Warning: This is NOT a cute, fluff-filled chapter you are about to read. Quite the opposite, really. I just remind you, don't worry; you know where the story is ultimately headed. :) Oh, there is also an actual cuss word in here, though in the context – and considering who says it – it isn't that out of place.
Prowl knew the date when the Autobot's planned to assault the Decepticon safe-houses because he was released from duty that orn. Despite how much he wanted to be in the tactical command for that effort, despite how much he knew he would be able to assist them, he understood the reasoning Smokescreen had for keeping him away. It was one thing to assist in the analysis and planning, but the damage a tactician of questionable reliability could do in the Tactical Command Center during an actual operation was… incalculable.
No, Prowl understood why they kept him away. Unfortunately his spark yearned to assist them in their efforts and that desire was made stronger by the powerful sense of unease the unorthodox assignment he had been given had generated.
But Prowl was in no position to protest his limited authority and so he had spent the orn in the training room, retreating to the recreation of the crystal garden his Circuit Su master had cultivated near the dojo. And it took every ounce of discipline he possessed to quiet his processor and settle his spark.
When his communications system finally buzzed with an incoming ping he was simultaneously surprised and expectant as he accessed it.
/Smokescreen to Prowl./ His former apprentice's voice was sharp and brought back every ounce of anxiety he had managed to suppress.
Prowl did not allow any indication of his internal stress as he answered in carefully neutral, purely professional, mental tones. /Prowl here./
/Report to briefing room three alpha./ The signal was cut off.
Not a good sign.
But the curt order had left no room for delay so, with a weary release of air through his systems, Prowl unfolded his legs and stood. He deactivated the holographic program and made his way directly to the indicated briefing room. As he walked the halls, he noted that the overall atmosphere was subdued and that the handful of mechs who even acknowledged his presence were openly hostile. More so than usual. Something was not right; something must have happened.
Hesitating only briefly to reinforce his external mask of calm, professional coolness, Prowl signaled the door to open and stepped inside. Then paused just past the threshold. The Prime, Ironhide, Ultra Magnus, Jazz, Ratchet, Red Alert, Blaster and Smokescreen were all there. The majority of the Senior Command staff, and it reminded him of the debriefing following his first patrol with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker.
His tanks churned at that comparison, his lines seeming to freeze as his gaze swept the gathered Autobots. He was pointed to an empty seat by Optimus and Prowl had to force himself to walk toward it. There was no mistaking the cold, hard gazes that were boring into him. And not just from the mechs he did not really know, but from those who had at least appeared to have begun trusting him. Even Optimus and Jazz.
Prowl sat stiffly, still completely at a loss as to what he had done to garner this sudden increase in antipathy, for truly it was almost worse than when he had first come to the base.
A datapad was slid across the table to him and he took it in hand out of habit, though he looked questioningly at the Prime, trying not to shudder under his intense, icy-blue gaze.
"Read it." The Prime's voice was hard and cold, sending a shiver down the tactician's frame.
Obediently Prowl read the datapad. It was a casualty report from the mission and accompanying reports from team leaders. As he read, the room around him started to spin and his spark fell. He could not stop the ever so slight flare of his doorwings as horror closed its grip on his emotional center. Oh, the Autobots had been successful in taking out all of the safe-houses, but it had been a disaster in that roughly half of the mechs sent on the mission never returned. Forty-seven percent… gone.
Prowl shuttered his optics, sucking in a draft of air that was suddenly hard to cycle.
With fingers that trembled ever so faintly, he flipped through the rest of the information as rapidly as his systems could process it. A second evaluation of the data confirmed what he had seen on his first read; while the strategic plan that had been implemented was based on his work it had been substantially altered, or at least significantly so.
"What do you have to say about this, Prowl?" Optimus' stern voice jerked Prowl out of his thoughts and he looked up, optics a touch wider than normal.
He was suddenly stuck, unsure how best to respond. He saw the interface hub sitting innocuously on the table and suspected where this discussion was headed, but that did not tell him how best to answer the Prime. "I…"
Optimus cut him off, rare anger seeping into his deep voice and it was all Prowl could do not to recoil physically. "We trusted you, I trusted you, and the first time we implement your strategy, it kills half of the soldiers sent. Explain."
Prowl's doorwings did tremble as he winced inwardly at the unspoken danger in the Prime's voice, the righteous fury that was somehow being controlled. Megatron would have already assaulted him. He spoke quickly, softly. "This is not my strategy." He looked up, his own optics almost pleading. "This is not the strategy or one of the contingencies I submitted. It has been significantly modified…"
He was cut off by a low growl from the Prime's massive engine. "You are denying responsibility?"
Prowl stiffened at that and lowered his gaze a fraction. "No, sir. But…" He glanced at Smokescreen and saw clearly that the other Praxian blamed him as well. He doubted the decision to limit the amount of data he had been given was made by Smokescreen alone. He returned his attention to the Prime. "I was given only data on the enemy locations and was not granted access to any information about the forces available on our side. I was informed others would take it from there to…"
"Stop making excuses!" Smokescreen leaned forward, a hand pressed against the table surface sounding hurt as well as angry.
Prowl winced visibly at that, realizing his former apprentice was taking this as yet another betrayal. He looked aside, his processors desperately attempting to find a way to reason with them and struggling not to give into the growing panic and frustrated anger he felt taking hold. Taking in a deep draft of air, Prowl calmed himself and looked directly at Smokescreen.
Then he carefully dipped his doorwings and ducked his helm into an intentional display of respect and entreaty in light of what he was going to say. "Smokescreen, sir, you know how I function. My strategies are effective but are only as accurate as the information they are based on. You also know how dependent those plans are on being executed as prescribed," He tapped the datapad with one finger. "This was not my plan."
Smokescreen growled. "You are no longer a senior tactician. You should stop thinking like one!"
Prowl blinked, just stopping himself from jerking backward, feeling like he had been slapped in the faceplate. But what Smokescreen said was true. He was not in the role of senior tactician, it did not matter that the assignment he had been given attempted to blend that reality with his skill and ability as a senior tactician. Structuring the assignment as a blend between the two roles had been Smokescreen's mistake, but that reality would not matter here apparently. And he should have been more careful to approach the assignment from a less sophisticated and complicated angle; something a junior tactician could operate with.
Lowering his gaze, Prowl allowed the tense silence to stretch. He had presented his case, his defense. If Smokescreen, as his commanding officer, would not accept his statement, it left him no choice but to accept their ruling and submit to discipline. He was still a POW and he knew it and his response was appropriately subdued and quiet. "I stand corrected sir."
He drew in another slow intake of air and turned his attention to the Prime though he did not raise his optics from the table surface. No one in the room would have missed the strain in his voice. "Where the strategy was based on my work, I accept full responsibility."
That was it; a statement that was easily a confession for something that was not entirely or even substantially his fault. But the truth was he had a great deal more experience than Smokescreen, he should have listened to his instincts about the assignment and should have been more careful in his approach. He had had a responsibility to compensate for his commander's lack of experience and he had failed to do that. So he chose to cover for Smokescreen's mistake now.
"What were your intentions, Prowl?" Optimus demanded, engine revving lowly under his words.
The question surprised Prowl and he blinked. "My intentions were…"
"Enough!" Ironhide pounded a fist into the table, cutting him off. "Prime, we are wasting time. We know he will never admit to wanting that to happen, even if he did."
Prowl winced again, but he said nothing in his defense. He had already 'confessed'. There was nothing else he could say. His gaze darted down to the interface hub sitting on the table and his own words from only a handful of decaorns previously echoed in his audios: "If I were a potential sleeper agent or spy, the third stage is the logical time to act…"
His own warning condemned him now.
Prowl shuttered his optics as Red Alert jumped in. "Ironhide is right. Nothing he says can be trusted right now."
Other officers were quick to make their opinions known and their heated discussion wove around Prowl as he curled his hands into fists in his lap, wanting to howl at the injustice of it all, even if he could not fault their logic when taken from their perspective.
Their anger at his perceived betrayal did not abate as the discussion continued without his further input; it radiated off of all of them in almost tangible waves. Doubtless each of them had known someone who had been extinguished on the botched mission. He knew they had started to trust him; the Prime had told him as much himself. Now they believed he had abused that trust. The Prime believed it.
It was not true, every cog in his frame strained in silent, frustrated despair. But he knew nothing he said would convince them of that fact. He did not stop to question why he wanted them to believe him, to regain the fragile trust he had earned.
"I will not betray the trust you are giving me…" He had promised, not only a commanding officer, but the Prime himself. A promise he could no more break than he could suddenly become an organic life form. But as the discussion turned to what they should do with him in light of his apparent duplicity, Prowl realized he did not care what happened to him. All he wanted was for the Prime to know that he had not betrayed that trust, at least not intentionally.
He onlined his optics and they fell on that harmless looking data hub and the discomfort it promised, the fleeting hope it represented. He spoke before he could reconsider, interrupting Ultra Magnus' litany about how dangerous it was to let him have 'free reign' of the base now as he had had to this point.
"Just do it." Everyone immediately fell silent, focusing on him and Prowl lifted his gaze from the hub to the Prime. His own anger, frustration and newly spawned hopelessness burning in his gaze, though his voice was merely a fraction tighter than any of the Autobots had ever heard it. "Just run a scan. Get it over with and I will accept whatever you wish to do to me."
Surprised silence claimed the conference room as all optics turned to Optimus, waiting for the Prime's judgment. In that time, Prowl continued to meet the Prime's gaze, yearning for a chance to prove himself though that warred with a growing anger that it was even necessary… until he saw the moment of decision.
At the Prime's nod Ratchet and Jazz stood, moving toward him and Prowl reached for the hub. He snatched the appropriate cable and slammed it into his own port. He did not so much as flinch when the chair magnetized, trapping him to it.
"Give me access to your primary motor relays."
Prowl glanced up at the medic, mild alarm mixing with irritation, but the cold, dangerous look in the CMO's optics told him that if he refused, the panel would be pried away. He was deemed to be a threat now, if not for what they suspected him of doing then for the mounting anger they could probably feel combined with his proven abilities.
And he had promised he would accept whatever they wished to do to him. That statement bound him now as it would once the scan was completed.
Lowering his gaze submissively back to the table, Prowl reluctantly slid aside the appropriate panels of armor and moments later his entire frame froze as the medic paralyzed him. Only astroseconds passed before two minds collided with his firewalls.
Unlike before, sensing their open antagonism, Prowl did not immediately drop his defenses. He kept them up as a reminder that, whatever they were about to do, he was allowing it. Unfortunately, they took his action as defiance and it only served to feed their anger and distrust.
Belatedly realizing his mistake, Prowl braced himself and then lowered his firewalls.
Their combined anger hit him like a battering ram, tearing into him. Pain stabbed through his processors as both the medic and saboteur had their defensive subroutines fully activated. As expected, Ratchet 'positioned' himself to prevent Prowl from digitally attacking Jazz as the saboteur began lancing through his recent memories and their associated emotional and personal files.
Gone was the polite and relatively gentle mental touch Jazz had utilized during his last scan. Once the first memory was accessed, Prowl was unable to focus on anything specific. It was the difference between someone going through a library of datapads, picking one off a shelf to read and then placing it back where it had been and someone who carelessly – or viciously – tossed each datapad aside after it was read. Except it was not a library, it was happening in his processors.
Prowl ground his denta as it took every ounce of his control not to defend his mind or retaliate as the careful, orderly structure of his databanks was systematically scattered and fragmented. It was happening one file at a time, though with lightning speed as Jazz flashed through his scan. Fragment enough of a mech's processor and their entire mind would shatter. Exactly how much damage that required before it was irreparable depended on the mech in question.
This was what he had expected the first time Jazz had synched with his processor in that interrogation cell. A distant part of his mind railed that it was happening now.
Then, suddenly, it was over.
Prowl had no idea how much time had passed as synaptic linkages were misfiring and his processors were scattered, he only knew that the ripping, rending mental invasion had abruptly stopped and that he was again alone in his mind.
Even if no additional damage was being done, he continued to writhe internally. He was still cognizant enough to be aware that he could not focus on anything beyond the painful, fragmented agony that kept his mind in a tight vice while simultaneously attempting to prevent the broken pieces from flying apart.
It was several long astroseconds before Prowl's frame was mobilized again and when it was, he curled forward, slumping against the table. His hands rose to cradle his helm on their own accord and he could not think clearly enough to do more than that, finding he was both unwilling and unable to do anything else at the moment. He could not even keen, though it was not just the physical discomfort that tormented him. It was the loss of something much more elusive, something he had only just started to believe in again. And that loss was its own torment.
Locked in the world of his own internal agony, Prowl kept his optics shuttered. Because of that, he did not see Jazz shift away from him, leaning heavily against the table, his helm lowered miserably. Nor did he see that Ratchet likewise turned away, lip plates pressed firmly together, his optics troubled.
When nothing was said for almost a full breem, the Prime spoke softly into it, his tone expressing concern at what he had witnessed. "Report."
Jazz did not look up, and it took a long moment for him to force the words out of his vocalizer, his voice taught with the strain of realizing what he had just done. "He was tellin' tha truth."
Ironhide growled, unconvinced. "Yeah? Which part?"
"All of it!" Ratchet snapped angrily, though it was clear his anger was not directed at the weapon specialist.
In the ensuing silence, Smokescreen looked down, one hand closing spasmodically around the edge of the table and then releasing and none of the other commanders looked at their fellows. Prowl was able to follow what was said, but could not muster the concentration to truly understand it.
Finally, Jazz's hands convulsed into clawed fists and he lifted his gaze, first to look at Smokescreen and then to settle on Optimus.' "There were some significant changes made to his original plans. They didn't seem significant to me, but his processor singled 'em out and tha time stamp indicates it happened at his first read of tha reports. He didn't do this to us, we did it ta ourselves."
This time the silence that settled over the meeting was distinctly uncomfortable as all optics darted back to the still hunched and faintly trembling form of the former Decepticon. His posture was universal and there was no doubt as to what Jazz had done to him. They knew the potential he had of being a threat and could not help but wonder if that potential was about to become actuality.
"Did he fight you?" Optimus asked softly.
"No." Jazz sounded almost strangled.
Optimus nodded, no overt condemnation in his gaze as he addressed the wounded Praxian. "Prowl…"
Slowly, painfully, Prowl lifted his faceplate at the direct address, though his optics were unfocused. Before the Prime could continue, however, the tactician made an inarticulate noise – something that was not quite a keen nor a groan – and dropped his head back into his palms.
Jazz winced, flinching away a little, as did Smokescreen, while most of the others just stared, shocked at what they saw. Ratchet looked down again, glancing at his Prime for permission and, when it was given with a short nod, stepped back toward Prowl.
The CMO hesitated, sudden trepidation tightening his movements as he reached for his cable again. Everyone tensed when Prowl became aware of the medic's approach. The Praxian stiffened with obvious alarm and… fear?
Then, to everyone's further surprise, Prowl curled his hands into fists and forced them down to the table's surface, crossing them at the wrists. Surrender.
It was clear he was expecting another punishing scan and every mech in the room realized what his actions truly represented. Prowl had stated he would accept whatever they wanted to do to him and he was making good on that promise.
Still cautious, Ratchet gently removed the hub's cable from Prowl's port and then inserted his own. It was a tremendous risk, but one he did not even doubt taking. To the CMO's surprise, though Prowl recoiled instinctively from his mental touch, he kept his firewalls down.
With the deftness and efficiency of a skilled medic, Ratchet quickly helped to re-order Prowl's fragmented processor. The pain lessened incrementally as the medic progressed, files and their data packs meticulously put back in their rightful places within his processor.
Prowl's gaze slowly flicked up to Ratchet's and then quickly averted as the last memory files were restored. His frame lost the edge of its stiffness but did not relax. The physical pain was gone, but that was it; other wounds that would take longer to heal remained.
"Thank you, sir." His words were barely audible.
He knew what had been done to him and why. He knew it had been completely unwarranted and he now knew that they were equally aware of that fact. Where scattered processors and blinding pain and kept them at bay, the anger and frustration came roaring back to the forefront and Prowl diligently did his best to stamp into submission the violence that wanted to find vent.
"Prowl…"
The tactician turned dangerously fixed, amber optics toward the Prime and waited silently for the larger mech to continue, almost daring him to make another accusation and yet somehow respectfully submissive.
"Prime…" Smokescreen blurted, still not looking up from his hands. "It was my fault."
Like a taught cable suddenly breaking, everyone's gaze snapped to the Autobot tactician and he continued, not able to meet the Prime's troubled optics. "I made the assignment. I authorized the changes. He was right. I know how he operates. I should have been more careful, I should not have assumed."
With a still wary glance at Prowl who was still considering his apprentice with emotionless optics, Optimus spoke thoughtfully, concerned. "How do we keep something like this from happening again?"
Prowl's gaze flickered back to his as the tactician spoke, his voice like his optics, flat and yet brimming with restrained emotion. "I may not be a senior tactician any more, but everyone in this room knows that is exactly what I am. If you are going to keep me in this role, either assign a monitor to me or…" He looked pointedly at Smokescreen. "Assign me only tasks that a junior tactician would be given. Do not give me an assignment that should only be done by a senior tactician and then have junior level-trained staff make changes to it."
"We haven't said you'd be going back to tactical." Ironhide interjected pointedly, glancing nervously between former Decepticon and thoroughly beaten looking Smokescreen.
Prowl did not even blink. "That is true." He looked back at the Prime. "Am I to be sent to the brig, Prime?"
Optimus could all but feel the inner battle raging within the black and white Praxian and answered softly. "I hardly think that would be appropriate."
One of Prowl's hands tightened into a fist. "With your permission then, I would like to be dismissed."
It was almost a demand, though kept just as respectful as propriety required. Optimus frowned. "You do not wish to have any input in our decision?"
Prowl's expression was pointedly blank and yet telling. "We both know that any input I may have will be negligible. I will submit to your decision because that is the only option I have, Prime."
Optimus continued to hold that burning, icy gaze for a moment longer, disturbed by what he saw – troubled by what had happened. Slowly he nodded. "You may go."
Prowl nodded and Jazz glanced at him before hesitantly releasing the magnetic lock holding him to the chair. The saboteur was still well within striking range if the tactician chose to retaliate and he knew it, though he did not try to put distance between them or even position himself defensively.
"Thank you." The words were tight, spoken sharply as he stood. He took several steps toward the door before he stopped, turning to pen Ironhide with his amber stare. "Ironhide, I trust Bluestreak is welcome to stay with you and Chromia for the next orn or so?"
It was another mostly respectful request and yet also a demand.
Stunned, Ironhide simply nodded. "Of course."
Prowl nodded again and then turned on his heel, doorwings flared stiffly. He left the briefing room without another backwards glance. For a long time none of the Autobots spoke, staring in stricken silence at the door as it closed behind the former Decepticon. They knew the injustice they had just helped perpetrate. Each one knew the role they had played in that travesty. It was one more tragedy piled upon those they had already witnessed this orn.
… … …
Sideswipe looked at his twin as they made their way down the halls of Iacon's primary base. Around them mechs continued to tend wounds too minor to bother the already harangued medics. As was par for the course, Sunstreaker had had the slag beat out of him, this time in the form of a well aimed null ray blast that left his left arm mangled beyond repair. Ratchet had amputated it in the field and then had patched the open wound with temp-plating until Wheeljack could build him a new arm.
Beyond that both front line warriors were pitted and scratched and mad as pit that Tracks was now in forced medical stasis in the ICU and that Flareup was immobilized with her left leg traumatically amputated by a 'Con and the right amputated once back in Iacon because it was unsalvageable.
Right now Sunstreaker was still limping badly, the gait exacerbated, as he had to compensate for the missing weight of his left arm.
"Are you sure you're up for this, bro?" Sideswipe asked quietly.
The look Sunstreaker turned on him was pure venom. "You bet I am, that pit-spawn is going to pay for what he did."
Feeling his twin's resolve, Sideswipe merely nodded and they continued their trek. They had managed to hack into the base's security feed and, while they had been detected and shut down and were sure to face brig-time for the infringement once everything settled down, they had been able to track the former Decepticon's location.
Apparently the command staff, and even the Prime, did not feel the need to punish the sneaky, back-stabbing fragger. Not if they were letting him just play to his own content in the training rooms.
Well, if the command team wasn't going to punish him as he should be, they would do so themselves. It was a mistake to let the defector have that much influence and they had suffered personally for it.
"He's gonna learn he can't just betray us like that." Sunstreaker groused, almost to himself as they entered the lift that would take them down to the training level.
"Of course he is." Sideswipe agreed, punching in the command, "Nobody messes with us or our friends and gets by with it."
They stepped off the lift and marched determinably, if somewhat slowly for Sunstreaker's sake, toward training room seven. As they approached, they started to hear the unmistakable sound of metal striking metal indicating a pitched brawl was in progress. With a glance at each other, they hurried forward, the sounds growing to the point where it was clear the noises were emanating from the training room where Prowl was hiding.
They waited for a few breems to see who would win, wanting to congratulate the mech who handed Prowl's aft to him, but when there was no indication of the battle waning, Sideswipe carefully accessed the exterior control interface to get a visual feed of what was going on inside.
The first thing they saw was that Prowl was alone; his combatant was not another mech. At least not another real mech.
"He's fighting three at a time." Sunstreaker hissed. "By himself?"
Sideswipe could only nod as Prowl continued to do battle against three opponents, moving seamlessly from strike to strike, flowing from one assault to the next with a seeming effortlessness that neither front liner had ever seen, even from their time in the underworld gladiator games before the war. The way the challenging holograms were moving suggested they were programmed to represent highly skilled and brutal fighters, but Prowl was tearing them apart. Literally.
Both Twins watched in morbid fascination as Prowl decapitated one opponent with hardly a thought before turning and ramming one fist through the chassis of a second while kicking the headless frame of the first against the training room wall.
Both assailants disintegrated into pixilated hazes before fading out of existence entirely. Prowl turned to the only remaining hologram. However, no sooner than the two vanished, two more took their place. For one brief nanosecond Prowl stood motionless, surrounded by holographic enemies, and then he was moving again.
The raw fury and violence the former Decepticon was unleashing against the training projections was staggering and terrifying enough to snap even Sunstreaker out of his blind need for revenge. The Twins watched the battle for nearly fifteen breems, and the pattern remained the same: as soon as an opponent was taken out, it was replaced by another.
On impulse, Sideswipe checked the training room's usage logs and had to reset his optics. "He's been going at this for nearly six joors!"
His stunned hiss of disbelief drew Sunstreaker's attention. "You gotta be slagging kidding me."
"I'm not." Sideswipe pointed adamantly to the line of data as Sunstreaker leaned close to look over his shoulder.
"Damn."
Sideswipe nodded mutely, just staring at the screen. There was no way in pit they would have believed the defector – a fragging tactician for Primus' sake – could fight like that. The mech was downright dangerous. It was a wonder he had tolerated their harassment while on patrol with him. And, while neither twin said anything out loud, they both knew that if they had known about Prowl's abilities in this area, they probably would not have been so eager in their abuse of him.
Slag, they had gotten lucky.
They glanced at each other.
"Six joors." Sideswipe whispered. And there was no sign the mech was tiring any time soon. "What are we gonna do?"
"We aren't gonna do anything." Sunstreaker huffed. "I only got one arm."
"I know, but…" Sideswipe gestured to the screen. "That can't be good."
"Let him calm down on his own." Sunstreaker reiterated. "It's just the two of us and you see he's beating the slag out of three of them at a time. Scratch that, its seven now. Unless you want to go find at least four more dimwits who are willing to risk their spark to go in there."
Sideswipe blinked, looking at his twin. "You just called us dimwits."
Frowning Sunstreaker thwacked him upside the helm with his remaining arm. "We would be if we just went in there."
Sideswipe frowned, as Prowl leapt onto one of his opponents, severing his frame in two and then used his momentum to plunge his hand deep into the chassis of another only to rip the spark chamber free. "We gotta tell the Prime."
"And get in trouble for hunting him down like this?" Sunstreaker demanded.
"Better than letting that loose on the base." His twin made a reluctant affirming noise and Sideswipe hesitated a nanosecond longer before tentatively opening a comm. channel. /Optimus Prime, sir… this is Sideswipe. I uh… have a situation to report./
There was a momentary delay and then Optimus responded, somehow managing not to sound even the slightest bit annoyed at the unexpected interruption. /Go ahead, Sideswipe./
/It's Prowl sir./ Sideswipe winced as a holographic mech slammed helm first into the training room wall before dissolving into pixels. /He's in training room seven and…/ He trailed off, not sure how to describe what they were seeing.
/And what?/ Optimus prompted after a long pause.
/I'm… not sure what to call it, sir. Beating the slag out of everything, maybe? I dunno. But he's been going at it for six joors./ Sideswipe paused, then added in his most serious voice, hoping beyond hope that the Prime would believe him and not brush this off as a prank. /It's downright scary sir. He's really, really pissed about something and… I think you should see it. He's dangerous right now, I swear on my spark./
Another moment passed and Sideswipe shared a nervous look with Sunstreaker before Optimus replied. /Very well. I am on my way./
It took less than a breem for the Autobot leader to arrive. Never before had Sideswipe been as happy to turn a situation over to an authority figure as he was at that moment. The two front line warriors waited, exchanging nervous glances as the Prime considered the visual feed from the training room with heavy intensity.
"Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Sideswipe. I will handle it from here. Return to your posts." It was a dismissal, one which neither twin had any intention of obeying.
Sunstreaker opened his mouth to object but Optimus had punched in his override, opening the doors to the training room. Both of the Twins stepped forward in tandem, horror written on their faceplates as the Prime stepped into the proverbial den of the Spark-eater, shutting the door behind himself.
Suddenly frantic, they lurched forward only to find the door locked again. Standard overrides would not budge it and they stepped back, even more at a loss than before. Should they call for additional back up? Was the Prime's life in danger?
Coming to the same conclusion simultaneously, they moved back to the monitor to watch the show that was sure to unfold.
… … …
Optimus considered Prowl on the monitor, watching as he fought three opponents on the simulated dojo's mat. He watched as one was dispatched only to be replaced by another. Six joors, Sideswipe had reported. A quick glance at the time logs confirmed that report. His engine revved lightly in distress, knowing what he was looking at.
He had seen the raw fury simmering in the black and white Praxian's gaze at the false accusation. He had felt the weight of Prowl's burning and frighteningly flat glare after Ratchet had helped defragment his processor. An injury that should never have been allowed to happen.
No, he did not blame Prowl for his outrage. He had hoped that giving the mech a chance to work through it would be sufficient, but now, deep in his spark, he knew that was not the case. He needed to act. Where he had failed to act before, he had a duty to do so now. He was the Prime and this was not something he could avoid.
Without looking at the twin front line warriors he dismissed them. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Sideswipe. I will handle it from here. Return to your posts."
He did not wait to see if his order would be followed, but overrode the controls on the door and stepped through. Then he quickly sealed the door, locking it with his own override. No one else would be getting in any time soon. He did not need any unplanned arrivals complicating matters.
Prowl never paused, never even hesitated in his fight, continuing as if completely unaware of the Prime's presence, which Optimus knew to be untrue. Optimus, for his part, stood still; watching Prowl move with the deadly grace of a well-trained fighter. He was even deadlier than Prime had witnessed during their sparing match. It was impressive to say the least and after a full breem with no change in tempo or rhythm, Optimus slowly started to circle the raised mat.
He looked past the fluid aggression in the Praxian's movements and studied the mech himself. He could easily see the anger, the pent up frustration, the hopelessness and the raw pain that fed Prowl's current behavior. He knew he bore a large portion of responsibility for that pain.
Brushing the matrix with his spark, feeling it affirm his decision, Optimus spoke softly, though loud enough he knew the sensitive doorwinged mech would hear even over the sounds of his fight. "Even I had underestimated your skills in hand to hand combat."
Prowl did not stop moving, pounding his fists and his pedes into his holographic opponents in rapid succession. His voice, when he answered, was flat but strained though not from physical exertion. "You should not be here, Prime."
"On the contrary. This is exactly where I should be." Optimus stayed calm, his voice sincere and concerned but still reverberating with the ring of command.
Abruptly Prowl stopped fighting, his arms falling to his side, though his fists remained clenched and his vents flared as he sucked in rapid drafts of air to cool his frame. The holograms froze when he did, shimmered slightly and then faded from existence leaving Prowl and Optimus alone in the simulated dojo.
The two stared at each other for a long moment and Optimus was careful to keep his posture open and nonthreatening though also without evidence of weakness.
Then a short burst of air hissed through Prowl's vents. "Where are your guards?" He spit bitterly. "Surely you know it is unwise to be alone with someone like me."
There was pain mixed with the bitterness and a hint of challenge, especially as Prowl continued. "The last time they found us in here it did not go so well for me."
Optimus allowed a tiny nod. He had to concede that point, though he did not waver. "I used my personal codes to lock the door. It is just us: we won't be disturbed."
Instead of being reassured, Prowl's golden optics narrowed, his stance not relaxing at all. "That was foolish. I am not inclined to be civil at the moment."
Optimus hesitated at that. Was it a warning? A threat? He did not doubt the mech's words as the evidence clearly pointed to their validity. Curious, he spoke with careful neutrality. "Have you deleted your ethical coding?"
"Of course not." Prowl growled angrily, optics glinting. "You know that isn't an option."
By that Optimus also knew, as incredible as it was, that neither had Prowl chosen to view the Autobots as anything but an allied faction, despite all that had been done to him. Based on that, he took a cautious step closer and asked softly. "And now you resent having bound yourself like that, being trapped by your own coding?"
He could tell he hit a raw neural wire when Prowl physically jerked back, his doorwings flaring violently if only briefly. "Are you here to rub that in?"
There was understated challenge in that question as well as an almost tentative vulnerability that did not match the fury and power the mech had just displayed. Instantly Optimus understood: even if that was what he chose to do, Prowl would not retaliate. He could not, and he knew it and that made him vulnerable.
That understanding clinched Optimus' spark, affirming his decision and he answered gently with a single shake of his helm. "No."
He could see the surprise hit Prowl in the form of stiffening doorwings and continued, taking another small step toward the raised mat. "I came to apologize."
"To apologize?" Suspicion and anger wrapped themselves together so tightly in those words that they came out flat and dark. Disbelieving, and Optimus could not fault him for it.
"Yes." Optimus glanced to the side, not submitting but yielding him the moral high ground. "For putting you through that. You tried to warn me but I did not listen. I let my anger at the loss of that many Autobots cloud my judgment and allowed something to happen that I never should have and you were hurt because of that failure."
His sparkfelt words rang between them for a long handful of astroseconds before Prowl's frame lost the edge of its tension. With a release of heated air, Prowl likewise averted his gaze, lowering it a fraction. "You had a right to be angry and suspicious. I cannot deny the evidence looked damning."
Optimus gently shook his helm. "Perhaps. But I have no excuse for allowing what I did."
Prowl looked at him again, his gaze testing before it was averted once more and Optimus knew his apology would be received now. He stepped onto the raised mat and faced Prowl formally. "Prowl, in writing your ethical coding as you did, you trusted me not to abuse it, even if only subconsciously or unintentionally. I failed you. I betrayed that trust and I apologize."
Prowl's optic's widened, his mouth opening a fraction though no sound came out. Then Prowl looked away and Optimus could see the silent struggle and waited patiently for the mech's response.
When it finally came the anger had faded but that only allowed the pain and hurt to show more clearly. "Do you expect your apology to make things right?"
Optimus shook his helm. "No."
Prowl blinked again, further taken aback, and Optimus continued. "I cannot change what has already happened. All I can do is give you my word that I will do all within my power not to let it happen again."
"You cannot promise me you won't have my processor scanned again." The retort was sharp and bitter.
Optimus nodded, accepting that fact. "Perhaps not. But you have proven yourself in several ways today and I definitely foresee the orn when they will no longer be necessary at all."
Prowl just stared at him, suspicion, frustration, hope and confusion all warring with half a dozen other emotions in his amber gaze.
Prowl seemed at a loss for a response. Either that, or he did not trust himself to respond in an appropriate manner.
Optimus released a weary vent of air. "Prowl you were absolutely correct. Regardless of your assigned post, you will always be a senior tactician. I do not believe you will be in the position of junior tactician for long."
Prowl's optics turned calculating, evaluating, and he was a moment in answering. "I am to remain in tactical then?"
"If that is your wish."
"My wish?" Incredulity oozed out of those two words.
Optimus nodded, his tone broking no argument. "You are not a drone, Prowl. Serving as an Autobot tactician is a sensitive enough position I do not want you to take it just because you feel you have no option. Smokescreen will still be your commanding officer. Will you be able to work under him after this?"
Prowl did not answer immediately and Optimus had the opportunity to see his expression change. Then he released a resigned vent, looking down. When he spoke his voice was soft, almost as if begging to be believed. "What I want is to help you defeat Megatron. I can best do that as a tactician."
Optimus nodded, accepting that answer, but it did not address the question he had asked. "And Smokescreen?"
Prowl was silent for a few seconds his expression changing fractionally again and Optimus was surprised to see it actually grew thoughtful and lost the edge of the hardness that had held Prowl like a vice. "Do you believe he has learned from this?"
Optimus blinked, that not being what he expected to hear. He answered slowly, evaluating the mech before him anew. "Smokescreen is skilled at what he does, but he is young and has never had to juggle command where his most junior member is his former mentor and superior officer." Prowl nodded to the obviousness of that statement even as Optimus continued. "I doubt the same mistake will be made again… that does not mean there won't be others."
Prowl snorted air through his vents at that, his expression turning a hint wry, though he continued to watch Optimus carefully. "Indubitably. Smokescreen is a sharp student however. He seldom made the same mistake twice."
"Can you think of him beyond being your apprentice?" Optimus asked softly, intrigued at the change he was seeing in the Praxian.
Prowl only cocked an optic ridge. "Smokescreen will always be my apprentice, even if he is also my boss."
And Optimus knew Prowl was serious. For some reason, even though it was clearly Smokescreen's actions that had led to him having his processor fragmented, Prowl was willing to give his former student leeway based on the younger mech's inexperience. Whether it was sparkfelt or an intentional mental stance to make the situation palatable was unknown, but it was still the case. Incredible.
At length Optimus nodded. "Report to tactical command on the second shift of next orn." Prowl signaled his understanding and Optimus returned the gesture. "Thank you for speaking with me, Prowl."
Optimus blinked as Prowl's optics grew a touch harder realizing he was still on touchy ground with the tactician. His words confirmed that. "You say that as if I had a choice."
Optimus did not back down. "You did. Had you asked me to leave, I would have honored your request. For a time, at least."
"I did." Prowl's engine almost growled.
"You suggested I leave, you did not ask me to." Optimus corrected, cocking his own optic ridge in understated challenge, though he softened it with a gentle smile. "Your ethical coding allows you to make requests, especially if given an open invitation to do so, which is what I am providing."
"An open invitation?" Prowl asked, barely above a whisper, disbelief filling his mostly stoic visage.
Optimus nodded. "Yes. In return, I give you my word that I will give such requests the same consideration I would any other Autobot under my command."
Prowl's frame froze entirely, though his vents flared. "I am not an Autobot."
Acknowledging that observation Optimus did not waiver. "Not yet. However, that orn is near, if you still wish to officially join us after all of this."
He saw something almost intangible flash through Prowl's optics and then he witnessed the tactician's silent struggle to subdue it. The matrix whispered to his spark, confirming what he suspected Prowl needed to hear and it stunned Optimus almost as much as it humbled him.
Not taking his optics off the smaller, black and white mech he spoke, his deep voice thrumming with the full weight of his conviction. "You have not betrayed the trust I have given you, Prowl. I do not regret having done so."
The way Prowl's frame relaxed, the tension ebbing almost palpably, was all the proof Optimus needed. Prowl looked down, as if overwhelmed with the weight of his relief. Optimus knew then that the potential depth of Prowl's loyalty was staggering in its implications. He was not motivated by fear of punishment, not any longer, but by a desire not to disappoint. When exactly that change had happened, Optimus was not sure, but it imparted a much greater burden onto his shoulders, even above that imposed by the mech's revamped ethical coding. Even so, he would not rebuff that responsibility. He was a Prime, after all.
"Good orn, Prowl." Optimus stepped back, off the mat, sensing that Prowl needed some time to sort through everything they had discussed.
Optimus was almost to the training room door when Prowl called out to him.
"Prime…" Optimus paused, looking back. Bright golden optics searched his for a long moment. "Thank you, sir."
Optimus acknowledged that and then unlocked the door.
Letting the portal close behind him, Optimus looked with bemused irritation at the crowd now gathered there. Courtesy of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, no doubt. They were staring at him with awe and that reverence that never ceased to make him feel uneasy.
He focused on the two Twins, not doubting why they had tracked Prowl to the training room to begin with. Sunstreaker's missing arm made their intentions fairly obvious. He spoke specifically to them, but was glad that his words would reach all the other listening audios as well.
"Sunstreaker, Sideswipe. I strongly recommend you do not bother him at this time." He spoke firmly, turning it into an order.
"What was that, sir?" Sideswipe's gaze flicked between him and the closed door at his back.
Prime released a vent. "He was working off the anger and frustration of being falsely accused of devising a strategy that intentionally resulted in the recent tragedy. That strategy was wrongly attributed to him."
The Twins were not the only ones surprised by that statement.
Sunstreaker was the one who spoke. "You mean that wasn't his strategy? Because it sure wasn't like the stuff Smokescreen usually gives us."
Optimus shook his helm. "It was based on his work, but ultimately was not his plan in that he had no say in its final development."
All of the gathered mechs looked at each other, some still openly hostile, others with a smattering of guilt at whatever they had been thinking or saying. It took a long moment, but finally Sunstreaker nodded his acceptance of the Prime's statement. Sideswipe quickly echoed his twin.
But Optimus did not move, maintaining his position blocking the door to the training room. He would not allow Prowl to be harassed at this juncture. His gaze on the two Terror Twins hardened slightly when they glanced past him at the door, making it clear he would not tolerate any antics on their part.
Clearly sensing his intention and resolve, they backed off a half step as the others began to disperse. Sinking a little lower on their struts, the two front line warriors soon followed suit.
Releasing another weary vent, Optimus returned to his office, his steps slow and ponderous. At times like this, he wished Elita was on the base, she always seemed to know what to say and when to kick him in the tailpipe and when he needed reassurance.
… … …
Prowl did not leave the training room immediately after the Prime departed, choosing to meditate until he fully regained control of himself. Now that he was not focused on his own fury and need to vent, he could sense the accumulated spark signatures just outside the training room. He did not know what their purpose was, doubtlessly they had been concerned about their Prime. A part of him worried briefly that once Optimus left, they would swarm in to punish him for whatever they thought had happened.
But the Prime did not leave, he stayed between the masses and the entrance of the training room, as if guarding it from them. That understanding floored Prowl while simultaneously letting hope flare through his spark. Who was he that the Prime would assume such a mundane role?
His spark was already settling back into its normal, steady rhythm by the time the congregating mechs began to depart, dispersing back to whatever they had been doing before converging at the training room.
Optimus stayed outside the training room for several breems after the others had gone, as if ensuring they would respect his privacy. As the leader of the Autobots slowly took his own leave, Prowl allowed himself to consider the conversation he had just had with the Prime.
Optimus had apologized. He had taken responsibility for the whole situation and had apologized. He had done so even knowing the danger that could put him in if Prowl had chosen to retaliate for the insults, the suffering…
He choked off that thought. He had expected nothing less than what had happened, worse even, when he had been apprehended in Praxus. He knew he had helped the Decepticons to kill countless Autobots, he had been the one to intentionally target unarmed medics. While the accusation had been false in this case, he could not honestly say he did not deserve what had been done. The opportunity to integrate into Autobot forces was a privilege, an opportunity he had had no right to expect. One he still had no right to presume upon.
That did not remove the frustration and infuriating helplessness that permeated his current existence, but it did help him put it back into proper perspective.
By the time he felt ready to return to the rest of the base it was in the middle of the night shift and he was finally feeling the drain on his systems that his rampage, in conjunction with a failure to refuel, had caused. Taking advantage of the mostly abandoned halls, he made his way to the rec room to collect some energon.
His pede falls echoed softly off the metal walls and he relaxed into his isolation this time; it was exactly what he needed as he was not looking forward to facing the rank and file Autobots. Not if they held the same mindset their superiors had concerning his presumed culpability in the recent mission.
Taking the softly glowing cube, he decided to walk across the corridor to the observation deck. He moved, almost soundlessly to stand before the tall windows that overlooked the Iacon skyline. Overhead a trine of Autobot seekers flew along their assigned patrols. Lights twinkled in various buildings. The graceful lines of Iacon's ancient architecture were bathed in gentle grays and blues in the reflected light of Cybertron's moon.
It was quiet as life continued on. It was a return to the ordinary, the natural flow of existence and it helped lend a sense of peace and tranquility to his still calming internals and his rattled emotional center.
He released a long vent of air, letting himself soak in the stillness of the recharging city.
Then he stiffened, his doorwings picking up an approaching mech.
Behind him, the door to the observation deck slid open and nearly silent pede falls met his audios just before the door slid shut again. The unmistakably, eerily quiet systems of the other mech identifying him just as accurately as the sparksignature blazing across his sensors.
Half a dozen emotions immediately flashed through Prowl's CPU, most of them nearly shattering the delicate peace he had so recently achieved.
The mech paused just inside the door and then glided closer, stopping a fair distance away but close enough to signal his intention to force a confrontation.
Prowl released another vent. The silver minibot was the overseer of his probation. He had no way out of this, not if the other mech chose to push the issue. He deemed it illogical to delay the matter further.
Carefully reinforcing the stoic mask hiding his emotions he broke the uneasy silence, still not looking away from the crystalline window, though he was no longer really seeing the panoramic view it offered.
He addressed the other mech resignedly. "Jazz."
Okay, before all of you write really nasty reviews, I know this is a really mean place to leave it... but it is already the longest chapter to date. Also, rest assured, as the title suggests, it will only get better for Prowl from here. (Slag, I hate giving away plot points but I wanted to reassure everyone about that.) That said, I am very interested in hearing your thoughts.
PS: I offer my apologies ahead of time because the next chapter will not be up before the weekend because I am going out of town on business, but I will get it up as quickly as I can. Promise.
