Hello everyone. I apologize for the delay but I have been sick for the last week. And this time it wasn't the "Ooh, I get to stay home from work and lay around taking flu meds and that will let me get some writing done" type of sick. It was the miserable, "Who cares that you aren't feeling good, its just a sinus infection, get your aft out of bed and go to work; you aren't contagious" type of sick. So, as you can imagine, after 10 hours at work: I came home and… slept. So… no writing or editing. That is also why I haven't really responded to anyone's reviews and why I am behind in… a lot of things. *pout*

Anyway, still not feeling all that hot… but I decided, for better or worse, to get this out anyway. Warning: Half of this chapter was written and all of the editing was done under the influence of excessive antihistamines and decongestants, a fever and generalized uckiness.


Prowl smiled fractionally as he walked down the corridor toward Chromia's quarters, Bluestreak's hand grasped lightly in his. The previous night had been a learning experience for both him and the youngling…

Bluestreak had seen the paint at almost the same moment Prowl had. The youngling dropped his hand and dashed toward the desk. Prowl watched, bemused and still trying to get over his own surprise, as the youngling picked up first the black and then the white paint container, peering with keen intensity at the label of each. He inspected each container closely before turning to look at Prowl.

"These are your colors." The mechling stated at last looking up at Prowl curiously as the adult stepped up next to him.

"Yes, they are." Prowl confirmed.

"Are they your paints?"

Prowl looked down at large optics staring up at him innocently and nodded. "Yes."

Bluestreak's expression turned thoughtful, looking back at the paint for a nanosecond before gazing back up at his guardian. "If they are yours, where have they been all this time?"

Prowl released a tired vent and lowered himself to Bluestreak's level, his processors racing to find an appropriate way to explain. "We have discussed what I was when we were first rescued from the ruins of Praxus."

Large blue optics turned away and Prowl felt the slight vibrations of a silent keen brush against his frame. Instinctively, he made a soft crooning purr with his engine and pulled Bluestreak close. Unable to think of anything useful he could say, he simply let Bluestreak find shelter in his embrace and strength in his presence.

"They were really mean to you." The blue and gray youngling murmured into Prowl's plating. "I was so afraid… and then they took me away from you. I… I didn't mean to hurt you like that. I really didn't, but they were taking me away and you had saved me and I didn't want to leave you, and they had been so mean to you, I was afraid and then I got mad at you and…I'm sorry."

Prowl stroked the youngling between his doorwings, realizing he was referring to their separation in Praxus before being brought to Iacon and then their initial reunion. "I know." The little form continued to tremble slightly and Prowl tried to deduce what else was bothering him. "Bluestreak, you have nothing to be sorry about."

Wide optics blinked up at him, wet with lubricant before he admitted in a trembling whisper, almost as if in apology. "I miss them, Prowl. A lot."

His deceased creators.

Prowl felt his own systems hitch. He nodded, doorwings drooping and flaring slightly in sympathy and he brushed his hand against Bluestreak's back, letting the tip of his helm lightly touch the younglings. "That is normal." Prowl reassured softly. "You love them and there is nothing wrong with that."

"But you have been so nice to me…" Bluestreak whimpered, snuggling closer to Prowl's spark while simultaneously trying to push away.

"And I will continue to do so." Prowl reassured the troubled youngling. "You grieving your creators will not change that." He paused. "You don't need to face this alone."

Bluestreak continued to look at him for a long moment and then, burying his face against Prowl's chassis, the younger Praxian finally allowed himself to weep. No anger or half-directed aggression this time, just pure, raw grief. And, as promised, Prowl never left him, continuing to hold him close as the raging tide of sorrow finally started to heal.

Nearly a joor later, spent by his grief, Bluestreak had finally slipped into recharge. It was not a deep recharge and Prowl suspected it would only last a joor or so at most. Carefully, he secured his arm around the now slumbering sparkling and lifted himself to sit in his chair. Taking a datapad from among the pile of those that had been returned to him, Prowl began working on his report for Ironhide.

The datapads were kept neatly stacked at the corner of his desk rather than in his subspace, as those controls were still locked down while he was on the base. Keeping them out in the open was also an unspoken captiulation to one of the more unpleasant, if peripheral realities of life as a prisoner – paroled or otherwise: the reality that he had no right to privacy and that his personal quarters could be searched at any time. That such a search had not happened yet, at least to his knowledge, was simply a pleasant aside to the reality.

A joor and a half later, the soft sounds of Bluestreak's systems booting up brought Prowl's attention back to the form in his arms.

"Feeling better?" He asked as Bluestreak sat up, clinging to the plating of his armor as he balanced on the adult's thigh.

Bluestreak nodded. "My mind is… clearer I think."

Prowl nodded, understanding. "Strong emotions can disrupt our logic centers. Burning off the excess emotional build up can help clear them." He spoke even quieter, looking at his charge carefully, at the way he refused to look him in the optic. Briefly he wished it was safe enough for him to activate his guardian subroutines. It would make this so much easier but he could not risk it, for both their sakes. "There is no shame in sparkfelt grief, Bluestreak. I will never think less of you for it."

Surprise and gratefulness lit the youngling's face as he slowly lifted blue optics to meet golden. "Thank you, Prowl."

Then a dazzling smile lit Bluestreak's faceplate as he leaned upward to gently bump his helm against Prowl's. "But you are so strong, you never show how much you are hurting or how sad you are. I want to be like you, but I can't do that if I'm crying all the time. Because you never weep, and I want you to be proud of me and I wasn't sure that you…"

Prowl gently touched Bluestreak on the helm with one finger, cutting off the rambling. "You do not need to emulate me to make me proud of you." He hesitated and then released a soft vent of air. "I do not suppress my emotions because I am strong, Bluestreak. I do so because I must; I have no other options."

"Why?"

Primus save him from younglings and their 'whys?' Prowl sought for a way to explain. "My processor… Bluestreak, the linkages between logic and emotions are not as strong in my processor as they are for most mechs. I must be careful or I might cause myself harm." What he said was true, but was not all there was to it. He intentionally did not want to burden Bluestreak with the realities of his status among the Autobots that made it simply to risky for him to broadcast his emotions.

"Oh…" Bluestreak pondered this for a long moment, his optics falling down onto the desk. Then his head canted to the side and he glanced up at Prowl again. "What does that have to do with paint?"

Prowl blinked, completely thrown by the sudden jump in topic. "Paint?"

"Well… I had asked you what had happened with your paint and you said it had something to do with them being really mean to you when they found us in… out there… and then you said that you had to be careful showing emotions." Bluestreak looked up at him with as much innocence as a youngling could muster. "Do paints make you sad?"

Prowl blinked again, trying to make that make sense and failing miserably, the pain in his processors growing with the effort. Finally he deleted that reasoning loop, feeling the pressure in his processor fade immediately. "Ah… I do not believe they are so directly related as that."

"Oh." Bluestreak picked up the vial of white paint and looked at it again. "Then where have they been all this time?"

Prowl released another vent of air, not seeing a way out of this question and struggled to find a neutral way to explain. "I was a prisoner when we first came to Iacon."

Prowl restrained the urge to grimace, but his processor still felt muddled after Bluestreak's youngling attempt at logic. His level of tact was considerably less than was preferable.

But Bluestreak's optics brightened in understanding. "Oh, I get it. Is that why they were so mean to you? Why they stole your paint?"

Prowl's optics widened at the barely restrained anger in the little mechling's tone. He knew it would not be wise to encourage such thoughts, dimly aware of the monitoring equipment still in his chambers. Not that the devices mattered, it could be disastrous if Bluestreak repeated such statements around any of the Autobots in that Prowl would likely be blamed for teaching him 'Decepticon' ways. Besides, Prowl found he truly did not agree with Bluestreak's assessment of the situation.

"They have not actually been mean to me." Prowl corrected gently. "Distrustful and fearful, yes but not without cause – as we have discussed. But they have not been evil. My paints were not 'stolen,' they were confiscated."

Bluestreak just stared at him blankly. "What is the difference?"

Prowl started to rattle off an answer but found that it died on his glossa. The technical differences were minor. Both words described the same action only one was illegal and the other legal. He doubted such an explanation would satisfy the youngling.

After a long moment he took in a slow vent of air and carefully chose his words. "Bluestreak, do you know why I was taken prisoner?"

"Because you were a Decepticon. An important one. And because the mechs at this base are fighting against the Decepticons and so they thought you were an enemy."

"Partially." Prowl searched Bluestreak's optics, wanting to ensure his charge understood his meaning, even if his words were uncomfortably frank. "I did a lot of things I now regret. I surrendered to them without a fight because of what the Decepticons did to our home. I realized I could not be part of that any more."

Wide blue optics grew thoughtful and then Bluestreak nodded, small doorwings drooping as he struggled to processes the implications of that statement, implications he just knew were there but were just beyond his ability to grasp.

Prowl returned the gesture and continued. "I have been an Enforcer far longer than I had been a Decepticon. I knew that, among other things, all of my possessions would be confiscated and I would not have tried to stop them either way."

Bluestreak's face scrunched up as he struggled to make Prowl's words make sense. "So… basically you gave your paints to them?"

Prowl's vents hitched momentarily at that jump in reasoning. "Perhaps a better way to consider the difference is this. If they had been stolen, I would have tried to get them back. But as they were legally confiscated, I had no cause to do so."

"Uh…" Blue optics brightened and Bluestreak nearly jumped up and down in his excitement. "So, they weren't stolen, you let them take the paints because you surrendered rather than continue to be one of those evil Decepticons… and to prove that, you didn't fight to keep them."

Prowl blinked, this time in surprise that the youngling's reasoning had gone from almost painful to something passably accurate. "Indeed. That is a fair assessment."

Bluestreak beamed at him and then sobered. He reached forward, a frown licking his faceplates and splayed a hand on one of the new plates covering Prowl's chassis. It was the dull gray of unpainted metal against the vivid, almost pearlescent black of his original armor. "Are you going to fix your paint, now that you have them back?"

Prowl allowed his lip plates to quirk slightly. "That is a very good idea, Bluestreak."

Bright optics raked over his frame. "You have a lot of work to do."

"Indeed. Perhaps I should not delay further?"

"Can I watch? I've never helped anyone paint before. Never had a reason, really. I mean… I only lived with my creators before… um, that. And they never got injured like you do, so there was never any reason to paint. But I want to learn. Some mechs have the most beautiful paint I've ever seen, and I think it would be really neat to learn how to do it."

Prowl allowed himself a tiny, almost nonexistent chuckle. "Yes, you may watch. If you are careful, I may even teach you how."

He was not prepared to suddenly find Bluestreak's arms around his neck in a tight embrace. Caught off guard, he awkwardly returned the excited hug. When Bluestreak settled back, Prowl took the black paint and unstopped the vial. With the youngling watching avidly, Prowl explained how to wield the brush to ensure an even, streak-free finish. He used his new finger's to demonstrate how to ensure the edges of the plates were sufficiently covered and yet not allowed to build up extra paint. More than that could interfere with transformation.

Picking one of the flatter pieces of armor on his right leg that also needed to be painted, Prowl opened the white paint and pushed it in front of Bluestreak. Then he pointed to the offending armor plate. "This one should be white. Try it."

Optics widening, Bluestreak cautiously reached for the brush and dipped it into the paint. When he hesitated, letting the overloaded brush hover too long over the armor, a drop of paint fell onto Prowl's leg with a wet, obnoxiously loud 'ploop'.

Bluestreak let out a mortified trill and his hand started to tremble. Without even thinking, Prowl reached out and gently took Bluestreak's hand, still grasping the brush, and lowered the tool so that it could pull the pigment across the bare metal. Infinitely gentle, Prowl coached Bluestreak in this manner until the brush was dry and in need of refilling, the paint spread in an even, thin coat. Still seeing the wide, disbelieving and somewhat timid look in the youngling's optics, Prowl helped him to dip the brush back into the paint vial, removing the excess, before repeating the same process.

This time, however, after two strokes, Prowl released Bluestreak's hand. Startled the small gray and blue Praxian looked up at him sharply. Prowl simply nodded in encouragement.

Seeming to gather himself and taking pains to garner all his focus, Bluestreak bent to the task. Prowl watched him for a breem, noticing how his silent approval had leant courage and confidence to the youngling. Gradually, timid strokes became surer and the quality of his work improved admirably. Prowl noted how not only was Bluestreak's hand impressively steady, he had an attention to detail that was unusual in one so young and almost at odds with his normal, almost carelessly talkative manner.

Confident in the youngling's improving skill, Prowl took up his own brush and turned his attention to another plate on the same leg. Even so, he kept an optic on Bluestreak just in case he needed more assistance.

When Bluestreak was finished with that piece of armor, Prowl considered it and then verbalized his approval, only to have Bluestreak move to the mirroring piece on the opposite leg and begin working there as well. They worked in silence for several more breems until Bluestreak climbed onto the chair pulled up next to the berth. He gently pat one of the armor pieces along Prowl's abdomen, studying the other side carefully.

"This one is supposed to be black, right?" He touched a different piece. "So is this one."

Prowl nodded, touched by the youngling's concern and desire to help him. "Yes, that is right."

Bluestreak smiled happily at him and then reached for the black brush, setting to work.

And so, they continued. Eventually, Bluestreak had moved to his back, climbing his frame, to reach the panels of his dorsal plating. Prowl had to pause his own painting at that point so he could hold the paint vial for the youngling. Thankfully, there was only one panel on his back that needed paint and it was finished relatively quickly. Then it was back to the armor on his chassis, legs and arms.

Prowl had to admit, it was… pleasant… to have help in such a menial if personal task. Even if the end result was not exactly of professional quality. It was done out of care and amity and that meant more to him at that moment than anything else.

... Sensing his regard, Bluestreak looked up at him and smiled. "Bumblebee wanted to play hide and seek today." Then the smile fell. "You are going on another mission, aren't you?"

Prowl felt his spark fall and nodded solemnly but tried to sound positive. "Most likely. I am going to a mission briefing as soon as I drop you off with Chromia."

Bluestreak nodded and then glanced up at the door as they came to a stop. Then he sighed a long release of air that ended with his plating flattening across his small frame. Frowning, Prowl reached down and gently placed a recently painted finger under his chin plating. Under his gentle prodding, Bluestreak lifted his optics to meet Prowl's.

"You are brave Bluestreak. But you will not be alone." He spoke softly.

Bluestreak nodded and some of his natural brightness returned to his mien. Then the door opened and Chromia stepped out. She smiled at Bluestreak and then looked up at Prowl. She blinked, looking over him a second time.

"Weren't you a patch-work of new plating when I saw you last?" The question was asked with her typical brusqueness, though her optics were truly puzzled.

Prowl did not bother to stop the smirk that stretched his lip plates, though he did not allow it to last very long after a shared glance with Bluestreak. "Indeed, that is so."

"You did a good job. And quick too."

Bluestreak was positively beaming at this point and Prowl gestured deferentially to him. "I did not do it all on my own."

Her mouth dropped open slightly as her gaze shot down to Bluestreak and then back up to Prowl several times in quick succession before finally settling on the blue and gray youngling. "You helped Prowl paint his armor?"

Bluestreak nodded eagerly. "Yes, ma'am. He taught me how to do it and I was able to help him. It took several joors, but he looks a lot better now and I'm happy about that. Hopefully he won't that hurt again, because we used most of the paint he had left."

Chromia fought for several astroseconds against the grin that eventually lit her features. "That was very kind of you Bluestreak." Then she pointed him back into her quarters where Prowl could see Bumblebee was waving excitedly.

With a quick squeeze of his hand Bluestreak gently tugged Prowl down to kneel at his level. "Please be careful as you possibly can."

Prowl nodded. "I will."

The adult Praxian stood as Bluestreak disappeared into his friend's quarters and looked at Chromia. She had her arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe again, that grin still in appearance. She shook her helm. "You are really not what I expected."

Then she slipped back inside and shut the door. Prowl stared for a moment longer, then with a shake of his own helm he made his way to the assigned briefing room.

… … …

Optimus waited, along with Ironhide, Smokescreen and Jazz in the chosen briefing room. They had, by usual habit, arrived well before the scheduled start time so as to catch up on non-work related items and socialize. Except for Optimus. He simply preferred to be early where possible in order to be available to the mechs under his command for private questions or concerns they did not feel like sharing in a group setting.

This orn, however, was different. Once their initial greetings had been exchanged, virtually no one had spoken. Instead they each sat in their unofficial places, lost to the recesses of their own private contemplations.

Yes, Jazz had assured Optimus that such an incident as what had been done to Prowl would not be allowed to happen again, it did not cease to bother him. He remembered the grim and downright gruesome details in Ratchet's official report on the Praxian's condition. He had read the report twice, the images accompanying the file seared into his memory and it weighed heavy on his spark.

While it was true that what had been done to Prowl had been done completely behind his back and without his approval, and while he suspected both Jazz and Ironhide had attempted to do damage control after the fact, he could not help but feel responsible for the actions of those under his command.

This would be the first time he had seen the former Decepticon since before Prowl had been deployed on his last mission.

Only two breems before the scheduled start of the briefing, the door slid aside to admit Prowl. The Praxian hesitated ever so briefly in the portal's threshold as his optics slid over the room, then they focused onto Optimus' own. Despite the reassurances from Jazz and Ironhide, the Prime was surprised to see no anger, hostility or even blame in those golden optics, only polite question; the respectfully neutral look of a mech waiting for instructions

Optimus gestured him toward the empty chair directly across from him. It just happened to put the Praxian between Jazz and Ironhide and almost across from Smokescreen. The tactician obediently moved to the indicated chair, his doorwings twitching slightly in the only indication he allowed to his unease at being the center of attention as every mech present watched his progress.

"Reporting as ordered, Prime." Prowl slid into the seat, the tenor of his smooth baritone voice totally inflectionless.

Optimus blinked, realizing what was missing. Prowl should have been a patchwork of unfinished and salvaged metal plates. Instead he appeared freshly painted, if perhaps a touch sore and stiff from still-healing welds. The other three Autobots present likewise seemed intrigued at the Praxian's altered appearance.

"I think I like your shoulder platting better like that." Ironhide spoke almost challengingly, gesturing to where the Decepticon's purple sigil had once been carved into the Praxian's frame.

Optimus hid his wince at the rather tactless statement, though he did give his bodyguard a brief glare, one that Ironhide intentionally did not acknowledge. Any other mech would have cringed at that reminder, but Prowl simply turned his gaze to the black mech.

"As do I." The words were spoken softly, but sincerely.

Optimus blinked, regarding Prowl carefully. "Not the most pleasant experience, I would imagine."

Amber optics locked back on his, and then Prowl averted his gaze respectfully. "I experienced worse, sir."

It was said with out noticeable inflection or even hint of accusation, but that did not stop each of them from stiffening. Of course, the torture done to one of his doorwings would have out-shown the forcible removal of his shoulder guards, let alone what had been done to both sensory panels.

"Of course." Optimus subtly cleared his vents, deciding then to listen to the whispers of the Matrix against his Spark and have a private conversation with Prowl as soon as was feasible. Until then, he decided it would be best to keep to the task at hand. "Prowl, this meeting is to discuss your next assignment."

Prowl nodded, straightening slightly, though his doorwings twitched again. "Sir?"

Yes, there was a barely detectible stress underlying the tactician's frame and tone and Optimus realized Prowl was likely under the impression that that assignment would be another patrol.

He sent a quick comm. to Jazz. /You didn't tell him what his next assignment would be?/

/Nope./ Jazz's mental voice was not as flippant as it usually was. /I… didn't want ta worry 'im. 'Sides I'm not sure how he's gonna take it./

/That was cruel, Jazz./

The saboteur sent a chagrined acknowledgement. /I see that. I didn't mean ta be./

Optimusturned all his attention back on the Praxian sitting stiffly in front of him and allowed his expression to ease into a tiny smile in an attempt to put the smaller mech at ease. "Indeed, you are being assigned to the tactical division here in Iacon Central Command."

Prowl's optics widened minutely and, somehow, his frame stiffened a fraction more. He glanced briefly at Smokescreen – his new commanding officer – and seeing that this was not a surprise to the white and gray Praxian, looked back at Optimus. "Yes, sir."

Prowl's response gave away nothing as to his internal thoughts about being assigned to work directly under the mech who had sent him out to be tortured by his former faction. This concerned Optimus and, judging by the slight shifting of armor from his staff, he was not the only one.

Nonetheless, Optimus acknowledged Prowl's seeming acceptance of the assignment with a nod of his own. "I am obliged to point out this posting is still probationary."

"Understood, Prime." Those doorwings, which were usually very expressive in Praxian's only gave the barest hint of a twitch, the mech's ironclad control over his expressions as firm as ever.

"Prowl," all optics turned to Smokescreen as he continued, watching his former boss warily. "Are you going to have trouble taking orders from me?"

The black and white mech blinked in surprise, glancing around at the almost pensive expressions of everyone else in the room. Then, not wholly surprisingly, his doorwings dipped ever so slightly into an intentional posture of deference, though he did not avert his gaze.

"You are the tactical division commander." It was a statement, but Smokescreen nodded anyway. Prowl continued matter-of-factly, choosing his words carefully, knowing what the Autobots wanted to hear, just knowing that they wanted him bound by his ethical coding. "This assignment places me under your command, therefore I will submit to your leadership."

Smokescreen's chin lifted ever so slightly, clearly not trusting Prowl's remarkably quick capitulation. "You were tactical division commander for the Enforcer Corps in Praxus."

Optimus watched as Prowl nodded acknowledgement of that observation but did not rise to the obvious challenge. "That was then. This is now. It is illogical to dwell on a chain of command that has not existed for vorns."

"You say that so easily. Why should I believe you mean it?" Smokescreen's tone was not as defiant as the words he had uttered even if his engine growled.

All optics flicked back to Prowl, who grimaced slightly. "Easy or not it is the truth. Nothing is gained by avoiding it."

Smokescreen did not back off his posturing in an effort to establish his leadership – something every Autobot had learned to do with Decepticons and Optimus had an astrosecond to doubt the wisdom of allowing Smokescreen direct command over Prowl.

However, before he could intervene, the older Praxian released a resigned sigh of air through his vents. "Smokescreen, I know I have lost your respect. I do not contest the legitimacy of your claim against me. By all means, do what you feel you must to put me in my place. I won't resist, though of all the mechs here, you should know it is unnecessary. Respectfully, I would suggest it would be more beneficial to focus on the assignment and reserve such posturing for the event I should overstep my bounds."

Smokescreen stared at him for a moment and then chuckled. Then that chuckle turned into a bark of genuine laughter. Prowl blinked as if in surprise. Optimus cast a quick glance at his other officers showed and saw that they were as confused as he was by that cryptic remark.

"This is going to be… interesting." Was all Smokescreen said by explanation.

Ironhide frowned and opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again with a tiny shake of his helm.

Optimus took the opportunity to move the discussion forward. "If that is settled, Prowl… are you ready to return to duty? I know you have received medical clearance to return to light duty, but what you experienced is easily very traumatic. Are you ready, or would you like more time to recover?"

Prowl only stared at him, clearly caught off guard by the question, as if he was not expecting to be given the option. Optimus felt a swell of empathy in his spark that Prowl, even after all he had recently endured, did not expect to be given a chance to recover fully. Then that empathy shifted to a stab of guilt. Why would Prowl expect differently? He had been sent out to be tortured, why would he expect they would offer kindness? Especially when he had come to this briefing expecting to be sent back into the field before his repairs had been completed.

A quick glance at Jazz showed the mech was tense, likely realizing the same thing the Prime had.

After a long moment, Prowl finally seemed to regain his wits. He bobbed his head respectfully. "I… appreciate the offer, Prime. However, I am ready to return to duty."

Jazz suddenly smirked while Ironhide huffed lightly, clearly irritated. Prowl canted a look at the two of them, clearly suspecting the same thing Optimus did; one had lost a bet of some kind while the other had won.

Returning his attention to the Praxian, Optimus nodded. "If that is your wish. Do not feel I am pressuring you."

Prowl shook his helm. "If you have need of my abilities, then I will not be so selfish as to not abide by my earlier commitment."

Now it was Optimus' turn to stare, though he recovered quickly. It would now be a great insult to not accept the other mech's determination. "Very well then, You two are dismissed."

With a glance at each other, Prowl and Smokescreen stood. They bowed in tandem, answering simultaneously, "Yes, sir."

Optimus watched them leave, making note of the way both mechs held their doorwings rather stiffly. Despite Smokescreen's request to have Prowl in his department, the Prime doubted it would be easy for either of them. At least not initially.

"Why do I have the feeling we just opened up a whole new vial of rust-mites?" Ironhide grumbled into the awkward silence.

Jazz just shook his helm, chuckling softly.

… … …

Prowl followed Smokescreen to the Autobots' tactical command. The last time he had been there it had been for a heavily monitored analysis, one completed under three monitors and the threat of Ironhide's canons. Now he was returning with only his former apprentice as escort. It was progress.

Speaking of, Prowl considered Smokescreen's back. The younger mech was tense, that much was blindingly obvious in the set of his doorwings alone, though over what exactly remained a mystery. He released a soft huff of air. No, a better question would be as to what the other tactician was not tense about. He suspected it would be a far shorter list.

He could only imagine what this was like for his former subordinate. Despite the seemingly ingrained instinct to assert dominance over him that almost every Autobot had had, Smokescreen had the added difficulty of feeling the need to do so over his former commander. If it was demeaning and uncomfortable for Prowl, it had to be twice as awkward for the younger mech.

He still desired to rebuild the relationship he had had with Smokescreen or, at the very least, make atonement for the betrayal he had committed against the younger tactician. Perhaps now he would have that opportunity.

When they entered the tactical command center, every mech present spared him hard, mostly suspicious looks. He was introduced and, while he was greeted politely, it was not without caution and wariness. It was also clear that no one wanted to be assigned as his monitor. Prowl was careful to remain professionally polite and respectful, knowing that technically, according to the terms of his parole, every Autobot in this room out ranked him.

After making the rounds, Smokescreen led him back to the main consol, the one that used a holographic well rather than a terminal screen. It was, simultaneously, where the most complex work was done and was clearly visible from every angle and from every point in the room.

Despite everything, Prowl was unable to stop a hint of smug pride in his former apprentice for his choice: it allowed him to work at what he did best while also ensuring everyone in the room could keep an optic out for suspicious behavior without having to divert anyone from their normal duties to act as a monitor.

Smokescreen handed him a datachip. "Those safe-houses you found; this is all the data our scouts and spies have been able to obtain. You recommended a simultaneous, combined assault on all of them to Ironhide. Your first order of business is to figure out how."

Prowl fingered the chip silently for a moment, considering the command he had been given, then lifted his gaze to the other tactician's "I will need to have access to the information on available Autobot forces to do that accurately."

The tension in the room suddenly spiked and Prowl stiffened as even Smokescreen's expression darkened. The younger mech shook his helm. "That is not yet information you are cleared to know. Do your part with what information you have and then another team will take it from there."

Prowl frowned. It was almost the type of task that a junior tactician would be assigned except it was more as well, even if not entirely what a senior tactician would be tasked with. A junior tactician might be assigned to discover usable weaknesses of each base or devise the basic attack plan necessary for a single base. He was being asked to do both tasks for all of them. It was an attempt to blend the two roles and it made him distinctly uneasy. Those two roles were usually separated for a good reason.

Prowl started to say something but remembered his place; he had no grounds for objection to such an assignment, even if he disagreed with the wisdom of said assignment. Not to mention their audience; he could not risk appearing as if he were attempting to undermine Smokescreen. So he opted for activating his comm..

/Smokescreen…/ Prowl did not like the way the other mech stiffened defensively and modulated his digital 'tone' carefully. He would accept any potential fall out, but he had a duty to speak. /You know I cannot develop an effective strategy without knowing all the variables./

Smokescreen's engine growled lowly. /These are the only variables you will be given. You are not a senior tactician here./

Prowl's doorwings flicked slightly before he could stop them. Yes, he knew that junior level staff were given only the information they were deemed to be in absolute need of. It was the best way to maintain operational security. Every tactician, from the lowest analyst to the department commander knew and accepted that fact.

That did not ease Prowl's misgivings about this particular assignment. /Will I be held responsible for failures do to changes I had no part in or those attributable to lack of sufficient information to complete my task?/

Smokescreen's optics hardened even though he hesitated, unsure, before answering. /Are you setting terms now?/

Prowl vented with frustration, but knew a reprimand when he heard one. That it came from Smokescreen about this type of topic stung more than it should have, but Prowl knew his place and forced his gaze aside, armor clamping tightly to his frame submissively. /My apologies./ Then, for the sake of their audience, "Understood, sir."

He might have imagined it, but it looked like Smokescreen's doorwings twitched uncomfortably. However, Prowl did not wait for his former apprentice to respond and turned to face the terminal. He inserted the chip, activating the holographic well. As the hologram's light gently bathed his frame in hues of green, blue and gold, Prowl withdrew his cord and synched with the console.

… … …

Near the end of the orn Prowl had returned to his quarters after retrieving Bluestreak. The little youngling had been excited, almost to the point of blowing a fuse to see him again so soon. When he had explained that his new assignment was on the base and that he would not be going on patrol again for a while, that excitement had only grown. And while this had resulted in non-stop, barely coherent chatter as they walked back to their quarters, Prowl found he was touched by the shameless display of joy.

Primus knew the youngling had not had much cause for happiness lately.

Thus Prowl had gladly held Bluestreak's smaller hand as the youngling all but skipped down the hall next to him.

Thankfully, Bluestreak had calmed sufficiently enough not to spill his energon by the time Prowl handed it to him once they reached their quarters.

They had just started to work on another set of educational material when he picked up an approaching mech with his doorwings. Reflexively he scanned for a spark signature and then straightened just before his entry request tone sounded. Hastily, Prowl stood, signaling the door to open.

"Prime." He greeted with a formal bow of his helm.

"Prowl." Optimus greeted with equal formality, then turned his gaze onto Bluestreak, who was staring at him with wide optics. "Bluestreak, how are you doing this orn?"

Bluestreak opened his mouth to speak, inching towards the towering Prime. "Better, now that I know Prowl isn't going to be sent away from me."

Optimus frowned slightly, glancing at Prowl, but the Praxian kept his gaze respectfully lowered.

"Bluestreak…" Optimus' deep voice rumbled over Prowl making him want to shiver and the youngling took a half step toward the Autobot leader then shrunk back, pressing himself against Prowl's leg. "Why do you fear, youngling?"

Bluestreak looked up at Prowl pleadingly and the older Praxian gently placed a hand between his doorwings in silent encouragement and support, though the tactician never lifted his gaze to the Prime's.

Knowing he had his guardian watching his back was apparently enough for the youngling. He pushed away from the black armor plate he had been clinging to but never completely let go of it. "Everyone has been so mean to Prowl, and it just isn't fair. No body even seems to care that he is really, really nice, they just think he's some evil Decepticon and they don't trust him and they don't care if he gets hurt or killed and it isn't right. He hasn't done anything but help me and teach me and care for me but he's a prisoner and I never know if he's going to leave and never come back because he got killed because no body cared that he's put in danger!"

Silence rang in the wake of Bluestreak's breathless statement, the youngling's small frame trembling as it was again pressed close to Prowl's leg.

Optimus only stared at the shaking blue and gray frame, pain and a hint of guilt, deep in his optics. Prowl did not see that, however, as his own mortified gaze was likewise plastered on his charge's form.

A dozen thoughts were bombarding his processor in quick succession. Why was Bluestreak blaming the Prime? Would he be blamed for the youngling's accusations? Just how right was Bluestreak? How would the Prime take the accusation? What could he do to help Bluestreak? And so on…

To Prowl's great surprise the Supreme Commander of the Autobots dropped slowly to one knee, one-hundred percent of his focus on the young Praxian. "And you blame me for these things."

It was a softly spoken statement, half question but mostly a gentle observation. Bluestreak nodded ever so faintly, though it was clear he was affected by the sheer presence of the Prime just as Prowl was. "You're their leader!"

The half yelped cry was punctuated by a soft keen and Prowl saw the Prime actually wince. The tactician, for some reason, felt miserable about that.

"Prime…"

Prowl's soft statement was cut off by a flick of Optimus Prime's fingers as the towering mech kept his focus on the suffering youngling. "You came to these observations on your own?"

"It… it's easy to see." Bluestreak answered, taking courage in the Prime's calm response. "Actually, it's kinda impossible not to see. Every time we go to get energon, everyone is mean… well almost everyone. Jazz, Hound and Beachcomber are nice most of the time. But people stare at him in the hall and whisper about him behind his back. I don't think they think we can hear, but we're Praxians and it isn't like they are really being quiet. And I hear them when I go out with Chromia. Though she's gotten better, and will sometimes tell them they can 'stuff their opinions up their exhaust ports', even she doesn't trust him that much."

Optimus nodded slowly, clearly taking seriously everything he was being told. "And has your guardian complained about any of this?"

Prowl stiffened, though he kept quiet, as he had been silently instructed to do. Bluestreak rapidly shook his head. "Uh, uh. I mean, 'no, sir.' Um… He doesn't talk about it much at all, though he did explain it to me when I asked."

"And what did he say?"

"That… that it was because he used to be an important Decepticon… that no one trusted him because of that and that it would take time for them to realize he isn't a threat. But…" Bluestreak glanced up at Prowl before looking back at the Prime. "But it would only make things worse for him if he did complain, wouldn't it?"

"You are young Bluestreak." The Prime let out a vent of heated air, "but you are more insightful than your age would suggest. As un fair as it might seem, Prowl is right when he tells you it will take time. But I can assure you progress is being made. However, I cannot force those under my command to trust and be kind to him. You will better understand the depth and complexity of the issues as you mature Bluestreak. Until then, can you trust your guardian's judgment on this matter?"

Bluestreak blinked, jerking back slightly to glance up at Prowl, who was now staring in his own surprise at the Prime. The silence stretched as the youngling considered the request.

"But… you're their leader!" Bluestreak stepped away, putting himself protectively between the Autobot leader and his guardian.

An almost palpable wave of resigned sadness all but rolled off the Prime. "True. But that does not give me unlimited power over their lives in that way. Will you accept my word that Prowl is indeed earning the trust of those he works with? However, you must understand that that trust is fragile. While I am sure Prowl greatly appreciates your willingness to defend him, will you trust me when I say that Prowl can handle the issue on his own?"

Bluestreak hesitated, then with visible reluctance he nodded. Then he looked down. "I'm not in trouble am I?"

Prowl's optics widened at the timid question and his gaze darted up to meet the Prime's own startled look before the leader reached out to put two fingers on a comparably tiny shoulder. "Bluestreak, I once asked you to speak honestly with me, no matter how difficult and you have done so. I do not punish mechs for following instructions."

Bluestreak visibly relaxed at that and nodded. With a gentle smile, the Prime returned the gesture and then rose to his feet. The silence between them stretched for a long moment and Prowl released a vent of air.

"Prime, I…" A surprisingly kind shake of Optimus' helm made Prowl swallow his own words.

"Relax, Prowl. This is not an official visit." Prowl tried to hide his surprise, but must have failed because the Prime smiled ever so briefly. "You sustained a great deal of damage in service to the Autobot cause. I simply wished to thank you for that service."

Prowl could only stare, that being the last thing he expected to hear. He pushed away the sudden stab of pain in the back of his processor and struggled to find his voice again. He bowed his helm. "It is an honor to serve, Prime. There is no need to thank me."

"Nevertheless. Prowl, I…" With the uncharacteristic hesitation, Prowl was struck with the impression that Optimus was uneasy about something he was trying to say and it was confusing until he finally realized what it was.

"It was my understanding that that assignment was given without your knowledge and without your blessing." Seeing Optimus' optics widen, Prowl took that as a confirmation. He averted his gaze deferentially. "It would not have mattered either way, Prime. I understand that in war not all assignments are pleasant. It was necessary and that was sufficient justification."

"Most mechs in that situation are given an option. At least in our faction." Optimus stated quietly.

Prowl resisted the urge to quirk an optic ridge at that ironic statement, knowing it would be rude to do so. "But then I am not 'most mechs' am I? I gave my word to you. I kept it then and I will do so now."

Optimus regarded him closely and Prowl felt as if the regal leader could see straight through him and he had to stamp down the youngling-like urge to squirm under the scrutiny. "It has been some time since you have worked with Smokescreen, and I know you two have your differences."

Prowl nodded, refusing to wince at that amazingly polite warning. "Yes, sir."

"How are you adapting to working with him again?"

Prowl hesitated for a long moment before answering. He would be truthful, he knew that, but he did not want to sound… brazen or disrespectful. "As you have said, Prime; we have our differences. But he is my commanding officer; I will not act inappropriately nor undermine his authority."

Optimus considered his words and then nodded in seeming acceptance of them. "He has entrusted you with a sensitive role in a vital upcoming mission." He must have seen something change in Prowl's expression for he paused, his gaze sharpening. "What is it?"

Prowl again found himself at a loss as to how to best explain. He refused to undermine Smokescreen to the Prime by telling Optimus that the way he had distributed assignments was less than ideal. But now he had to say something. "I find that the task I have been given is not well suited to the efficient completion of the assigned role."

Optimus frowned. "You have told Smokescreen this?"

Not in so many words, but generally speaking, "yes sir."

"And he has chosen not to listen to your perspective." It was another observation, not a question, and was simultaneously another warning.

Prowl found himself feeling slightly defensive and fought to keep his doorwings and armor from flaring. "As is his right, Prime. I have never suggested otherwise."

"And what do you plan to do from here?" It was asked softly, almost hesitantly and Prowl thought he understood the concern the Prime was choosing not to give voice to.

"I will complete my assignment to the best of my ability, Prime." Prowl answered evenly.

"Of that I have no doubt." The Prime nodded in stately acknowledgement of Prowl's promise. "What I told Bluestreak is true. You are earning our trust, but there is still a long way for you to go before you have done so sufficiently for us to end your probation."

Prowl acknowledged that statement, again feeling the weight of that reality more acutely when he heard the words uttered from the Prime. He found himself repeating similar words to those he had the last time Optimus had visited him in his quarters. "I will not betray the trust you have given me, Prime."

This time, instead of denying such trust existed, the Prime simply dipped his helm in agreement. "I hope not. Good orn, Prowl."

Prowl returned the greeting politely but could only watch as the Prime took his leave, staring blankly at the Autobot's massive back.


Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and offered support for this story. You guys are awesome!