First, I wish to thank everyone for your kind thoughts and prayers. Each and every one of them was gratefully appreciated. I only have one more week of really tough work schedule, then it should even out. Also, my thanks to vacant house for helping me clarify some issues with the briefing seen in the last chapter...that scene has been slightly revised, if anyone is interested.

Credits for this chapter: A review from Sunstarunicorn helped inspire the third scene and its POV. Similarly, A review from Icesong180 encouraged me to go ahead and write the first scene. And the second scene is for all of you who were ready to club poor Ironhide in the helm at the end of the last chapter…which was all of you, actually… I hope it gives you a little satisfaction. *Smirk*.


Bluestreak's excitement at seeing Prowl had been enough to soothe the lingering ache in Prowl's processor. When the door to Chromia's quarters had opened, he just stood there, staring up at him, a bright grin on his faceplate.

"Prowl!" But the youngling did not move for the longest time. He just continued to stand there, looking at him adoringly.

"Bluestreak, are you well?" Prowl asked.

The blue and gray youngling nodded eagerly and then stepped forward to reach for Prowl's hand.

Baffled by this change in his behavior, Prowl let himself be tugged gently down so that he was kneeling at Bluestreak's level.

"Chromia said you were in charge of things out there today." That smile reappeared. "That you were the one who decided who did what and things like that. That means that they are trusting you, and that they won't be as mean to you because they are listening to you about things like battles and fighting and, um, stuff…Right?"

Prowl allowed his lip plate to twitch. "It means they are trusting me a little more than they had." He corrected gently. "It is not all the way though and I doubt it is every one."

"But… it's better than it was, right?"

"Much better." No sooner had he got those words out then Bluestreak had leapt across the short distance separating them to latch onto Prowl's chassis, his small frame thrumming with a happy croon.

"You did good, Prowl." Chromia said from behind Bluestreak. When Prowl looked up at her she was not exactly smiling, though her posture was relaxed. "We haven't had a battle that well coordinated since the war started, though Smokescreen has done good with some of the defensive actions."

Prowl found his frame heating, still discomfited by the praise. "I did my duty. That the outcome was so positive is its own reward."

Chromia just looked at him for a moment, then smirked. "If you insist. The mechlings were building something, I'll give Bluestreak his morning energon tomorrow, if you don't mind him coming over that early, of course."

Prowl blinked. He had been ordered to take the next orn off, and was not sure what he would do if he were divested of both his work and his guardian responsibilities.

Chromia seemed to be able to read the almost blank look on his faceplate as her smirk only grew. "Don't worry, Prowl. It will only be for a handful of joors. Ironhide will be here tomorrow to help, so they should be done by mid-orn or so. I know you probably want some time with Bluestreak."

Prowl considered that for a moment, but when he looked at Bluestreak's hopeful expression he felt his spark melt. He would not deny the youngling, not when his short life had been so full of woe. He was jealous for the youngster to have as many moments of joy as possible, even if it meant denying himself the little one's company. He might have asked to stay with them, but being in Ironhide's and Chromia's quarters was an… awkward thought. And if Ironhide was going to be present the next orn as well… No, his relationship with the massive weapon's specialist was not one that allowed such casual interactions.

No, he was still a POW and, at least with Ironhide, that reality seemed to take precedence. He would drop Bluestreak off the next orn because that was the easiest thing to do.

Prowl nodded. "I shall bring him early, then."

Bluestreak lit up and Prowl realized he had made the right choice. It helped ease his frustration he felt at the situation.

On the way back to their quarters, Bluestreak talked non-stop about various things, almost skipping with his excitement. Yet, whenever Prowl attempted to ask about his project with Bumblebee, he always avoided the topic or would reply with an evasive, "it's a surprise."

Intrigued and bemused by this behavior, though perhaps a little wary as to what type of surprise it might be, Prowl eventually stopped asking. He toyed with the idea of demanding to know what was going on, but the thought of the hurt Bluestreak might feel if his 'surprise' were ruined prevented him. As much antipathy as Ironhide might have for him and as much distrust as Chromia might maintain toward him, Prowl did not believe they would allow anything truly dangerous or negative. It might have been a calculated risk, but Prowl felt relatively certain it was worth taking.

Time would tell.

… … …

As promised, Prowl took Bluestreak to spend the early part of the next orn with Bumblebee. As Chromia had promised, Ironhide was indeed there. In fact, he was the one who greeted them.

At first the larger mech stood in the doorway regarding Prowl with something almost akin to awkwardness. Then he looked down to where Bluestreak was tapping his leg plating. "Yes, little one?"

"Why are you just standing there? We have a lot we have to get done, and Chromia said you were the best one to do this type of thing. And we are down to the final little bits, well, they aren't so little I guess, but… do you really think we will be able to finish it today?"

Ironhide smiled briefly and knelt to be at the youngling's level. "I'm pretty sure we'll finish it, don't worry. I'll be inside in a little bit. I need to speak to your guardian first."

Prowl stiffened at those words and Bluestreak must have sensed his sudden tension for his small face furrowed into a suddenly concerned frown. "Are you going to be nice to him now?"

Ironhide had the good graces to wince at that question. "I'm not going to hurt him."

Bluestreak hesitated and glanced back and up at Prowl. Prowl had not anticipated this, but knew better than to try and avoid the coming confrontation if Ironhide was determined to see it happen. And he did not want Bluestreak to witness it.

Prowl nodded to the youngling, attempting to appear calmer than he felt. "Go on, Bluestreak. I appreciate your desire to protect me, but you heard Ironhide. I am in no danger."

Bluestreak nodded hesitantly and walked into his friend's quarters.

Ironhide let him in then stepped into the hall. The door closed behind the Autobot and, even though the hall stretched on either side of them, Prowl felt as if he were trapped with no escape. Thus he waited silently, diligently working not to give evidence of his mounting anxiety as he rapidly tried to review what he might have possibly done to offend the other mech.

Finally, Ironhide spoke. "I'm surprised you would be so quick to trust me."

Prowl frowned unable to shake the suspicion that Ironhide was stalling. "You gave your word."

"And that's enough?" The mech demanded, stepping closer with something dangerously close to anger mixing with incredulity in his voice and expression. "Even after sending you into the 'Con's clutches? Even after coming between you and Bluestreak? Even after every other fragging thing?"

Prowl's optics narrowed, his focus on Ironhide as he sensed there was more going on than met the optic, something that seemed out of place and it made him even more wary. He spoke slowly, carefully. "You have never promised me 'kind' or 'fair' treatment. Nor did you do so just now. You have been honest with your intentions toward me to this point and I have no reason to believe you would act differently now."

"Excuse me?" Ironhide blinked at him with slack faceplate, completely taken off guard by Prowl's reply.

Prowl's doorwings flinched faintly at the deep rev of Ironhide's engine and it took a moment before he could make himself explain. "From the moment you captured me, I have not had to guess where I stand with you. Even if it has not been pleasant, and that fact in itself is a type of stability I find reassuring."

Ironhide actually broke optic contact at that point, his engine revving again. Prowl would have had to fight a tremble at that fact, but Ironhide seemed almost troubled, lost either in his own thoughts or recent memories. As it was, Prowl was loath to interrupt in any way.

After a long, uncomfortable moment Ironhide released a deep vent. "Well, it's really hard for me to trust a 'Con. Any 'Con. Let alone like one. It isn't going to happen over night and I'm not sure if that last bit will ever happen."

"Understandable, sir." Prowl intoned softly into what he thought was an expectant pause.

Ironhide's gaze refocused on him and then sharpened. Prowl's own vents hitched as he became more even uncomfortable under the scrutiny that was filled with too much emotion for his comfort. In Prowl's experience, when temperamental mechs like Ironhide struggled with excessive emotion it was not a pleasant experience for him.

Not knowing exactly what to expect from the black mech – for the first time ever – Prowl ducked his doorwings fractionally, making his posture a hint more submissive, not wanting to set Ironhide off.

In response, Ironhide only released an irritated huff of air and gestured harshly up and down his frame with one hand. "See. It's scrap like that that makes it slagging difficult not to believe you."

"…Sir?"

Ironhide released another gust of heated air and looked aside, deflating visibly and Prowl was afraid to even move as Ironhide shook his helm.

The moment of silence stretched until Ironhide broke it, sounding as if the words were being torn free of his vocalizer under duress. "I've been thinking about what you said. I did not mean to make Bluestreak fearful of you. I'm surprised you would continue to let him stay in my keeping after that."

Prowl released a gust of air he had forgotten to cycle. "Bumblebee is his only friend. I would not separate them. Also…" he hesitated as Ironhide brought his cobalt gaze back up, then plunged ahead. "Also, you gave your word it would not happen again."

Ironhide just stared at him.

The moment of uneasy silence stretched to become almost intolerable and then Ironhide released a huff of air that was almost a snort, but held a hint of exasperation just underneath the usual gruffness Prowl had come to expect from him.

Ironhide snorted again. "The Prime was right. I have not treated you fairly."

Prowl fought the impulse to step backward at hearing those words from Ironhide and found that he was shaking his helm. "You have treated me no worse than I expected…"

Ironhide growled angrily, though not necessarily at Prowl, and cut him off. "Which means I've treated you like slagging 'Con would."

Prowl blinked, more at how the words were delivered than at the words themselves. "No…" He almost stopped as Ironhide growled at him. "… you have not treated me nearly as poorly as my former faction has, let alone how they would have treated an Autobot. I am still alive. Nor have I been beaten by you…"

Another low growl from Ironhide's engine cut Prowl off. "Not by me, but I sent you back to them knowing they would."

Ironhide's gaze was almost challenging and Prowl blinked again, careful to reinforce his calm exterior. "I was not aware that mission was assigned with malice."

Ironhide's helm rocked back visibly. "What?" Then he shook a hand negatingly. "It wasn't, not like that. I mean, not intentionally, though it didn't break my spark at the time."

Prowl might have imagined the slight grimace that ghosted across Ironhide's features and he did not dare explore any of the sudden riptide of conflicting emotions that statement generated in his own processor.

He spoke after a long moment. "If it was not maliciously intended, then you should not feel obligated to apologize. I understand the reasoning behind that mission." Then softer, "I did not think it was troubling you."

Ironhide growled at him again, clearly becoming more distressed, though by what Prowl could not fathom. Then the weapon specialist paced away. Prowl found he was afraid to move as the massive mech suddenly turned and stormed back. "You… you walking calculator, pieced together by mismatched scrap! Are you always this obtuse?"

Prowl blinked, feeling as if the world were spinning around him. "Sir?"

Ironhide stepped even closer, looming over him with one hand clenched into a fist, the other one gesturing off to one side with short, clipped movements. "I'm trying to apologize for making your life a living pit since you got here and you go on justifying it and acting like it isn't a big deal. And it might not be to you, but I pushed the fragging limits of my own slagging moral coding and it sucks to pit to realize I misjudged you this whole time. And I really, really don't like the queasiness this whole fragged situation is causing in my tanks." Ironhide's passion as well as his volume was increasing as he continued until he was all but yelling. "And you aren't helping. So. Shut. The. Frag. Up!"

Prowl snapped his denta together with an audible clang, unable to do anything but stare up at the looming visage of the Autobot that had managed to back him up against the wall opposite the door to his quarters. Afraid to even clear his vents he nodded mute understanding of the order.

Seeming to realize all of a sudden what he had done, Ironhide blinked and stepped back quickly.

Even so the strained silence continued to hang between them. As the uncomfortable standoff continued, Prowl managed to regain his composure first and forced his gaze downward, not wanting to inadvertently set Ironhide off again.

Seeing this, Ironhide dragged in a cooling draft of air. "Prowl…"

Ironhide trailed off when Prowl's doorwings flinched as if he were expecting some kind of physical assault. That single, involuntary response only drove home just how unfair he had been, that Prowl would still expect the same treatment he would from a Decepticon.

A fragment of that conversation with Optimus replayed through his processor.

Ironhide's fierce defiance, "We are not Decepticons!"

The Prime's almost sad disappointment and firm exhortation. "Then ensure we do not act like them."

Ironhide's next words were spoken in a pained, near whisper. "I am not a Decepticon, Prowl."

Prowl blinked, then averted his gaze once more. He nodded acknowledging the statement, but he did not speak. Not when the last order he had received had so heatedly demanded his silence.

Ironhide started to say something else, half-way lifting his hand, but then stopped, realizing he had blown this attempt at an apology. He released a huff of air and stepped back, giving Prowl some space, relieving some of the pressure on the Praxian.

"You did good yesterday, against all expectations when you first came here. Including mine."

Prowl relaxed a fraction and dipped his helm, keeping his tone carefully controlled. "I am grateful to have been given the opportunity."

Ironhide regarded him for a moment longer and then nodded, retreating back behind the doors to his quarters.

Prowl stared at the closed porthole for a long moment, surprised at how shaken the encounter had left him. He hoped it was something a cube of energon could help with.

… … …

Beachcomber sagged into his chair in the rec room, sipping absently from his energon cube. Hound sat next to him, a friendly hand on his arm, offering support by his presence. True, Beachcomber had not known Blades for very long, only a vorn or so, but he had become friends with the young and energetic front-liner. He was rare among that class in that Blades never demeaned him for his pacifistic tendencies.

Now the poor mech was stasis-locked in the ICU with a low probability of recovering from his injuries. Ratchet and First Aid had worked through the night to try and stabilize him and the handful of other critically injured mechs from the recent battle. But that was the last he had heard and Beachcomber was worried.

Movement at the rec room entrance caught his attention as another mech entered. It was Prowl. The black and white Praxian met his gaze briefly and a doorwing flicked minutely before he kept walking.

"They are doing everything they can for him. You know that." Hound murmured softly.

Beachcomber nodded, still regarding the former Decepticon as the tactician made his way to the energon dispenser. "I know. But a cracked spark-case…" He trailed off, then lowered his voice. "Are the rumors true?"

Hound followed Beachcomber's gaze with his own. "Apparently. According to Jazz and then confirmed by the Prime. I know it was Smokey's voice, but it was sure like what Prowl did for Springer, Moonracer and I… just on a much bigger scale."

"I wonder…" Beachcomber shook his helm and looked down. He did not know Prowl well enough to risk pressing him for answers.

Hound looked at him for a moment and then looked back at Prowl and frowned. He glanced between the miserable looking Beachcomber and the stiff, almost nervous Praxian. Then he straightened, making a decision, and waved Prowl over as the tactician started to sit at an isolated, corner table.

"Prowl." Hound called. "Why don't you join us."

Beachcomber blinked at his companion, those words were not spoken as a question and were commanding enough to be just shy of a simple invitation. What was Hound thinking?

Prowl's doorwings flicked again and Beachcomber just barely kept himself from wincing as Prowl looked from Hound to him. He found he was not able to meet that amber gaze for long. Then he felt his spark pulse stutter as Prowl straightened and slowly started their direction.

It was clear the Praxian wanted this confrontation no more than Beachcomber had any desire to cause one. Yet he still followed the commanding undertone of Hound's order.

"Yes, Hound?" Prowl asked softly as he approached.

Hound pointed to the empty seat across from Beachcomber and then nodded to him. "Beachcomber has a couple of questions for you, I think."

Those doorwings flicked minutely again as Prowl settled respectfully if still resignedly into the indicated seat, glancing between them. "Have I done something wrong?"

The soft question got Beachcomber's attention and he shot startled optics to the tactician. The golden optics that met his were filled with muted concern. Beachcomber opened his mouth to speak, only to close it again.

He shuttered his optics briefly, rebuking himself. Prowl had been kind to him in the past. Clearly, he was not an evil or inherently mean mech. Steeling himself with that reminder, Beachcomber sucked in a draft of air and addressed the tactician, even though he could not quite meet his gaze.

"Did… did you really direct the battles out there? Both of them?" Beachcomber winced, that came out more accusatory than he had intended. But Prowl did not balk or grow irate at the implied accusation.

Instead, the tactician averted his own gaze fractionally, simply waiting for whatever he thought might becoming next, clearly not attempting to avoid something he thought would be unpleasant. "Yes."

"Did…" Beachcomber trailed off, suddenly intimidated by the intense gaze that focused back on him, even if it was remarkably kind. He shook his helm. "N…never mind."

Prowl frowned minutely. "Ask your question, Beachcomber." When Beachcomber hesitated and looked away, an even softer, "please," was added.

Surprised, Beachcomber looked back at the former Decepticon to see that he had assumed an entirely non-threatening, almost submissive posture with doorwings tucked and optics lowered.

Hound shifted in his seat and the hand on Beachcomber's arm tightened fractionally in silent encouragement.

Taking courage in his friend's confidence, Beachcomber plunged ahead. "Did… did you know the designations of the mechs you sent into battle?"

Prowl's gaze shot up to meet his perhaps just a touch wider than normal and with – though it was so faint it might have been his imaginative subroutines – a hint of pain. Prowl was silent for a beat and then answered, his voice a touch strained. "While I am familiar with the designations of every mech on the mission, I… I cannot claim that meets the criteria I believe you are truly inquiring about."

Something about the formal tenor of that answer made Beachcomber's engine rev weakly. "Blades was… is… my friend. And… I know we usually have even more fatalities and injuries than this, and I'm grateful for that but… I mean… to think that the mech sending… Um… I'm sorry."

Beachcomber looked down at his half-finished energon cube miserably. Miserable that he had let his worry over Blades hinder his restraint and miserable about the fact he felt miserable about it. He did not see the confused and troubled look Prowl shot toward Hound.

He did hear Hound's answer, however. "He's saying that it will make us all feel better knowing that the mech sending us into danger as some sense of… personal responsibility. Um, that our lives aren't just numbers in a calculation to you."

Beachcomber looked back up, encouraged to know he was not the only one feeling that way and met Prowl's questioning look with an expression he knew was pleading, but could not change that fact. He wanted to be able to trust Prowl, but was afraid to hope. Yes, Prowl had been civil to him in the past, but he had still been a Decepticon and, for all intents and purposes, appeared nearly totally emotionless.

Something in Prowl's gaze did not let Beachcomber look away this time, however. The tactician's voice, when he finally spoke, was remarkably gentle. "Is that what you are asking, Beachcomber?"

Beachcomber hesitated and then nodded mutely.

Prowl's optics unfocused slightly as his thoughts turned inward and Beachcomber glanced at Hound, neither having expected him to take their question so seriously. It was surprising, but also heartening. Their attention was snagged back to the Praxian as he spoke, optic shutters flicking closed briefly.

"You are correct, of course." Golden optics snapped back open to meet Beachcomber's and it appeared to take a concerted effort to do so. "This is something you have every right to expect of your tacticians. Thank you for reminding me of that."

Prowl hesitated a moment then stood. He started to turn away then stopped. He looked back at Hound and then his gaze slid to Beachcomber and though it remained almost bland, the peace-loving Autobot thought he saw a hint of deeper emotion, almost pleading behind it, as if he desperately wanted to be believed but was afraid to ask.

Prowl spoke, even more softly. "I assure you, other than accomplishing the mission, my primary goal was to do so with the lowest number of casualties possible. But you are correct in that where I failed it is not as… personal as it perhaps should be. If you will excuse me, I will go address that matter."

With that, Prowl ducked his doorwings deferentially and turned to leave. They watched him go and then looked at each other.

"What… what do you think he means by that?" He asked Hound after the door closed behind the tactician. "Do you think he was just trying to get away from us?"

Hound shook his helm, optics dropping to the all but untouched cube of energon Prowl had left on the table. "No… I don't know what he meant, but I do think he was serious."

… … …

Hound's question continued to cycle through Prowl's processor as he walked down the nearly deserted halls of the Autobot base. He was grateful it was quiet; that most of the mechs not actually having to be on duty were resting off a pleasant overcharge from the previous night's celebration. It gave him time to contemplate the myriad of conflicting thoughts and emotions his encounter with Hound and Beachcomber had generated.

He had thought modifying his ethical programming had solved his initial concern about morality problems that might have been generated by corruption from his time as a Decepticon. But Hound had pointed out that he had missed at least one crucial thing.

Unlike the gradual distortion of the more straightforward aspects of his ethical coding, Prowl could pinpoint exactly when that change had happened for it had been his choice to turn away from the perspective it offered.

Back before the war, from the time he had been responsible for directing the tactical department of the Praxian Enforcer Corps, Prowl had made a point to put a faceplate to every casualty and fatality report following an engagement he had directed. He had known that his job necessitated a certain level of separation from those whose lives he had to put in danger, but he had not wanted that distance to make him callus or make him forget that they were not just names in a datafile but mechs… sparks.

Prowl paused, realizing his pedes had carried him to the med bay as if of their own accord. He glanced at the reinforced metal doors and gathered his courage as he reached for the door control.

Once he had joined the Decepticons, he had quit this particular practice because he had known it would be seen as a weakness among Megatron's troops. And the weak did not survive. Megatron did not care how many of his underlings perished, so long as his plans succeeded. That was one of the early warnings he had ignored that he had made the wrong choice. Unfortunately, it had been a relatively easy one to avoid: he had just ceased doing what he was now here to do and had allowed the isolation of his function to crystallize.

But Hound had been correct to point out the error of that methodology.

Taking in a vent of air, Prowl stepped into the med bay.

The lights were lowered in honor of the early hour and the lack of traffic. Like the rest of the base, it was quiet. All of the minor injuries had been dealt with and the only occupants were those in the ICU. Just past the ICU was the processing room where the empty frames of the deceased were prepared for salvage and reclamation.

Monitors beeped, various support equipment hissed and whistled as they worked to keep the gravely injured on this side of the Well.

At the moment, no medics were on the floor, obviously trusting their equipment to monitor their charges, at least for the moment.

It granted him at least a few seconds of privacy.

As silently as he could, Prowl crossed the med bay to the ICU, accessing the casualty and fatality lists and cross-referencing them with the med bay census.

He did not know any of these warriors and it had become easy to brush off lives he did not know. Frighteningly easy. At least it was now, after his time as a Decepticon. No, he would not risk being that isolated, that remote from the suffering of others again.

No, Hound and Beachcomber had a right, and more than that they had been right to demand he put a faceplate to each name.

He walked slowly up the long isle of the ICU, taking the time to familiarize himself with the faceplate and injuries of each mech he passed. He knew it was not his fault they were here now, not directly. Things happened in battle, things no tactician could control. He had learned that lesson decavorns ago. But it did ensure he had a more personal connection to those who were depending on his strategies to have a chance of surviving. And now it also served to remind him just how much the Autobots were trusting him, taking a chance with him, to let him have that authority: he, the very one who had once made it his goal to kill as many of them as possible.

It was trust he would never take lightly.

He came to a stop in the doorway of the processing room. Only three of the five fatalities had been recovered from the battlefield.

As he looked at the empty frames he felt the final remaining pieces of Enforcer coding that had been suppressed during his time with the Decepticons reactivate. The initial changes might have been minor, but they caused a cascade of other such changes all through his programming and suddenly his perspective shifted subtly.

His primary duty was not just to defeat Megatron in order to protect Cybertron; it was to protect life.

He was an Enforcer, first and foremost; a protector. To be an Enforcer was to accept the mantle of responsibility of safeguarding those who were weaker, those who could not defend themselves. Yes, he had a duty to protect Cybertron, but not at the expense of the former.

As these internal changes synched with his other systems, integrating fully with his recently revamped ethical subroutines, the more stringent coding no longer felt as burdensome. It was who he had always been… or at the very least who he was supposed to be. And now his core mission, his ultimate purpose and the true reason he was created with the abilities he had been, gave him back a measure of autonomy in that now even his ethical programs were subjugated to that core coding.

Prowl shuttered his optics briefly and then refocused on the frames now lying inert on the processing berths. "I am sorry."

He was not sure who he was speaking to. To those he had failed in siding with the Decepticons. To those he had not been able to bring back to Iacon whole in this last battle. To himself.

Regardless, the whispered words were soon drowned out by the beeps and whistles of the medical equipment. With a sigh of air, Prowl stepped back and allowed the door to close, hiding the grayed out frames. He felt a familiar spark signature approach from behind and was not naive enough to realize he had been caught trespassing where he was probably not wanted.

"What are you doing?" Ratchet demanded from the door to the ICU sounding more weary than suspicious.

Prowl turned slowly, and gave the medic a short, formal half-bow. "I am remembering."

Ratchet blinked, jerking back slightly, clearly not expecting that. Then he frowned and pointed behind himself in clear indication of what he wanted. "Yeah, well, go 'remember' someplace else."

"As you wish." Prowl acquiesced easily, though he let his optics sweep the still forms of the gravely injured once again.

Ratchet was standing to one side of the doorway as he approached and, Prowl realized, he was not meeting his gaze. In fact, Ratchet was looking down uneasily as Prowl passed him, stepping back into the med bay-proper. Accepting that Ratchet likely had a lot to deal with at that moment, Prowl wordlessly continued toward the exit.

He had only taken a handful of steps when Ratchet called out his designation. "Prowl…"

Prowl turned back to him, his expression carefully respectful and expectant, willing to accept whatever the CMO might wish to unleash for his uninvited invasion into the sanctity of his medical ward.

"Listen, about last decaorn…" Ratchet grimaced, "Look, I'm…"

Prowl realized then what Ratchet was about to say, especially with the way he kept his gaze lowered contritely. It was an unnatural thing to see in Ratchet.

Prowl spoke softly, his optics shimmering with his conviction. "Do not apologize, Ratchet."

"I would have kept you from defending yourself from Jazz, if you had tried." Ratchet said hoarsely, his tone harsh with self-reproach.

Surprised, and now processing that memory through re-awakened coding, Prowl looked away. "But I did not try. No, it was well deserved."

Ratchet's optics widened and it was a moment before he could speak. "But… that wasn't your plan."

Prowl nodded once. "No. But that is why I do not deserve your apology."

"I don't understand." Ratchet blinked again.

Prowl considered the medic silently for a long moment then decided to answer fully. Ratchet was a medic, he too had core coding that demanded obedience even above his allegiance to the Autobots. Of all mechs, he should understand the changes that had just unfolded in Prowl's CPU. And, having recently been in his mind, Ratchet was unlikely to take what he was about to say in an unintended manner.

"I had forgotten that my primary duty was to protect. To protect life, to protect the rights of others. I had focused only on ending the war, thinking that that alone would serve that goal. I blindly viewed orders as the only means to achieving that very narrow objective. And I failed to maintain the ethical standards I was programmed with." Prowl considered Ratchet carefully. "Had I remembered my primary purpose, I would never have participated in that assignment, or allowed my work to be modified by mechs inexperienced with that level of complexity, for the very reasons I knew the end result had been a high probability."

Ratchet was silent for a long moment, looking at him; evaluating. "And your duty to protect now supersedes your duty to obey orders?"

Prowl allowed himself to shake his helm ever so slightly. "Only if absolutely necessary, otherwise I am still tightly bound. Nor will it allow me to unlawfully avoid the consequences of disobeying orders. It does, however, return some autonomy."

He paused for a moment, considering the unsure look playing over Ratchet's faceplate. And spoke softly, addressing what he felt certain was the underlying reason for that concern. "You are, of course, welcome to examine the changes I have mentioned, if you wish."

Ratchet hesitated again at that, looking up at his optics before glancing down at his dataport. Then he shook his helm slowly. "I know what your core programming is. I know it isn't a threat to us."

Prowl relaxed fractionally and dipped his helm in appreciation. Then he let the faintest wisps of a smile tip his lip plate. "A Prime's duty is also to protect and serve the citizens of Cybertron – a duty Megatron conveniently abandoned in his quest for domination and power, though I was blind not to see it at the time. So long as the Prime holds true to his purpose, I can promise my own loyalty. However, my ethical programming will not permit me to maintain that loyalty if he should ever forget his own duty to Cybertron."

Ratchet's optics widened and then growled. "That will not happen. Not to Optimus."

Prowl considered the bright chartreuse medic for another astrosecond and then nodded formally. "Then I can freely and willingly pledge my spark to the Autobot cause and my own loyalty to him as the Prime."

Ratchet stood straighter then, optics darting over Prowl's frame. His next words were almost a whisper. "Are you going to tell him?"

"Yes." Prowl affirmed. Then, hearing one of the monitors in the ICU start to alarm he stepped back, indicating by body language he was aware his audience with the med bay's ruler was over. "Thank you for your time, Medic."

Ratchet did not spare time to reply or even acknowledge the statement as he spun on his heel and dashed into the ICU.

Prowl knew uninvited guests who were not injured were not welcome to dawdle in Ratchet's domain and so he hastily made his exit, amazed that his steps should feel simultaneously lighter and yet with a heavier burden. Perhaps it was because, finally, the burden he was carrying was the one he was designed and programmed to carry. So, while heavier, it was not difficult.

Yes, he would tell the Prime, inform him that the nature of his loyalty had changed and let the Autobot leader decide if that was acceptable or if it would alter the nature of his parole. But not right away. He wanted time to gain control of the changes that had been made, to center himself before he faced the Prime.

With that decision made, Prowl headed for the training room, eager to consider his new personal epiphanies in the peaceful ambiance of his old master's crystal garden.

… … …

In the end, Prowl had opted for the simulation of the dojo itself rather than the crystal garden, deeming that his processors were not troubled enough to warrant the more calming environment. Stillness was what he wanted, stillness that was more than what was offered by the hum of crystals, no matter how relaxing that song might be.

He had achieved that stillness within the first joor of his meditation and then had elected to maintain his meditative stance, enjoying the peace he had managed to obtain. It was the tranquility of finally being at peace within his own processor, and free of conflicts within his coding and spark.

It had been nearly a decavorn since he had enjoyed such harmony within himself.

It was… pleasant.

Three full joors after he had first settled onto the recreated dojo's mat, Prowl's sensors picked up a single approaching mech. Belatedly rerouting power to his upgraded sensors, he recognized the spark signature only a few seconds before the training room door slid open.

His optics snapped online as he unfolded his legs to stand respectfully, bowing his helm. "Prime."

Optimus considered him for a moment, just looking at him in that way that made it feel like he was seeing into a mech's very spark. Finding he had no desire to avoid that inspection, Prowl just waited for the Prime to satisfy his curiosity.

Perhaps sensing the change in him, Optimus canted his helm ever so gently. "Ratchet warned me you might be coming to see me. When I did not hear from you, I began to worry."

It was a question but was not framed as one, giving Prowl the option as to whether he would answer it or not. It was a kindness, a consideration he was slowly coming to associate with the Prime and while Megatron might consider such a thing a weakness, Prowl was learning to see the great strength that required.

But his statement, the ease with which the Prime had tracked him to his location was also an unintentional reminder that he still wore a tracking device.

Prowl dipped his helm, trying to frame his reply, but Optimus took two more steps into the training room, allowing the door to close behind him. "Did you have plans to seek me out, or is this a misunderstanding?"

It was said without accusation, though it easily could have been. Instead, Prowl thought he detected evidence of true concern.

He lowered his gaze. "I do, and I would have shortly. You need not have troubled yourself on my account, Prime."

The large cobalt and crimson mech lifted a hand plactatingly and smiled ever so faintly. "It is no trouble."

He sounded absolutely serious. Prowl ducked his helm again, speaking softly. "I appreciate that, sir."

Optimus did not say anything for several long seconds, just looking a Prowl carefully and the tactician felt as if he was being seen clear down to his protoform. Once more, he could not say he truly objected to the feeling.

"There is something different about you, Prowl." Was what the Prime chose to say, again not actually asking a question and thus leaving it up to him to decide what to answer.

Prowl knew he would tell the Prime, he owed the other mech that much at least and he knew the Prime needed to know about the alterations in his coding that might affect his probation. It was a matter of full disclosure, and he knew he would follow it through.

But now that the moment was upon him, Prowl found he could not find appropriate words. It was an uncharacteristic feeling he did not appreciate

As if seeing his dilemma, the Prime turned away fractionally, "If you are not ready to speak to me, perhaps you would consider a different topic, a request?"

Prowl blinked, and then gratefully accepted the temporary compromise. "Of course, sir."

Optimus nodded formally, though there was a touch of… something in his optics. Whatever it was, it was not unlike the wisp of what he had seen the previous night when the Prime had ordered him to take this orn off.

Before Prowl could properly identify it, the Prime spoke, almost cautiously "It is quiet for the moment, with no pressing duties for either of us. Perhaps you would consider a training session in Circuit Su?"

Prowl blinked, releasing a short huff of air in surprise, and then he felt his own lip plates twitch in an attempt to smile. He stepped back, inviting the Prime forward onto the mat. "Of course, Prime."

Faceplates relaxing into a faint smile, Optimus stepped onto the mat and faced Prowl, waiting with a calm that, while Prowl envied it, he also found he was able to draw a measure of calm from it himself.

They bowed to each other as tradition dictated and then Prowl cleared his vents. "What was the last form you learned?"

"Form Seventeen." Optimus replied immediately.

"Show me." Prowl commanded yet it was more of a polite request.

To his faint surprise, the Prime bowed again and then his frame flowed unhesitatingly into the first series of movements.

Feeling a touch surreal, Prowl circled the larger mech, watching critically. He was impressed, just as he had been during their sparring match, at how the Prime could carry the mass of his frame with such grace. Where the Lord Protector depended strictly on brute strength and raw power in any close quarter fight, the Prime preferred skill and lethal precision delivered with deadly refinement.

When the Prime finished the form, he stayed in the final stance and it took Prowl a moment to realize he was waiting to be given clearance to return to the ready position. It was evidence enough that the Prime was viewing him as a Master of the discipline, not just a mech who happened to know more than he.

It almost made his balance systems hitch as he gave the command and watched the Prime relax. He had to push the unsteady feeling aside.

Prowl cleared his vents again. "Very good. What have you learned of Form Eighteen?"

"Only series one through five. I have not yet mastered series five."

Prowl nodded, "Start at series one, please."

Once again, Optimus dropped smoothly into the first stance, hesitated the exact amount of time required and then flowed into a quick series of blows and blocks, to pause again before repeating the process. When he reached the fifth series of movements, Prowl stepped in to correct a minor stance issue with the second move. He only realized belatedly that he had dared to touch the prime without permission and tensed, but the larger mech just waited for the signal to continue.

Prowl made a handful of other corrections and each time when the corrections were readily accepted, Prowl began to gain confidence. He had the Prime repeat the fifth series of movements several more times, until he successfully did so without needing any input from Prowl.

Once they reached that point, Prowl demonstrated the sixth series from start to finish at full speed and then repeated the first eight moves much slower, pointing out the five areas that generally gave students the most difficulty.

Then he walked the Prime through those same stances and the transitions between them, helping Optimus to adjust the form to his frame and mass.

By the time they had reached the point where the Prime would be able to practice on his own without danger of introducing erroneous techniques, two joors had passed.

After their final bow to each other, Prowl sensed the change in the Autobot leader's demeanor. He was no longer the student; he was now strictly the Prime once again and Prowl responded automatically, stepping back respectfully.

"My thanks, Prowl." Optimus nodded formally.

"It was an honor, Prime." Prowl replied honestly, bowing.

Optimus considered him closely for a moment, gaze searching. "It is my hope you will be amenable to another such session at a future date."

Prowl allowed the barest hint of a pleased smile grace his lip plates as he dipped his helm. "More than amenable, sir; I would look forward to it."

The Prime straightened imperceptibly and stepped off the mat. "When you are ready to talk, just comm. me."

He did not give Prowl a chance to respond, perhaps not wanting to pressure him unnecessarily, and turned for the exit. It was that kindness that spurred Prowl to speak. Even so, Optimus was almost to the door before he gathered himself enough to do so.

"Prime…"

Optimus stopped, turning back to face him expectantly and Prowl found he was suddenly nervous. Despite his best efforts, his doorwings flicked. Though it was very unlikely that the Prime had missed that involuntary movement, he did nothing that would in any way pressure him into continuing. He just stood there, implacably calm.

Prowl knew that with his recent history, any modifications to his coding that mitigated that absolute obedience he knew at least some of the Autobots had come to depend on might be enough to make him too dangerous in their optics. He did not know if Optimus was one of those mechs.

But he would not lie, not now and not to the Prime.

He cleared his vents a third time, forcing himself to meet the Prime's expectant look. "You recently indicated you would be willing to consider me as an Autobot under your command if I was willing to take that step."

That sapphire gaze sharpened so quickly, Prowl could almost it. "Indeed. Have you made a decision?"

"I am an Enforcer, Prime." With those words, Prowl felt the nervousness fall away and he straightened, bringing his doorwings up to a properly attentive, if still deferential, posture. "Recent events have reactivated portions of my core coding that was suppressed during my time among the Decepticons. However, as an Enforcer, my primary duty is to protect: to protect lives, protect those unable to protect themselves and thus protect Cybertron. I allowed myself to loose sight of that once. The adjustments I have made to my ethical programming since I have come to Iacon will not let me forget that again."

Optimus' optics brightened a little, though there was no indication this was new information to him. "In other words, you can now disobey the orders of your superiors in order to fulfill the dictates of your core programming."

Prowl dipped his helm. "Yes, sir."

"And your core programming is that of an Enforcer?" Again, he seemed to simply be confirming something he already knew.

"Yes, sir."

"Why do you tell me this?"

"At this moment, I am still your prisoner." Prowl replied softly. "You have a right to know something of that magnitude as the decision to accept my service as an Autobot ultimately rests in your hands."

Prowl fell silent then, waiting for the Prime to weigh his options and either make a decision or ask for further clarification. At length that gaze softened a fraction. "I prefer that mechs under my command owe more allegiance to ideals rather than myself personally."

Prowl stared, and then released a sharp vent of air, relief flooding his wires, tension that had been building in his struts released so quickly he felt a touch weak. He looked down for a moment to gather himself, but then quickly lifted his gaze to again meet the Prime's.

"Then it will be an honor to call myself an Autobot." He hesitated. "I shall look forward to the orn when I have earned that right."

Optimus continued to study him for another handful of astroseconds then nodded, and his faceplates softened. It was the first time Prowl had experienced that warmth directed toward him. "Likewise, it will be an honor to have you as one of us."