Prowl had managed to travel so far from the Decepticon camp. Pit, how was the mech even conscious, let alone functioning? And that was not even taking into consideration the two hacks the Decepticons had attempted.

Ironhide was tempted to feel badly because he had known exactly what Prowl was being sent into.

Bracing his hand against the nearest bulkhead as the shipped bucked in turbulence, Ironhide pushed himself to his pedes and made his way to the emergency berth Prowl had been reclined upon.

Golden optics flickered on at his approach and then constricted as Prowl focused on him. He could see the pain the tactician concealed behind a firm mask of stoicism. Ironhide opened his mouth to speak, but what he had wanted to say died on his glossa. With a small rev of his engine he tried again, and once more nothing came out. He pressed his lip plates together.

Prowl merely continued to regard him silently, simply waiting for him to articulate whatever he had come to say.

"If you have nothing to say, go sit back down." Ratchet snapped.

Ironhide let his engine growl at the mech before focusing back on Prowl. He hesitated a moment longer and then finally managed to spit out. "I'm impressed."

An optic ridge quirked upward over a very slight wince. "It is my hope that next time you wish to be impressed it will not be quite so… uncomfortable."

Behind Ironhide Hound snorted lightly and even Ironhide felt his engine stutter. "Hopefully there won't be any more traitors to deal with."

"If there are, I would volunteer to find a better method of taking care of them." Prowl drew in a sharp vent before letting it out slowly.

"I'll keep that in mind." Ironhide smiled ever so slightly before returning back to his seat. He was unaware that Ratchet's sharp optics followed him, the medic's hands falling still before curling into fists.

"You knew Barricade was a traitor?"

Ironhide froze at Ratchet's dangerously low and incredulously snapped question. He turned slowly, suddenly wary at the almost murderous look in the CMO's optics. Twin, equally unhappy revs coming from the two scouts behind him made the weapon specialist tense further.

"Was he sent out with you knowing this would happen to him?" It was Hound.

"Hound." Prowl's, voice was firm even if it was laced with discomfort, and drew every mech's attention. "I knew."

Ironhide blinked his optic shutters. It was not said as if the Praxian thought he was imparting new information but was reminding Hound of something. Behind him, Hound's vents released a gust of air.

"That doesn't mean it was right." Hound replied, though his voice had lost its edge.

"It is reality." Prowl answered.

"And it won't happen again." Ironhide said quietly.

Ratchet huffed but a pained gasp from his patient had him turning back to Prowl before he could say what was on his mind. Ironhide released a vent and returned to his seat, aware of the still unhappy vibe radiating of Hound, who was seated next to him.

Even though Ratchet never took his optics off of Prowl for the remainder of the half-joor long flight he sent a tight comm. to Ironhide. /I doubt Optimus will be as easily diverted./

When Ironhide did not respond Ratchet sent him another message, this time his digital voice dripping cynicism. /He didn't know about that aspect of this mission, did he?/

Ironhide grumbled back over the same line. /Plausible deniability./

/Right./ The disbelief in the medic's reply was punctuated by an irritated cough from his engine.

Silence reclaimed the hold of the ship until they started their final approach. As the ship began its descent into the hanger, Ratchet leaned over Prowl. "I am going to sedate you prior to disembarking."

If Ironhide did not know better, he would have sworn he saw a flash of fear in the former Decepticon's optics. But then the Praxian nodded stiffly. "If you must."

"I believe that would be best." Ironhide frowned at the note of concern in Ratchet's voice. That was never a good sign.

"Ironhide." Ironhide's attention snapped to Prowl who continued softly. "Please… keep Bluestreak away, at least until I am online again?"

Ironhide blinked his optic shutters at the request, but in glancing at the mech again, seeing the extensiveness of the damage that riddled his frame, he could imagine what the small blue and gray sparkling would go through if he saw his guardian like that. He nodded. "I promise."

Relief brushed across the Praxian's faceplate before it went slack and those bright gold optics flicked off.

… … …

Ratchet drummed his fingers impatiently on the metal surface of the briefing room table as he waited for the rest of the command staff to enter. Optimus was already there and the CMO was doing his level best to ignore the concern in his leader's optics as the Prime looked at him. Ironhide walked in with Jazz, glanced at Ratchet and then opted to sit across from him: as far away as one could get at a round table. Jazz seemed openly concerned as he slid into the chair next to Ratchet. Red Alert and Blaster walked in next, speaking quietly but animatedly with one another and ended up sitting next to each other so as to better facilitate their discussion.

Smokescreen came in last, his doorwings twitching slightly and Ratchet saw the uneasy look in his expression. The tactician's optics met his briefly and then darted away and Ratchet felt his ire grow even further. So, Smokescreen knew as well.

"Let us begin." Optimus spoke once Smokescreen had retreated to the seat next to Ironhide. "First, I am saddened to announce that one of our own has betrayed us. Barricade, who has been with the Autobots for nearly six vorns now and had a distinguished record of service, has been revealed as a Decepticon deep cover spy. I understand that our own recent defector, Prowl, was instrumental in uncovering this treachery. Only one member on the team sustained substantial damage."

Ironhide and Smokescreen nodded sharply, looking anywhere but at Ratchet. The CMO's fist curled tighter on the table's surface.

"Ratchet, how is Prowl doing?" Optimus asked with genuine concern.

Ratchet's engine growled as he straightened. He lifted a datapad, not because he needed it to recall the Praxian's extensive list of injuries, but for dramatic effect. "One collar strut was fractured. Portions of both shoulder guards have been mangled badly enough to require complete replacements. Substantial damage to the plating on his chassis, most of which was caused by clawed fingers, thankfully his spark chamber was not involved. Both legs had major support struts completely shattered, the armor covering them shredded. Two fingers were missing and must be replaced. His hip joint casings had been pried apart and the pain relays fused, my guess was that this was done prior to the other damage being inflicted so as to prevent him from deactivating his pain sensors…"

There were uncomfortable murmurs from the others at the table and Ratchet's mood grew darker just thinking about the damages the Praxian had been subjected to. He continued, not bothering to spare them any gruesome detail, pleased that at least Smokescreen and Ironhide were not meeting his optics. He focused on the tactician as he moved to the next part of his report, knowing the other Praxian would understand better than anyone else at the table what Prowl had gone through. "Furthermore, his doorwings had been shredded, literally. Panels covering the third, fourth and seventh sensor arrays on the left and the second, fourth, sixth and ninth sensor arrays on the right had been forcibly pried away and the underlying sensor hubs gouged out with what was probably a blunt instrument of some kind. Additionally, there were ten separate energon daggers imbedded in the wings. Six in the right doorwing and four in the left. Both had to be amputated in the field by Springer and are currently being rebuilt by Wheeljack."

Smokescreen's optics were wide with horror, his own doorwings trembling. But upon meeting Ratchet's gaze even briefly, the tactician looked down at the table.

Mostly satisfied for the moment, Ratchet looked back at Optimus. "I could also tell by scarring on his firewalls that there was at least one attempt to hack him. Prowl reported two attempts."

Jazz, appearing rather uncomfortable, perked up at that. "Oh? And how did that go for 'em?"

Ratchet released a vent of air. He had taken advantage of having the former Decepticon sedated to do a brief scan of his memory files related to the mission but no more. "According to Prowl's own memory cache, not very good. Barricade attempted to hack him first. Prowl was indeed able to fragment the traitors processors, and very thoroughly I might add. It will be some time before we hear from him again. The second time was after he had been beaten and most of the reported damages inflicted. Apparently Slipshod liked to use the energon daggers as an attempt to try and break Prowl's mental concentration. He still did not get anything."

Jazz actually smiled at that. "I told you he woulda been able ta put up quite a fight if he'd wanted ta."

"There is more." Ratchet said, stopping the soft murmurs that his report had generated, focusing all his attention on the Prime

Once the room was silent again, Ratchet continued. "Prowl knew going into this mission that Barricade was a likely traitor and that he would probably be captured and tortured and likely killed. Gave it a probability of 99.26%. He knew what would happen to him."

Optimus spoke after a long moment. "He knew? How?"

Ratchet's engine growled again, the noise startling those closest to him into leaning away. The fist on the table tightened and then pounded into the metal surface. "Because that was the real mission!"

Silence echoed after the CMO's furious snarl. Optimus straightened as he processed that statement, then he turned his slowly simmering cobalt optics onto Smokescreen. When he spoke it was with a deadly calm that even made Ratchet tremble internally.

"Is that true?"

Smokescreen was a long moment in answering, unable to lift his optics from the table. When he finally answered it was more strained than anyone in the briefing room had heard before. "Yes, sir."

The silence that settled this time was brittle and almost trembled in the intensity and carefully restrained anger building not just in Optimus but in Jazz as well. No one spoke, afraid of tipping the balance as their Prime's optics bored into them one at a time, as if reading, evaluating.

"Everyone except Ironhide and Smokescreen, leave."

Blaster and Red Alert both leapt to their pedes and bolted for the door.

"Jazz." Optimus commanded with that single word.

Jazz shook his helm. "I'm responsible for Prowl's parole. Somethin' like this shoulda been run past me."

Ratchet read the barely restrained fury in the saboteur and quickly deduced that Jazz had not had a hand in this. Which was good for the little minibot's sake, because he was ready to rip helms from the other two's shoulders… even if he would have to be the one to weld them back on afterward.

He had not even realized he had moved, or that his saw was starting to warm up until Optimus spoke again, warning lacing his tone. "Ratchet!"

Ratchet straightened, gesturing at Smokescreen and Ironhide, making the Praxian wince. "Those two-bit, wretched, slagging glitch…"

"Ratchet!" Ratchet's vocalizer cut into static at the commanding tone in Optimus voice, snapping him out of his tirade. "No. I will deal with this. Remain calm or go tend to your patient."

Ratchet hesitated, but could read the grim seriousness in the Prime's optics, the anger that he somehow managed never to let escape that unfathomable calm and realized that Optimus was right. He had come dangerously close to crossing a line he could not allow himself to cross and that doing so would only obligate Optimus to punish him as well. Grudgingly he deflated, giving his Prime a respectful, almost apologetic, nod and settled back into his chair even if he was by no means calm.

Seeing his CMO had regained control, Optimus returned his attention to the two mechs who were carefully studying the table. With a quiet sigh of air, Optimus decided to deal with them one at a time.

"Smokescreen." The Praxian flinched visibly at his tone but Optimus said nothing more until the tactician hesitantly turned his optics up to meet his. "Do you know what you have done?"

Smokescreen's vents flared and he spoke quickly, defensively. "Every plan we came up with to expose Barricade carried extreme risk of something like that happening." When Optimus' engine revved, Smokescreen flinched again and hurried on. "Actually… Prowl was the most likely one to survive simply because I knew the 'Cons would want to prolong the process. It would've given the rescue team a chance to reach him. Anyone else who could have been sent on the mission would have been killed on the spot."

Ratchet released another vent of air, feeling his armor start to settle on his frame ever so slightly at hearing that assertion. Beside him, Jazz likewise relaxed a fraction, as did Optimus.

Smokescreen blinked his optic shutters at their reactions and then glanced around before shaking his helm almost desperately and looking back at Optimus. "As angry as I am at him, I never would've done something like that for revenge. I swear."

Ratchet froze mid intake and looked at Optimus, waiting – along with everyone else – for the Prime's judgment. After a long moment, Optimus nodded. "That is good to hear, Smokescreen. Because that would only have compounded the problem."

"Problem?" Smokescreen looked genuinely perplexed. "I don't…"

Jazz cut in then, his fingers drumming angrily on the table as he kept his visored gaze locked onto the Praxian. "Did ya even ask 'im if he had any objections ta takin' on the mission?"

Smokescreen nodded, not seeming to understand the relevance of the question. "He said he would carry out the assigned task to the best of his ability. I don't…"

Jazz leaned forward suddenly and so quickly Smokescreen jerked back. The Saboteur's sudden fury was frightening to behold, even for Ratchet. "In other words, he was trapped into riskin' his spark… into goin' on a mission where it was absolutely certain he would be tortured. That's basically the same as if ya had done it yourself!"

Smokescreen trembled slightly. "What? No… he, he could have objected."

"No. He could not." Optimus reached out and put a restraining hand on Jazz who was also trembling, though not in fear. The head of Autobot Intelligence slowly settled back into his chair and Optimus continued, focusing back on Smokescreen.

"The changes Prowl introduced to his ethical programing mean that he literally could not protest, even had he wanted to." Seeing Smokescreen's optics widen in shock and slowly dawning horror, Optimus continued more gently. "I know you are angry at Prowl right now, and I know you have every right to be for what he did to you. But you should also know how dangerous he could be if he decides not to continue allying himself with the Autobots. And that is the only way he could have avoided following your orders."

Smokescreen looked down, his optics unfocused on the physical world around him. He shuddered as the full weight of what those words meant slammed into him. "Oh, Primus…"

Seeing what he had wanted in Smokescreen, Optimus turned his attention to Ironhide.

Ironhide did not halfway cower as Smokescreen had. It was not in the large black mech's temperament to do so. Instead he straightened, meeting Optimus' hard look for a long moment, evaluating the situation. Then he dipped his helm formally.

"Prime." Ironhide's gruff voice rumbled with equal parts respect, submission and control. The ancient soldier knew he was in trouble and would accept the consequences with dignity.

"Did you know about this aspect of the mission?" Optimus asked quietly but without compromise in his voice.

Ironhide hesitated, but then nodded. "Yes, sir."

"You knew better." The raw disappointment in the Prime's voice made the bulky mech wince ever so slightly.

"Yes, sir." Ironhide admitted. "But I did have reasons."

"Reasons to force a mech into a situation where he would be tortured and possibly killed?"

Ironhide nodded, gesturing with one finger to the tactician beside him. "Smokescreen was right. Prowl had the highest chance of surviving of any mech on the base. I saw the calculations he ran."

Optimus frowned again. "But you know that his loyalty…

"Has only been confirmed." Ironhide cut his leader off, a note of fierce if ill-defined emotion filling his voice. "Unless it is a big ruse by the 'Con slaggers and they let him escape that is. Because, if he was going to turn on us, he would have done so on this mission. Better we find out now than when he is trusted more and would actually pose a threat to our security."

Ironhide paused. "There is still the risk that he is a sleeper agent, but except for that…"

Optimus continued to stare at him critically, but his weapon specialist did not back down. "Besides, we can't guarantee he won't accidentally be ordered to do something dangerous or unpleasant in the future. No matter how hard we might try to protect him, it is bound to happen because most mechs aren't aware of that little problem with his programming. Better to find out what his reactions will be now than later."

Optimus' optics narrowed, "He endured severe torture and did not turn on us for making him do so. That is more than we had any right to expect."

"Slagging impressive, if ya ask me." Jazz added curtly.

Then, despite everything, Ironhide smiled. "No. What was really impressive was what happened afterward."

He quickly detailed the battle Prowl had directed, in spite of his many and varied injuries, including details from Hound's, Springer's and Moonracer's reports. Ratchet could tell that that news was likewise new to Optimus, Jazz and Smokescreen. The low whistle that escaped Jazz's vents matched Ratchet's initial reaction perfectly.

Smokescreen seemed to be quickly coming to terms with these newest revelations and then looked up at Optimus, his optics and tone almost pleading. "Sir… I want him in my department. I don't know if I've forgiven him yet, or if I even can. But he is the best tactician I have ever met; the best one on Cybertron. Planning an effective, coordinated attack on those safe houses he discovered is going to be tough. Our likelihood of success goes up exponentially if he is involved."

Ratchet's engine revved unhappily at the thought of Smokescreen having direct command over Prowl like that, especially after this fiasco.

Optimus seemed to feel the same way. "First you will determine what effect this mission has had on his willingness to cooperate, Smokescreen. Then, if all is well, we will inform him of his new assignment once he is released from med bay."

Smokescreen nodded, looking a little uneasy but clearly not daring to question the Prime after the reprimand he and Ironhide had just received. Optimus stood, signaling the end of the meeting and Smokescreen darted from the room, not meeting anyone's optics. Ironhide also started to leave but Optimus called out to him.

"Ironhide."

The black mech froze and Ratchet and Jazz swiftly decided their presence was needed elsewhere and followed Smokescreen's lead in getting back to their various duties.

Optimus waited until the door closed behind the other mechs' retreat and then walked slowly toward his most trusted guard. Ironhide straightened under his inspection but did not speak, waiting respectfully for Optimus to continue.

"We are not Decepticons." He said deliberately. "Underhanded and manipulative tactics are beneath us."

Now alone, Ironhide's engine revved as he met the Prime's gaze boldly. "And if we allow ourselves to remain in ignorance of a possible threat it does not mean that that threat does not exist."

"We have sworn to protect the rights of others." Optimus reminded.

"Prowl is still a Prisoner of War. He has no rights."

Optimus frowned. "You do not truly believe that."

Ironhide's engine growled softly then he dropped his gaze. "Perhaps not. Though... it's an option."

"We will follow the tenants of our cause, Ironhide. We should not compromise simply because of expediency." Optimus insisted, then paused. "I am confident another way could have been found to administer the test you used this situation for."

Ironhide did not respond for a long moment, not until a large, strong hand landed on his shoulder. Then he looked up. "It was still effective."

"Perhaps." Optimus admitted. "And perhaps it was the only way. I do not like the thought of you going behind my back in such a manner. Others, I would expect it of, but not you."

Ironhide remained silent for a long moment. "I wanted to protect you."

"And I appreciate that." Optimus' voice was full of understanding, but still carried flinty conviction tinged with disappointment. "But I doubt that fact will matter to the one who was most wronged by this event."

"I think you will find Prowl does not hold you accountable." Ironhide interjected. "And I am not even sure it would matter if he did."

"To him or to us?"

"To him." Ironhide shrugged the shoulder his leader was not touching. "He knows he is still a POW, and he knows…

"We are trying to convince him to join us, Ironhide." Optimus reproved softly. "What motivation is there for him to do that if we behave in the same manner as the Decepticons?"

"We are not Decepticons!" Ironhide bit out.

Optimus withdrew his hand and stepped back in clear dismissal, fis tone growing more firm. "Exactly. Ensure we do not act like them."

Ironhide stiffened at the clear rebuke. "Yes, sir."

A moment longer hung between them and then he took his leave. Had he glanced back into the briefing room before the door slid shut, Ironhide would have seen the Prime return to his seat, gaze focused on that intermediate space that only Optimus seemed to be able to see.

… … …

Prowl's optics onlined, flickering once before powering up completely, focusing belatedly on First Aid and Ratchet peering down at him. He blinked, instinctively accessing his memory files and running a rapid diagnostic of his own systems. That was when he realized at least one of the medics was in his mind.

With ruthless resolve, Prowl stamped out the instinctive panic at that realization as he reminded himself these were allies; medics. Once his brief reaction was under control he was able to evaluate the presence and recognized that both of them were actually in his head. But it did not carry the feel of an interrogation, only that of a medical evaluation.

Allowing him to come to those realizations on his own, Ratchet finally spoke. "How are you feeling?"

Prowl blinked again and took a moment to consider the question, running another diagnostic. He grimaced. "My processor feels a touch… fuzzy. But there is no pain."

Ratchet nodded. "That is because you are still lightly sedated." Prowl nodded his understanding, suddenly nervous about the reason for that fact combined with their presence in his processor. He waited silently however, knowing he had no choice, regardless of what they were about to do to him.

Thankfully, Ratchet chose to explain. "Your firewalls show evidence of damage from the hacks the Decepticons attempted. When I confirmed your deletion of the sensory uplink codes I noticed some damage behind those firewalls as well. It is also necessary to take a look at that anomaly in your logic and emotional interface, considering the recent trauma you have endured."

Prowl understood and he also understood he could not complain seeing as it was considered a medical necessity. "I understand." He said softly.

Ratchet nodded and then glanced at First Aid. "Since you are still sedated, and therefore this won't be as uncomfortable, First Aid needs some experience with this type of thing."

Prowl glanced at First Aid's openly nervous expression, appreciating that the decision was being left to him. For that reason more than anything else, Prowl found himself nodding. "Of course."

They ran the scan, or rather Ratchet ran the scan and First Aid followed attentively. The sedatives made his systems sluggish but they did not demolish his defenses. It would have made it difficult to maintain a defense of his mind had he been trying, but as he was not, he was grateful they blunted the discomfort he knew such an exam would have generated.

The exam lasted perhaps eight breems, extended to allow Ratchet to teach First Aid and demonstrate things to him. Through it all, Prowl did not so much as twitch, mentally or physically, as he passively 'watched' what the medics were doing. When it was finally over, both medics withdrew and then disconnected the hub. Moments later the fuzziness that had filled his processor cleared and Prowl became more aware of his surroundings.

He was in the medbay, reclined on his back on a berth. Most of the pain had either been resolved or was expertly masked. The general soreness of fresh welds criss-crossed his frame and he realized with a start that Ratchet had actually completed most if not all of his major repairs while he was sedated. That alone was a kindness he had not experienced since the war started.

Following that realization was the fact that his doorwings had not yet been reconnected. As if sensing his thoughts, First Aid spoke up.

"Wheeljack is still working on your doorwings. We still have some work to do on the control wiring for them as well, as the damage to your back was substantial." First Aid gave him an encouraging look. "But that is about it, though you will need to stay in that berth for the rest of the orn so the welds in your legs can properly set. Ratchet would not be very happy if you broke one by walking too early."

"No, I would not." Ratchet growled, then looked at Prowl. "That anomaly in your command cortex appears to be stable for the moment, though it is slightly larger than when I first detected it. Other than that, there is someone here to see you, if you are up to visitors."

"Who?" Prowl asked, hiding a wince as the ache in his processor from the recent scan made itself known in the absence of the sedatives.

"Smokescreen." Ratchet seemed irritated at just saying the other tactician's name. "I can give you a medical excuse not to see him if you wish. The glitch."

Prowl frowned at that "If he is here, he must have a reason. He would not be here just to 'check' on my wellbeing."

"Which is exactly why you don't have to see him. You are most definitely on medical leave right now." Ratchet glowered across the med bay again.

Prowl frowned, feeling a touch defensive for the younger tactician, though he had an inkling of why Ratchet was upset. "I will see him."

Ratchet nodded curtly and then disappeared from his field of vision. First Aid gingerly helped him to sit up so that he could lean against the nearby wall and Prowl was grateful for that, not really wanting to confront his former apprentice flat on his back like a malfunctioning drone.

Smokescreen approached him, almost cautiously and those bright blue optics roved over his frame, carefully cataloging the damage. Smokescreen came to a stop and leaned against the berth next to Prowl's.

"You look horrible." Prowl might have imagined the slight wince in the other tactician's expression.

"I actually feel much better than I had previously."

Smokescreen's optics snapped to his and then he grimaced. "Yeah. I imagine so." There was an awkward moment of silence before Smokescreen gestured vaguely with one hand. "Look, Prowl…I…"

Prowl frowned slightly when Smokescreen looked to the side. "I trust there were reasons for why you planned the mission in such a way. Reasons that necessitated it happening as it did." When Smokescreen looked back at him startled, Prowl softened his tone, though it remained carefully bland. "You said you would not do this to me just for spite."

Smokescreen stared at him, then slowly nodded. "I ran calculations on 182 different possible mission configurations and sending you… actually had the highest survival chances, for everyone on the mission."

Prowl just looked at him silently, processing that statement. Smokescreen stiffened slightly under his gaze. "The details of those calculations is still restricted information, but I'm telling you the truth. It was the best of a lot of horrible options, so I chose the lesser of the available evils."

Unspoken was an almost juvenile "So take it or leave it."

It was still not entirely satisfactory in terms of an explanation, but Prowl could not fault the classified status of such information. The real question was whether he would trust his former apprentice, and that was the conundrum he pondered for several long astroseconds.

"You do not trust me." It was a relatively bland statement from Smokescreen, though tinged with hurt.

Prowl's optics refocused on him. "Have I reason to?"

White and gray fists curled tightly. "I'm not the one who walked out of the Enforcer corps, who betrayed everything he claimed to believe in to join the Decepticons, who abandoned an apprentice – a friend – just because it was the most 'logical' thing to do."

Prowl cringed at that heated reminder and lowered his gaze. Above him, Smokescreen's vents were heaving air. He was wise enough to realize that the rebuke stung so badly because it was well deserved. Thus he was not even tempted to offer a justification or defense.

"You are right." He said softly. "My apologies."

Prowl forced himself to meet Smokescreen's fuming optics before formally ducking his helm. "You have said there were valid reasons for putting me in the situation you have, even if you can not reveal those reasons to me. I accept that." He hesitated. "Thank you, Smokescreen, for the reassurance."

Smokescreen blinked, as if caught completely off guard. He nodded stiffly and started to leave, making it several steps away before he stopped. He did not so much as turn around to face him again as he slightly angled his body back toward Prowl's berth. "For what it is worth, I honestly did not know how tightly your ethical program bound you in this case."

Then he was gone, leaving Prowl to wonder about the possible, unspoken implications behind that last statement.

He did not have long to speculate when an excited young voice suddenly shattered the relative quiet of the med bay with an almost squealed, "Prowl!"

Prowl looked toward the sound even as running pedes stampeded towards his berth. Almost in a flash, Bluestreak's small helm was right next to him, a small blue and gray hand placed hesitantly on the armor of his leg – which was still stretched out on the berth he was sitting on. Another hand reached up and gently caressed the armor of his chassis, as if the youngling was trying to reassure himself that he was actually, physically there.

Prowl lifted his hand, gratified to find the fingers Slipshod had torn off had been replaced. He rested it lightly on Bluestreak's helm only to have the sparkling wrap both of his hands around his wrist and cling to it tightly for a long moment. Then Bluestreak pulled away slightly, but only so that he could look over Prowl as much as he was able from his poor vantage point.

"Are you in pain?" Wide blue optics peered back at him. "Because Jazz said you were injured and that you were hurting and that that was why I couldn't see you right away. And I can see the fresh weld marks on you and, there are so many of them and… where are your doorwings?

Prowl released a vent. "I was injured, and my doorwings are… being repaired. I am not currently in a significant amount of pain."

Bluestreak's faceplate furrowed for a moment. "So… you are in pain?"

"Nothing to be concerned about." Prowl assured and was rewarded by a relieved ex-vent from the youngling and a timid smile.

Then the youngling glanced around the berth again, looking longingly at its surface, before looking back at Prowl. "Can I sit with you?"

Prowl nodded, moving to allow the youngling room on the side of the berth, pleasantly surprised when there was no excruciating pain accompanying the movement, only the soreness of fresh welds.

Bluestreak settled next to his hips, hanging his own legs off the edge of the berth. He looked at Prowl for a moment and then looked down at the ground below him, clearly deep in thought and troubled by what was on his processor.

"What are you thinking, Bluestreak?" He asked gently.

Bluestreak looked up at him, started to say something, then pressed his lip plates closed and hung his head again. "I… it's not important."

Prowl frowned and reached out to touch Bluestreak's shoulder. "That is clearly not the case. It must be important to you." When Bluestreak still did not stir or volunteer what he was thinking, Prowl let his engine rev softly, just enough to get the youngling's attention.

Blue optics shot to him in surprise and Prowl repeated. "What is it? Please tell me."

Bluestreak seemed to consider his options and then he turned fully toward him. "You said you would be careful!"

Prowl jerked back slightly at the bitter accusation. "I was as careful as I could be…"

"But you got hurt!" Bluestreak cut him off and curled his legs under himself to stand and then he stepped onto Prowl's upper leg, one hand curling around his chassis armor to help him keep his position as the other gestured widely at the various weld seams. "You might have gotten killed, and you said you would be careful. But you didn't, you almost got killed and you said you would be careful!"

A tiny fist banged into his chassis and then Bluestreak collapsed against him, little hands clinging to the edges of metal plates, his frame shaking in time to quiet keens. Feeling completely out of his element, Prowl just sat there, frozen for a long moment and only distantly aware Bluestreak's outburst had attracted attention.

Suddenly understanding his lack of action might be taken for either indifference or an inability to do anything else because of his injuries, and not wanting the youngling removed, Prowl quickly wrapped one arm around the trembling frame, stroking him soothingly between the doorwings.

More than a dozen possible responses flitted through Prowl's processors and he dismissed each of them, confident Bluestreak would not be able to understand the intricate and serious realities that had impacted his last mission.

He settled for releasing a soft vent and spoke softly. "I am sorry Bluestreak."

The youngling whimpered, curling into him even tighter.

Slowly, over the span of several breems, Bluestreak slowly calmed. "I didn't mean to blame you. I know you wouldn't hurt yourself. I'm sorry." He mumbled against Prowl's armor.

"I know; you are worried." Prowl answered gently.

Bluestreak gave him a tiny, weak smile and then, with another tight squeeze he relaxed, slipping into recharge; spent by the wild tide of emotions.

Seeing that Bluestreak was finally settled, Prowl turned his attention to the one who had brought him. Expecting to see Chromia or Ironhide, and since he still did not have his doorwings and was therefore unable to scan for a spark signature, he was surprised to see it was Jazz who was leaning against a berth several dozen meters away so as not to intrude on their reunion.

When their optics locked, the saboteur pushed away from the exam table and sauntered closer before swinging up onto the berth next to the one Prowl occupied.

Prowl dipped his helm, wondering if the head of Autobot Intelligence was there to scan his processor, though he would have thought Jazz would not do something like that with Bluestreak present. "Thank you, Jazz, for bringing Bluestreak."

Jazz gave him a smile. "Think nothin' of it. How are ya doing mech?"

Prowl gave the silver minibot a somewhat rueful look. "Better than I had imagined I would be when I left Iacon."

"Yeah, I bet so." The grimace that ghosted across Jazz's faceplate surprised Prowl. "Look, Prowl about that…"

When Jazz paused, pressing his lip plates together, Prowl thought he understood; his earlier suspicions confirmed. He nodded, averting his gaze. "I understand. You may conduct your scan whenever you wish."

Jazz physically recoiled at that, jerking backward. "What? Whoa!"

Prowl blinked but did not lift his gaze to the other mech's truly disliking the idea of another invading mind after what the Decepticons had done. He pushed that away, answering the question implied in the saboteur's less than eloquent outburst.

"After such an event it would only be logical to confirm that my supposedly questionable loyalties have not suffered. I will not resist."

It took Jazz a moment to recover, first staring and then shaking his helm rapidly, leaning forward, reaching across the distance that separated them. Prowl tensed as the Saboteur's clawed hand neared, but he did not try to evade the contact. Whatever he was expecting, Jazz only rested the tips of two fingers lightly on his shoulder.

"Nah, Prowler. Ya wouldn't have come back if ya had had a change of spark." That brought Prowl's gaze up sharply. Jazz gave his freshly replaced shoulder guard a light, almost friendly tap before pulling away. "I… appreciate the offer tho', 'specially after what ya have just been through."

Prowl could not stop the relieved ex-vent that blew through his systems. "Thank you Jazz." Then he considered the Saboteur closely. "That… is a remarkable and unexpected demonstration of trust."

Jazz nodded, a smile forming slowly on his lip plates, gesturing up and down his frame. "Yeah, well I'd have ta say ya definitely earned it after somethin' like that."

Prowl almost, almost, gave a short, hard bark of laughter at that. Something must have shown on his faceplate however, because Jazz cocked his head to the side questioningly. Prowl allowed a gust of air to snort through his olfactory vents. "I would have preferred a different method had been found to test my convictions."

Surprisingly, Jazz grimaced again. "Yeah… about that. Prowl…"

Prowl frowned, truly concerned. That the exact same place in the conversation that had troubled Jazz the first time. Obviously, Prowl's own suspicions as to what the hesitation was about were wrong. The fact that he had absolutely no idea what Jazz was trying, and clearly not sure how, to say made him more nervous than he would ever admit.

Keeping his arm around Bluestreak, Prowl leaned forward slightly. "Jazz… Whatever it is… You should not have to struggle so much in how to tell me."

Jazz's gaze snapped back to him and he had the distinct impression that the saboteur was remembering something just as much as he was considering Prowl's words. At length the other mech nodded, all pretense falling from his demeanor.

"You're right, I suppose." The smaller mech drew in a deep intake of air. "Look, I gotta make sure ya understand what I'm sayin' and… what I'm not sayin' and that ya don't take it wrong or read too much into it."

Prowl felt his optic ridge's arch at Jazz's unusually earnest tone and, after a moment he simply nodded his understanding. After a long, intense stare, Jazz continued, speaking slowly, carefully, evaluating his response.

"Tha mission you were sent on… Look. I understand how your ethical codin' works, I know you weren't given an option this time. And a mission like that… it wasn't right. That you're takin' it as well as ya have…" Jazz stumbled to a stop again, looking to the side before meeting his gaze once more. "I'm sorry."

Prowl blinked, jerking away slightly to bump his back against the wall supporting him. Air hissed through his vents at the stab of pain that action sent through the still tender wounds on his dorsal plating. Why would Jazz apologize?

Before Prowl could ask, Jazz continued, drawing in another deep vent of air as if to steel himself. "I guess what I'm tryin' to say is that we don't expect ya to do somethin' like that just 'cause ya are told to. That type of sacrifice isn't somethin' any mech should ever be ordered ta make. Tha fact that you're a defecting 'Con and a POW doesn't change that."

Prowl considered Jazz carefully, surprised and… warmed… at what he had said. It was so different from the Decepticons, where absolute obedience was expected and enforced with brutal efficiency. It was not uncommon for lower-ranking Decepticon soldiers to be sent on suicide missions and they were not given a choice. And suddenly he realized yet another difference between the Decepticons and the Autobots; it was a difference that gave the Autobots a resiliency that he had failed to take note of before and would greatly impact the outcome of the war and the methods that could be used to bring about its end. He tasked his tactical computer to investigating that little insight and its possible ramifications as he focused back on the moment.

If he took that statement seriously, it left him in a very difficult position and he suddenly understood Jazz's struggle to communicate his meaning.

Speaking softly he decided to ask directly. "As you say, you know the parameters of my programming. If you are giving me permission to disregard such orders, where do I draw the line?"

Jazz stared for a moment and then relaxed visibly. Then he smiled, but it was in relief, not humor. And then grim determination. "I shoulda known you'd get it. Ya understand I can't just give ya cart blanche permission to disregard orders or anything." Prowl nodded in the momentary pause and Jazz continued. "But I can do this. If ya ever doubt whether or not an order you've been given is somethin' you'd be expected to follow like that, I want ya to ask me. I'm the one overseein' your probation."

Prowl thought about that for a moment. "And you are specifically referring to orders that would require substantial risk and/or a guarantee of excessive physical harm or possible death."

It was the logical conclusion based on the earlier context of the conversation, but Prowl wanted to be sure.

Jazz nodded slowly. "Not everyone knows about the restrictions your ethical codin' places on ya. That's how this was allowed to happen in the first place. I'm fairly confident that isn't information you'd want widely known, so I figure this is the best way ta help make sure it doesn't happen again."

Prowl found he was just staring at the small, silver mech, trying to wrap his processor around the very idea of what was being offered to him. "Why?"

"'Cause we aren't Decepticons." Jazz said with an almost angry bite to his words. "Just sendin' a mech out ta be tortured or killed isn't somethin' worthy of our faction. Not without a slaggin' good cause, and preferably not without giving the mech a say in the matter."

Prowl considered that as well, reading between the lines that the mech might very well consider that there could be times when such an order would be considered proper. It would just depend on what 'slaggin' good cause' meant.

He continued to peer at Jazz, his expression carefully controlled. The silver saboteur met his gaze without backing down and Prowl was struck with the sudden realization that Jazz was very serious about this. It was an offer to… protect him. To protect him from the unintended consequences of his own tampering with his ethical program. And the very idea floored him, nearly making his balance systems glitch and was glad he was still seated. The Decepticons would have taken gleeful advantage of such a self-imposed weakness and he had been prepared to stoically endure the ramifications of his own shortsightedness. That those who had so recently called him enemy would actually seek to protect him… it was… almost beyond his ability to comprehend, to believe.

It was also an offer that could potentially put Jazz in a very awkward place and Prowl immediately knew he would not even consider abusing such an offer of trust.

After a long moment he bowed his helm to Jazz. "I understand, Jazz. And I am grateful for the consideration and I give you my word, I will not take this liberty lightly."

Jazz smiled again, brief and almost solemn. "I know."

And with that, Prowl also realized that Jazz was likewise positioning himself to take sole responsibility if the Autobots ever deemed it necessary to send him on another mission similar to the one he had just completed. Or any other unpleasant task from which he might some day ask for a reprieve, should he be denied that escape. He suspected that Jazz was doing so strictly so that if it did happen again, he would have an individual to blame, rather than the Autobots as a whole. Jazz knew his programming, after all, and was taking this step to help protect others; just in case. That realization, while it might have tempted Prowl to feel resentful toward the silver minibot, actually had the opposite effect. He found, as illogical as it might have been, that his respect for Jazz increase.

Prowl gave Jazz another nod, somehow able to embody that newfound admiration in such a simple gesture. Jazz blinked and then returned the nod, sliding off the berth and onto his pedes.

They considered each other for a long moment, then Jazz gestured toward the door of the med bay. "I'm gonna let ya get some recharge now. My time's almost up anyway, Ratchet said I only had a handful of breems before he'd kick me out."

Prowl found his lip plates quirking slightly at that last comment. "Thank you, Jazz."

With another small smile Jazz was gone. In his absence, Prowl was surprised to note, the med bay felt oddly… empty.


To 16DarkMidnight80: Thank you for the encouragement. Don't get angry... please? *whimper* :D BTW, you need to get your own account so that I can respond to your comments personally… :)

Also, thanks to Eowyn77 who helped me sort through a lot of what you are about to read and without whom the briefing scene in this chapter would not be as strong as it is: Thanks for letting me bounce ideas off you! :)

Furthermore, thanks to Albion North for a comment in a review on chapter 18 that helped inspire Jazz's interactions with Prowl near the end of this chapter.

Also, thanks to Fianna9 and Sunstarunicorn who also expressed a desire to see Ratchet in his furious glory and thus prodded me to explore that some more, otherwise I probably would have stuck with staying in Prowl's POV (like my original outline had it) and we wouldn't have gotten most of this chapter. :)

Many thanks to each and every one of you, even if I didn't mention you here by name. Your constant encouragement is very gratifying and a very good reminder of why I enjoy writing fanfiction so much.