Prowl spent the majority of another orn in the med bay, long enough for most of the generalized soreness in his frame to fade. The processor ache caused by the two Decepticon hacks and Ratchet and First Aid's scan had also faded. Chromia had come to collect Bluestreak when the youngling had grown restless being restricted to Prowl's berth and the surrounding floor space.
At first Bluestreak had been reluctant to leave Prowl, fretting over what might happen to him once he was gone. It had taken the combined efforts of Chromia, Ratchet, First Aid and Prowl to convince the small blue and gray youngling that there was no need for him to worry.
He had argued animatedly and repeatedly, clinging to Prowl tightly. "Every time I leave him he is sent away and he gets hurt. I don't want him to die!"
It had taken almost an entire joor to convince him that such would not be the case this time, that Prowl was not going to be in any danger on the base.
Once Chromia and Bluestreak were gone, Prowl became the focus of the fiery chartreuse CMO. "I'm going to disconnect the energon drip and then give it a joor or two to make sure your systems are stable without it."
Prowl nodded and watched without aversion as the medic reached for the tubing that had been inserted into the primary energon line within his abdominal complex just distal to his primary energon filter. It was one of several specially designed ports designed to accept direct infusions of energon and, according to Ratchet, was the only one they could get to without disturbing his injuries. The long, specially shaped blunt-tipped needle pulled free of the valve without difficulty and within astroseconds the port had sealed itself.
Prowl watched Ratchet walk away and then examined the hand that Ratchet had had to repair. The two new fingers were still the wrong color, and were likely to remain that way until he could paint them. His personal supply of paint had been seized with his other possessions upon his initial capture by the Autobots in Praxus. Thus, because paint was considered a non-critical aspect of a mech's appearance, he doubted he would have the opportunity to correct the problem any time soon. It was the same for his shoulder plating and various other plates on his frame that had been too damaged by his interrogators to be salvageable.
He released a sigh of air and pushed that thought aside. As much as it might irk him and prove professionally and personally embarrassing to appear like a patch-work, hobbled together slag-scraper, he knew he would survive.
However, no sooner did he resign himself to that fact, movement at the med bay doors caught his attention. It was awhite, orange and green mech roughly Ratchet's size with glowing indicator fins framing his face and Prowl immediately recognized him as Wheeljack. That was followed closely by recognition of what the mech was carrying: his doorwings.
Ratchet must have seen the engineer enter for he called out from the other side of the medical ward for Wheeljack to just put the doorwings down on the berth next to Prowl's.
"Oh… okay." Wheeljack seemed suddenly nervous as he glanced that direction.
Not doubting that nervousness was related to his presence, Prowl was careful to adopt a nonthreatening posture. Slowly, Wheeljack made his way closer. Then he seemed to shake himself and then walked right up to Prowl, awkwardly holding out one hand, palm out. "So, you must be Prowl."
Because he was still holding both doorwings, the engineer had to turn and twist in such a way that the sensory panels hid his face. Had Prowl been any other mech, the sight would have made him laugh out loud. As it was, he found he had to suppress an amused smile.
He touched the engineer's palm lightly with his own. "I am. You must be Wheeljack."
"You bettcha." Wheeljack turned back around, letting his hand fall away from Prowl's, the indicators framing his face flickering happily. "I got these for ya. The originals were a real piece of art. Very impressive. But they were so badly damaged the only parts I could spare were the original superstructure and the surviving sensor nodes. I had to re-panel and rewire them completely. Because there are seven new sensory nodes, and two of them are upgraded from what you are used to, it might take an orn or two to fully integrate them. But I think you will like them."
Wheeljack eagerly deposited one of the appendages into Prowl's hands and the tactician examined it critically, impressed by the careful work that had obviously gone into them. "Impressive." He said softly. "I am grateful you would do such painstaking labor on my behalf."
Those facial fins flickered again. "I don't often get to work with sensory panels as sophisticated as these." Then the mech froze, shooting a quick glance at Ratchet before leaning a fraction closer and dropping his tone. "I added a buffer to the pain sensors in these beauties. It shouldn't interfere with their normal functioning, but if for some reason you find yourself spending the night in a Decepticon holding cell again, they won't be as vulnerable a weakness."
When Prowl just stared at him in disbelief, Wheeljack quickly shook his head, waving his hand desperately. "Not that I want anything like that to happen to ya or anything. No, no, no. Not at all. I'm just saying… you know 'if.' That's all."
"I understand." Prowl was quick to reassure. "I appreciate the effort."
The engineer beamed at him and then sobered, tilting his helm to one side, his optics darting from the doorwing Prowl was holding to the armor of that same arm. When the mech frowned slightly, seeming to become suddenly very nervous, Prowl asked softly. "Is something wrong?"
"Um… well…" Facial fins flickered slightly and there was a very faint whirr as his cooling fans kicked on to help bring his core temperature down as it heated from what Prowl took to be acute distress. "I had to recreate the paint based on some of the fragments of pigment left on the original wings. I… uh, thought I got it right, but comparing it to the paint on your arms I realize I did not quite get the shade exactly perfect..."
Blinking Prowl glanced down at the doorwing in his hands and more closely examined the paint. There was a very, very slight difference between the two; one only perceivable with a detailed scan. He understood the reason almost immediately. "The paint sample you obtained was tainted."
"Y… yes. Most likely." The larger mech ducked his helm slightly in apology, fingers twitching nervously. "I'm sorry, I shoulda been more careful, I…"
"It is more than adequate." Prowl said quickly. "You have done a remarkable job and I am most grateful. Thank you, Wheeljack."
Bright blue optics blinked at him and then Wheeljack smiled brightly and gingerly set the second doorwing down on the berth Ratchet had instructed him to. Not wanting the engineer to feel put on the spot, Prowl silently handed the other doorwing over before Wheeljack had to ask for it.
Wheeljack flashed him a somewhat nervous grin and then left once he had deposited the second sensory panel. Prowl watched him leave and then returned his attention to his doorwings.
As if reading his unspoken thoughts, Ratchet approached, First Aid in tow. Prowl would have had to have been blind not to miss the younger medic's hopeful and excited expression.
His optic ridge quirked upward slightly. "How many doorwings have you installed, First Aid?" He asked without a hint of concern.
First Aid faltered ever so slightly and then seemed to shrug it off. "None."
Ratchet looked at his apprentice sharply, almost as if in rebuke and the white and red medic flinched slightly. Speaking quickly, hoping to keep First Aid from getting in trouble with his mentor, Prowl allowed his lip plate's to twitch in the barest hint of an amused smile. "Indeed. It appears as if that is about to change."
Ratchet looked back at him, almost surprised and then gathered himself. "Seeing as this will be a learning experience for First Aid, do you wish to be sedated or offlined for the installation?"
Prowl shook his helm. "Not necessary, Ratchet."
"Are you sure…" Ratchet began, looking almost aghast.
"Yes."
The medics exchanged a look and then seemed to come to a simultaneous, if grudging, acceptance of the request. Prowl almost smirked. He had survived Slipshod's torture and Springer's emergency amputation. Installation at the hands of two skilled medics would be a walk in a crystal garden by comparison.
… … …
It had taken almost a joor of painstaking, careful work to reinstall Prowl's doorwings. Each sensor feed had to be spliced back into the appropriate relay on his back. Each system then had to be checked and configured. Then the remaining damage to his dorsal plating had to be repaired. But it was done expertly and, as he had expected, without much undue discomfort.
Once the two medics were finished, they mobilized the extremities and stepped back to watch. Receiving a permissive nod from Ratchet, Prowl slipped off the berth to stand on his own pedes for the first time in roughly two orns. Experimentally, Prowl flicked each doorwing separately, then both of them together. Motor control seemed to be functioning just fine. Then, carefully he initialized the sensory integration.
Sensation and data suddenly bombarded him and he belatedly toned down the overall sensorys feed, though that would only do so much as there was no way to shut it off completely. Not all of the sensory nodes were transmitting at the same intensity or clarity and the result was rather disconcerting and a little unbalancing. It would not last long, he knew from experience, but it was rather distracting until his systems could equalize everything.
"I saw that." Ratchet pointed a finger at him. "If that processor ache doesn't right itself, or those sensor nodes don't integrate fully by this time next orn, you had better be back in here so I can run a diagnostic. Understood?"
Though there was no doubt of Ratchet's sincerity, and no question that if he failed to heed to the request and Ratchet found out, that the results would be uncomfortable; Prowl thought he could detect genuine concern – or at the very least interest – in his wellbeing.
"Understood, sir. I will comply." He bowed his helm. "And thank you again for your hard work in seeing to my repairs. Both of you."
Ratchet blinked, caught off guard. "You are welcome. But…" He crossed his arms over his chassis. "As you are no longer damaged, you are cordially invited to leave my med bay. Been here too long already. But, you are prohibited from strenuous physical activity for three more orns and strenuous mental activity for the rest of this orn. Otherwise, get out."
"Yes, sir." Prowl looked at First Aid to see the junior medic was trying to hide a smirk. "Well done, First Aid. My thanks."
As if on cue, the med bay doors hissed open to allow Jazz to saunter in. Ratchet just rolled his optics and turned away, First Aid following closely ready with questions about the procedure they had just completed.
"Heya Prowler, you look a lot better than ya did the last time I saw ya." The saboteur smirked. "Ya just look plain weird without ya doorwings."
Startled by the friendly, conversational tone, though he quickly recognized it as similar to the one Jazz had used in the rec room before his last mission. Feeling decidedly upbeat with his new doorwings finally attached and being allowed to leave the med bay, Prowl gave into the impulse to reply in kind. "You appeared 'weird' when I did not have them as well, I assure you, Jazz."
Jazz blinked at him, faceplate going slack for just an astrosecond before he chuckled. "Ya know, ya are better at that than I woulda thought possible. Come on, before the Hatchet decides to start chucking wrenches at us 'cause we overstayed our welcome."
"I heard that!" Ratchet shouted from the far side of the med bay.
"Slag!" Jazz darted for the door and, with a barely controlled, amused smirk, Prowl followed at a more dignified pace.
Once out in the corridor, Jazz moved at a more normal speed. Out of respect for the Saboteur's rank and status, as well as Jazz's personal authority over his own probation, Prowl carefully matched his gate to the silver minibot's.
After a few moments, walking in relatively comfortable silence, Prowl finally broke it with a carefully polite: "Where are we going?"
"Ta get some energon." Was Jazz's grinned reply. Prowl was about to object that he did not need additional fuel as he had been on an energon drip for two orns, but Jazz waved any objections aside. "I know ya have been on a drip, but it ain't the same."
With a somewhat awkward acquiescing nod, Prowl allowed the saboteur to lead him into the Autobots' rec room.
The rec room was only moderately crowded when they arrived and while he and Jazz were given cursory attention, it was not like it was when Prowl would go to the lounge alone. Jazz waved jauntily to a few other mechs as they passed and the waves were awkwardly returned as the individuals in question glanced from Jazz to Prowl in confusion before quickly returning to their own business.
Prowl was given the distinct impression that Jazz was the reason he was not given more suspicious looks and that he was the reason Jazz was not greeted more enthusiastically. A glance at the saboteur showed the silver mech was not bothered by that so Prowl chose not to be either. However, something just seemed… off about the jauntiness and utterly carefree way Jazz greeted his fellow Autobots. It did not match the mech he had come to know.
Suspicious he watched Jazz carefully as they gathered their Energon and headed for a table in the back corner of the room. The outer edges of that strange-easygoing appearance faded away to reveal the slight edge to Jazz that Prowl was more familiar with.
"It is a show, isn't it." He asked softly after a few moments. When Jazz looked at him curiously, Prowl nodded toward the others occupying the rec room. "For them. You aren't truly as carefree as you portray yourself to be."
Jazz stared at him for a moment as if silently debating with himself just how honest he should be. Then, with an almost visible mental shrug, he leaned forward. "I'm happy enough most a tha time. But you're right, that's all most 'Bots get ta see."
Prowl cocked his head ever so slightly to the side, wondering why that was but not feeling at liberty to ask such a personal question. This was the head of Autobot Intelligence, after all. It would not be seemly for an ex-Decepticon, a POW, to question such a mech. Prowl looked aside, remembering that darker side of Jazz; not that he could completely forget in any case. And immediately thought he understood, remembering Jazz's seeming struggle to decide to be completely honest with him the last time they shared energon together.
It was not the deliberate decision to mislead, but the deliberate decision not to let his guard down.
"But I am safe." He said quietly, watching the saboteur carefully. "I already know those things most mechs never see."
Jazz straightened at that, his gaze becoming so sharp it was almost physically felt, even through his visor. Fearing he might have offended the saboteur in voicing such an assumption, Prowl averted his gaze, reverting to formality as a form of sanctuary. "I am also a prisoner of war and I know my opinion of your interpersonal life is of no consequence. I do not mean to offend…"
Jazz's demeanor, even if not his optics as they were still shielded behind his visor, morphed swiftly into something resembling irritation. And he leaned forward. "I don't care if you are a POW. There is no…"
Jazz suddenly sat up straight, falling silent; an almost relaxed smirk finding dominance with uncanny swiftness a moment after Prowl had glanced to the side. The tactician was aware that Moonracer had just entered the lounge and her arrival caused him to miss the moment Jazz' expression actually changed. Realizing he had allowed himself to become distracted by the femme's entrance he returned his attention to Jazz, ducking his doorwings apologetically, waiting for him to continue. Only he did not.
Moonracer's almost timid approach to their table explained why Jazz said nothing more for the moment and Prowl turned his attention back to the sniper.
"Hiya, Moonracer. Good orn?" Jazz called out, waving a greeting.
Moonracer glanced at the saboteur and smiled, relaxing slightly at his open friendliness, before looking back at Prowl.
Uncomfortable at the display of nervousness, especially since the femme had been so boldly antagonistic during their last mission, Prowl was careful to keep his posture nonthreatening and a hint submissive. "Good orn, Moonracer."
"Um… you too." She said hesitantly then glanced at Jazz again before taking another small step toward them. "I… uh… just wanted to say, um 'thank you' for what you did. Out there." One hand waved weakly in the general direction of the camp perimeter.
Of what exactly was he being thanked for? Prowl was not sure. Whatever it was, it felt… wrong. He had done nothing more than his duty and what his ethical programs required of him. Still, he had to be polite. "There is no need to thank me."
She looked like she was not sure how to respond. Then, with another visible gathering of her courage she looked him in the optic for a brief moment. "I also wanted to tell you I… I'm sorry."
Before either mech could respond, she whirled on her heels and retreated from the rec room entirely.
Prowl watched her go, his gaze lingering on the door even after it closed behind her, only to feel Jazz's gaze on him. He turned his attention back to the Saboteur.
"Well, that was odd." Was Jazz's inflectionless statement.
Prowl nodded. "Indeed. Perhaps someorn she will be inclined to clarify what it was about."
Jazz snorted air through his olfactory vents. "Maybe. But then she is a femme." His gaze was still intense, though now somewhat amused. "You honestly don't have a clue?"
Prowl let his engine rev slightly in embarrassment and irritation at Jazz's almost mocking, amused tone. "No. Should I?"
At that Jazz actually chuckled and the underlying tension that had lent him an almost dangerous feel evaporated slightly. "I suppose not, mech. I suppose not."
"Do you?" Prowl asked curiously.
"Now, wouldn't that be telling." Jazz took another swig from his energon cube, draining the contents then looked at him again and deflated slightly. "Well, alright. No, not really."
Prowl cocked an optic ridge as he too finished his cube.
"So… what was I sayin'?" Jazz ventured after a few awkward moments of silence.
Prowl was not fooled; Jazz had not lost track of their previous conversation. This was simply an attempt to appear more at ease, though it did not seem to be the same as the front he had affected for Moonracer. It did not feel as… false.
Nonetheless, Prowl obliged the intriguingly complicated mech and cleared his vents, speaking with a slight dip of his doorwings. "I believe you were about to reprimand me for speaking presumptuously."
"I…was?" Jazz just stared at him, lower jaw hanging slightly slack. It was an almost blank expression that made Prowl even more uncomfortable. He resisted the urge to shift in his seat as Jazz straightened slightly, clearly reviewing his memory files of their conversation. He could see the moment Jazz understood why he had said that as his helm jerked backward slightly.
Prowl was too nervous to say anything else, though he showed none of that. He managed not to wince when Jazz reached out and touched his freshly repaired shoulder with surprisingly gentle talon-like claws. "Naw mech. I wasn't reprimandin' ya or anythin'. Not at all. I was goin' ta say that it doesn't matter if ya are a POW, ya don't have to apologize for speakin' the truth. There is nothing wrong with ya saying it like ya see it."
"You were clearly irritated." Prowl said cautiously, silently asking for clarification, trying not to let his growing confusion show and knowing he was failing miserably.
Jazz gave him a somewhat rueful grin in return. "I was. Yes, ya are still a POW and all that entails, but that isn't all that ya are around here. Not any more."
Prowl blinked, even more taken aback by that assertion and felt the pressure in his processors grow into a sudden, sharp pain before fading again. Jazz was grinning at him once more, clearly finding something amusing in his utter bafflement. Those were words Prowl had hoped for, and despaired, of ever hearing. And it felt far too soon for him to be hearing them.
He had still not been able to form any words in his vocalizer, still not entirely sure what words would even be appropriate, when Jazz apparently decided it was time to move on.
"Well, duty calls. I gotta go." The silver minibot popped to his pedes.
Prowl stood when Jazz did and followed the silver saboteur out into the corridor. Once there, Jazz turned toward him again and Prowl noted that every ounce of casualness was gone. This was Jazz, his overseer, the head of Autobot Intelligence and Spec Ops and Autobot Command senior officer, who was speaking.
Prowl straightened slightly out of respectful habit as Jazz addressed him. "According to Ratchet you are on leave for the rest a tha orn. Tomorrow, however you will report to briefing room five beta at the start of the first shift for your next assignment. Got it?"
"Yes sir." Prowl answered evenly, though a part of him wanted to seethe in frustration that he would not be given more time to either spend with Bluestreak or to recover before being sent back into the field. Ratchet had said he should avoid strenuous activity for three orns, but he supposed, given his status, that did not matter. It would not be the first time he had been sent out before his repairs had finalized.
"And Ironhide wants you to contact him as soon as you have a chance." With that, Jazz was gone.
Prowl continued to stare dumbly as the minibot rounded a corner. Why was Ironhide not simply initiating contact with him? And why have such a message delivered through Jazz?
Suddenly realizing he had not so much as cycled air for half a breem, Prowl shook himself and decided a visit to the training rooms to meditate was in order before picking up Bluestreak. Taking a deep vent, he decided to get the unpleasantness over with, although a part of him worried that a discussion with Ironhide would only again usher in yet another painful occasion. He opened a comm. channel. /Prowl to Ironhide./
The response was instantaneous. /Ironhide here. What is it?/
Prowl blinked. /Jazz informed me that you wished me to contact you at my earliest convenience./
He could all but hear the larger mech's harrumph. /And you are just now doing so?/
/I was only just informed./ Prowl was careful not to come across as defensive, keeping his mental tone deferential.
/Yes, well, did he happen to tell you when to report for your next assignment?/ Ironhide seemed irritated regardless of his efforts.
/Tomorrow, first shift, briefing room five beta./ Prowl supplied immediately.
There was another inarticulate transmission from Ironhide before the weapon specialist continued. /Good. Did Smokescreen happen to come see you?/
/He did./ Prowl confirmed, growing even more discomfited at the tenor and direction of this conversation.
There was a momentary pause. /Hound's report stated that you recommended that they deliver you back to the Decepticons, giving them a 68-something percent chance of getting the rest of them out alive. Why would you do a slagging thing like that?/
Ironhide sounded genuinely frustrated, and the question made Prowl stop walking. He frowned slightly. /Moonracer made it very clear she did not wish to die fighting for my sake. And, at the time, that option had the highest chance of the three of them making it out alive./
There was a long moment of incredulous silence on the weapon specialist's end of the signal before he responded. /But you defeated the 'Con slaggers, with nearly five to one odds./
Prowl thought he understood and relief flooded his wires as he was able to continue walking toward his destination. /There were many variables impacting the calculated odds of such a defense succeeding at the time. Whether or not any plan I had would be accepted, whether or not they would have allowed me to use their sensory uplinks, whether or not they would be willing to follow my calls during the battle. At the time I made that specific recommendation, I had very little confidence any of the above would be allowed./
Prowl keyed open the door to the training room and entered, letting it slide shut behind him. /Thus, based on the apparent situation, it was the option with the highest known probability of letting them get out of the situation alive and relatively undamaged. And, if that option had been chosen, then it would have meant there was virtually no chance that the conditions necessary to make a defense possible would have been met. In which case, as my end would have eventually been the same in any case, it would have been better to at least find a way that would spare their lives./
Prowl accessed the room's control panel and pulled out his cord. He held it for just an astrosecond, pinched between two fingers, before plugging into the controls and uploading the program he wished to use.
/You mean it was the most logical thing to do./
/Yes, because it had the highest chance of everyone surviving, based on the information I had at the time./ Prowl answered wondering why Ironhide was having such a difficult time understanding that.
There was another thoughtful pause. /Based on the available information and the tools available at the time, sending you on that mission had the highest chance of everyone surviving too./
Prowl froze, even as the beautiful, dazzling brilliance of the crystal garden that had been attached to his master's dojo slowly took shape around him. Ironhide was confirming Smokescreen's assertion. It did not make the experience any more comfortable, but it did help him put it into perspective. /It was the most logical thing to do./
/Yes./
Prowl released a long vent of air and shuttered his optics briefly, letting the recreated subsonic hum of the living crystals flow through his frame soothingly. /Understood…/ He hesitated, carefully choosing his words. /If that was so, had such information been given to me I would have likely volunteered for the mission. You would not have had to order me to go./ In other words, they would not have had to trap him with his own ethical programming.
By the strained silence from Ironhide, the larger, black mech had received the unspoken message. /Perhaps. But that was not a chance we could afford to take at the time. There was too much at stake and that was one variable we could not afford to leave to chance./
Prowl drew in and vented another draft of air. Yes, it was an admission that he had been used, that his programming had been used and that at least Ironhide had been very much aware of that fact. And while he might have been tempted to be angry at that, he remembered his own promise, that he would serve wherever he was needed. If he had truly been needed…
But this way, the way it had actually happened, he had found himself restrained by orders, not strictly his own programming. In a way, that made it a little more bearable. Despite Jazz's offer, if he had truly been the most logical choice – had he known that before hand – he would never have even asked the saboteur to confirm the assignment. He would have gone, just as he had, only for different reasons.
He suddenly remembered Ironhide was waiting for his response. /I understand./
/It was my call, Prowl./
Prowl sucked in another sharp intake of air, instantly deducing what Ironhide was saying, or rather not saying. /The Prime was not involved./
There was a strong negating echo across the channel, almost a warning. /No./
Prowl nearly recoiled at the force behind that word and wondered why Ironhide was so adamant. Then it hit him and he ducked his helm, even though he was alone in the training room, regardless of whether he was being monitored. /It would not have mattered, either way, Ironhide. I…/
Prowl stopped himself. Did he truly mean what he had been about to say? The concept was so foreign, so alien, so… dangerous. But his ethical subroutines would not let him tell a superior officer an untruth and they had not prevented him from speaking. His own fears had prevented him from continuing. With a steadying clearing of his vents, Prowl continued, transmitting the words his Spark felt even though his processor tried to throw up a myriad of reasons in opposition.
/I trust that if the Prime would have allowed that then there must have been a good reason. I do not believe he would allow any mech's life to be thrown away uselessly or without good cause./ It was out, even though Prowl's spark was thundering in his audios. /Even if I was not trusted with those reasons. If it was done behind the Prime's back, then I accept that as well. It changes nothing from my perspective./
Ironhide was another long moment in answering. /You are remarkably generous./
Prowl released a rueful snort of air through his vents. /The only other choice I have is not an option./
/You have a choice as to who you ally yourself with./ Ironhide's voice had regained a touch of guarded sharpness.
/True./ Prowl saw no point in denying that aspect of his revamped programming. /But even that option is tempered by Ratchet's tracer coding. No. Regardless, I made a decision to help defeat Megatron no matter what sacrifice that might require./
This time Ironhide was so long in answering, Prowl almost assumed he had cut the connection, except that the tell-tale buzz of an open line still filled his end of the transmission. Assuming the weapon specialist needed time to process that last statement, Prowl turned back to the hologram around him and walked to a small clearing in the softly glowing garden in which a low metal platform had been placed, a small energon fountain bubbling tranquilly at the base of the oldest and largest crystal formation in the garden. The glow of the liquid energy was reflected and enhanced by the surrounding crystals, the sound mingling with the song of those same crystals to create a space perfect for meditation.
He had stepped onto the platform before Ironhide spoke again. /I see. And if we believe you are too compromised now and chose to shut you down completely?/
Prowl's systems froze. Did Ironhide mean shut down his ability to aid the Autobots; rescinding his probationary status? Or did he mean shut him down personally, as in forced stasis or deactivation?
Not that it mattered, he realized an instant later. He was still painfully aware of his place among the Autobots, even with Jazz's offer of relative protection. With a resigned release of air he shuttered his optics and replied. /It does not matter. My status is still that of a POW. I acknowledge you have the right to do whatever you wish./
/Somehow, I knew you would say that./ Ironhide's digital 'voice' sounded almost satisfied. /Don't worry, that isn't going to happen, not any time soon and not over this. I just wanted to see what you would say./
Prowl frowned. /If you knew what I would say, what is the point in asking the question?/ Realizing how impertinent that might sound, Prowl hurried to tack on a quick, /Sir./
Ironhide actually chuckled at that. /Because knowing and knowing are not always the same thing./
Prowl felt a sharp stab of pain in his processors at that statement. /Sir?/
/Never mind. I want your report on the mission before your briefing tomorrow./ Ironhide did not even give Prowl a chance to reply before he continued, sounding slightly more subdued. /And, for what it is worth, I'm sorry./
For some reason Prowl found that he was irritated with the apology and it took him a moment to realize why. He responded before he thought about the questionable wisdom of doing so. /I am not the one you should apologize to./
/Excuse me?/ Ironhide sounded equally taken aback and angered at having been addressed in that 'tone.'
With a weary vent of air, Prowl internally acknowledged that it was to late to withdraw the statement, so he chose to follow it through, even if he was more careful to modulate his transmission in such a way that signaled respect and neutral submission. /This is what I mean, sir./
Instead of attempting to explain, never having been comfortable discussing the finer points of emotional sentiment, Prowl chose to transmit his own audio and visual files of Bluestreak's recent breakdown.
Ironhide's protracted silence afterward indicated he was reviewing the file. It was nearly an entire breem before the large black mech responded. Prowl took that time to settle into a properly meditative posture on the metal deck, facing the fountain, though he did not attempt to begin cycling his systems down, not wanting to be distracted when, or if, Ironhide responded.
When the response finally came, it was noticeably more subdued. /Point taken./
/Yes, sir./ Prowl replied respectfully, deliberately not bringing it up again, having made his point. /I shall have your report ready as ordered./
Ironhide signaled his understanding. And then the line was cut. Only then did Prowl allow himself to worry about what the possible consequences such boldness on his part might have.
… … …
Prowl took several joors to meditate, using the opportunity to center his spark and processors. During that time he allowed his self-repair programs finish buffering the areas were Slipshod had managed to damage his firewalls. But that damage was extremely minor and most had been 'fixed' before he had been onlined in the Autobot med bay. If Ratchet had waited until then to enter his processor instead of doing so in the immediate aftermath of the battle to confirm his deletion of Moonracer's uplink codes, he would likely have found little evidence of their attempted hacks.
Even so, that work was secondary to the work of fully integrating his new doorwings. Yes, seven knew sensory arrays would normally take time, but thankfully, such a task was well suited for meditation. Or rather meditative states were well suited for letting him rush the process without incurring any of the normal deleterious effects doing so might incur.
As Prowl proceeded to methodically align each sensor node, harmonizing their input and synchronizing their relays the world around him crystallized into the sharp precision he was used to. More so, even. It appeared that two of the sensor nodes, one in each wing, were not the typical sensory apparatus a ground-bound mech would have. Rather they were refitted and specially formatted sensor akin to what a seeker would have. The type of sensor that allowed them to see the world around them in diamond sharpness even when traveling at supersonic speeds.
Curious.
Hesitantly, Prowl reached out with his now fully integrated sensors and could tell that yes, his reach was significantly further and much finer. Frowning slightly he checked his power consumption and utilization logs and his control systems. While there was a miniscule uptick in his power consumption over all, they were not threatening to deprive any other system, most likely thanks to one of the modifications Wheeljack had made to them. The only other anomaly was that it was requiring additional processing power to utilize the increased sensory feed.
Prowl frowned slightly, while he appreciated the upgrade, it bothered him as to whether or not Wheeljack had actually taken into consideration the additional strain on his systems and if the engineer was truly familiar enough with his systems to be confident he could handle it, or if that aspect had been a potential oversight on the Autobot's part. Because if the non-standard sensors had been too much for his control systems, the results could have been…disastrous.
For a brief moment, Prowl entertained the possibility that it had been intentional, but he brushed that aside. It did not fit the pattern he was noticing in the Autobots' behavior in general. And, his brief interaction with the engineer suggested a mech that tended toward distracted enthusiasm rather than intentional maliciousness.
Satisfied with that reasoning, Prowl turned back to the only true potential problem he had detected; the amount of processing power required to utilize the new scanners. It was not egregious, but it would prove significant if he had to perform a multi-level, highly complicated tactical plan, especially one with constantly changing variables such as what he had done during his last mission. Others might not be bothered by the small reduction in processing efficiency, but Prowl would not settle for such a reduction in his ability to perform his function.
He would need to speak to Wheeljack, although the thought of letting the engineer work on his doorwings, let alone his processor, was less than pleasant, especially now. Ratchet then? Probably the best choice, except he had no idea whether it would set the fiery medic's temper off at him again.
He drew in a deep vent of air and released it. Better to face Ratchet's possible fury than to be at less than his peek performance when he reported for his assignment the next orn.
With that dubious consolation, Prowl stood. He deactivated the holographic garden and then exited the training room. He contacted Ratchet, careful to be as respectful as possible. /Prowl to Ratchet./
The medic's reply was almost immediate. /What is it Prowl?/
Phrasing his words carefully, Prowl answered. /I have discovered a…distribution anomaly with my new doorwings and was hopeful you would examine the issue./
/Critical?/
/Significant./ Prowl answered honestly, realizing he might be stuck based on the regulation concerning non-critical use of resources on probationary mechs. /But only critical to the optimal performance of my function as a tactician, not to my overall existence./
Ratchet hesitated a moment and Prowl could almost hear his weary ex-vent. /What kind of anomaly?/
Taking in another drag of air, Prowl explained. Ratchet was silent for a long time and Prowl was not sure if that was a good thing or a bad. Most likely he was contacting Wheeljack, so Prowl waited patiently. When Ratchet did finally reply it was with a combination of exasperation, amusement and irritation. /Primus, that mech. Alright, Prowl. Get your aft to the med bay./
/Yes sir./ Prowl acknowledged the order and swiftly made his way there.
He was greeted in the medical ward by Ratchet, First Aid ever at his side, and… Wheeljack.
The inventor was the first to speak, almost tripping over his own words. "I'm so sorry Prowl, I did not consider the drain on processing demand. I knew you had the power capability to support the sensors and everything. I just wasn't thinking… I can remove those sensors, please don't be angry…"
Prowl lifted a hand in a calming gesture, gratified that at least First Aid and Ratchet did not react negatively to the gesture even if Wheeljack winced slightly. "I am not angry, Wheeljack."
"…because I can… what?" The multi-colored mech stumbled to a stop, blinking. "You aren't angry with me?"
Prowl gently touched his fingers to the larger mech's arm before letting his hand fall back to his side. It was an unusually sentimental gesture and one he would normally only reserve for younglings, but the engineer just seemed so… earnest. "No, I am not angry, Wheeljack. In fact I appreciate the upgrades. I was… only hoping a way could be found so that I do not loose processing ability for my function."
Wheeljack blinked rapidly, his facial fins first lighting up with relieved happiness and then dimming slightly in thoughtfulness. "Hmm… Well, I didn't think about this because it is imbedded in Seeker programming and is considered an automatic system adjustment for them, but you aren't a Seeker, so of course you aren't able to actively adjust the intensity of their feed levels… beyond harmonizing them to your overall sensory network."
"Of course!" First Aid was grinning, looking at his mentor. "Seekers adjust their sensors based on their speed, right? The faster they are flying the more acute their sensors need to be. Why can't we allow Prowl to do something like that? A patch maybe? To isolate those specific sensors so he doesn't have to make himself blind?"
"I know the coding." Wheeljack volunteered.
Ratchet hesitated then held a hand out toward the engineer, a datapad appearing out of subspace. "Here, let me see what you have."
Wheeljack nodded eagerly and took the pad and began typing furiously on it then he held it out to Ratchet who, instead of taking it merely stepped up to peer over Wheeljack's shoulder. Soon the two were bickering back and forth or… collaborating if Prowl thought to be generous.
He exchanged a look with First Aid and received an almost helpless shrug. Thankfully it was not long before Ratchet turned back to him with a triumphant grin. The pleased flicker of Wheeljack's fins only added to the almost surreal moment for Prowl. First Aid's quick grab and perusal of the datapad and resulting happy smile did not help any either. Nonetheless, Prowl moved to the berth he was directed to and sat on it.
"Okay, I'm going to need access to the relay panel and then I'm going to need access to the control codes for the sensor feeds." Prowl nodded, somewhat uneasily, and did not protest when skilled fingers immobilized his doorwings and then slid aside the access panel to the sensor relay controls. Something was tweaked there and then suddenly his frame was released and Ratchet was circling around in front of him.
Prowl hesitated then, but at the medic's expectant look, he granted wary access to his port and then to the control codes for his doorwings. He watched suspiciously as new codes were added and existing code was adjusted to accommodate the changes. Then, when Ratchet mentally 'stood back,' Prowl examined the medic's work.
"Try rerouting power and lowering the intensity level of those Seeker scanners." Ratchet ordered.
With a jerk of his helm, Prowl did so. Immediately he felt the sharpness of the world surrounding him dim to what he was accustomed to and a quick diagnostic confirmed that his processors were back to their optimum level. He released the sensors, sharpening their focus and then looked at the medic. While his excited relief did not show in his face, the medic could clearly pick it up across the hardline connection.
Ratchet smiled, withdrawing his cord and putting it away. "There you go."
Prowl quickly tagged the new and changed codes as accepted system modifications so that his malware programs would not undo Ratchet's efforts. "Thank you Ratchet. Thank you Wheeljack. I am much obliged."
"Not at all." Wheeljack said with a grin. "I shoulda thought of that earlier. So… do you like them?"
Prowl nodded to the engineer. "Indeed. I find the crispness and added clarity… engaging."
Wheeljack was about to respond when the med bay doors hissed open and Bluestreak rushed in. He paused momentarily in the entrance, quickly scanning the room with his optics before spotting Prowl and running up to him. Blue and gray youngling collided with black legs and hung on tightly.
"Why are you back in the med bay? Are you injured? Because you said there was nothing to worry about while you were on the base, that nothing would hurt you here and Ironhide said you had been released from the med bay but you weren't in our quarters and when Chromia checked you were here. You aren't injured are you? Of course you aren't, you don't look injured. But if you aren't injured what are you doing in the med bay?"
Small vents were heaving in distress and Prowl took the opportunity and spoke into a momentary pause, stroking one doorwing soothingly. "I am perfectly fine, Bluestreak. I am not in the med bay because of any injury, but rather Wheeljack and Ratchet have adjusted an upgrade I was given during my recent repairs."
"Oh…" Bluestreak paused, processing that statement, then his optics brightened. "An upgrade? Oooh, what kind?"
First Aid, Ratchet and Wheeljack all chuckled at the youngling's innocent excitement for his caretaker. Even Prowl allowed the ghost of a smile to touch his lip plates. "Come, I shall explain on the way back to our quarters."
"Yes!" Bluestreak reached forward and claimed one of Prowl's hands with his own and then proceeded to all but pull the older Praxian toward the door. They passed a bemused Chromia who was leaning her left hip and shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chassis.
True to his word, Prowl explained about the new sensors and the problem he had detected and the fix Ratchet and Wheeljack had just installed. Then he answered the torrent of questions as to how his perception of the world had changed since he had integrated them. He was amazed at Bluestreak's ability to abstractly comprehend what he was telling him, his demands for detailed descriptions and the technical accuracy with-which he was able to communicate. Prowl had the suspicion that when it came time for Bluestreak to upgrade into his adult frame, he would probably demand a similar set of sensors.
Once they reached their quarters, Prowl was met with yet another surprise. There, sitting on his desk in a conspicuous manner were the very paints the Autobots had confiscated upon his capture.
I blame Jazz for this chapter taking so long to get posted. I had wanted it up by Friday, but obviously that didn't happen. It was his fault, he was just being so stubron and difficult and not cooperating during his conversation with Prowl. :)
I know everyone wanted to see more Optimus/Prowl and Optimus POV and don't worry, that will be coming in the next chapter. The response to the last chapter was absolutely amazing, and I wanted to thank every single one of you!
