Here is the next installment. As I promised, more Elita One! I have to admit, I was hesitant to post this, primarily because I am rather unfamiliar with Elita's cannon character. I think I've portrayed it accurately enough for government work but… since I don't work for the government, I'm not sure that's good enough (if I got it wrong, you'll know the place when you see it). If anyone is very familiar with her character and you have constructive comments, please share.) Please keep in mind though that this is early in the war and she and Optimus have really not been in their respective leadership roles for a long time… and Elita doesn't have the matrix to lend her immediate 'wisdom of the ages' like Optimus does…at least not directly.
Note: The first part of this chapter takes place simultaneously with parts of the last two chapters... I'm sure you'll figure it out.
(Immediately following the Command Staff briefing.)
Elita One followed her sparkmate back to his office, well aware that her frustration, irritation and concern were washing across their bond, bombarding Optimus with the full force of the emotions she did not let show on her face plate. Just to punctuate the strength of her feelings, she refused his attempts to calm her.
He was going to explain why a mech like Prowl was now trusted to brief the command team, why she had not been notified and just why the pit he thought it was a good idea. And, judging by the set of his shoulder plating, he was well aware of her intentions.
No sooner did the door close behind them than she spun around, pinning Optimus with her simmering glare. "So… I leave for a few quartex and when I come back not only have we invited one of the most notorious Decepticons into our ranks, we are trusting him with the very defense of Iacon?"
Her words came out in a near hiss, and she was only distantly aware that Optimus had locked the door and soundproofed his office. She watched him as, instead of answering immediately, he deliberately walked to lean against the edge of his desk.
It was his way of asking her to try and calm down. "It was not an easy process for him. But I am glad he has persevered."
She stared, optics widening as her sparkmate's private thoughts filtered across their bond and thus her awareness, and she realized he was doing nothing to prevent it from happening. He wanted her to feel what he was feeling. Respecting her sparkmate as deeply as she did, she honored his silent request.
When she did, however, the hiss of air through her systems was not something she could prevent. "You like him. You want him to be more than just an Autobot tactician!"
Optimus did not object, nor did he recoil – either physically or from her mental touch through their bond – he just absorbed her reaction with all the patience and steadfastness she had missed during their separation. But even that was not enough to settle her rattled processors at this unexpected and unwelcomed development.
Elita shook her helm. "I followed your lead in the briefing because we needed to show a united front before the others. But… Orion…"
She could not fight his patient presence in her spark any longer and she looked down, feeling defeated though she did not know why. It was too much to be asked to trust this… Decepticon. Especially after what she had seen during latest mission escorting a convoy of neutral femmes to a colony in another star system.
"Elita, dearspark… Do not judge Prowl before you get to know him – Prowl, the mech – not just his reputation or his past." Optimus' gentle words rumbled over her as a warm hand landed encouragingly on her shoulder.
Leaning into his touch, she looked up into his optics.
Even though she knew it would do little good as she could feel the steel in his convictions in this matter, she was about to object. But what she saw in his tender gaze, what she felt through their bond, stilled her instinctive recoil.
At length Elita nodded her acceptance of the challenge.
Optimus trusted Prowl. Something in the matrix had strengthened that instinct and, as much as she might disagree, she respected and trusted her sparkmate enough to try. That did not mean she would be easily won over.
By the time Elita One left Optimus' office, her processor was already spinning about the best way to learn more about Prowl. She wanted the truth, not whatever front he might put up for mechs to see. She wanted to see inside his processor, to see what really made him tick. Short of hunting him down and forcing a scan on him, she needed to talk to someone who had already done that.
As a prisoner he would have been interrogated. Yes. That was her answer.
With a determined lift of her chin she started the sometimes-laborious task of hunting down their head of special operations.
… … …
Surprisingly, Jazz was actually in his office when she finally found him. Oh, it might have been easier to just comm. him, but she had her own reputation to maintain and it was good practice for her tracking skills.
He looked up from the datapad he had been reviewing when she walked in. He blinked and then smiled with true happiness, even though his visor remained in place.
"Elita One, a pleasure, as always." Then he studied her more closely, saw that she was not as jovial as he was at the moment, and his lip plates tightened. "What can I do for ya ma'am?"
She put her hands on his desk and leaned her weight on them. "So… what is the deal with Prowl?"
Jazz's helm jerked back at the clipped question. "What 'bout him?"
Elita lowered herself into the vacant chair behind her. "Optimus believes we can trust him… that I can trust him. You interrogated him, didn't you?"
"I did." Jazz straightened. "My report is on record and ya have access to it."
"I know, I haven't looked at it yet." Elita admitted, considering the saboteur carefully. "Do you think he can be trusted?"
Jazz's nod was immediate. "Yeah, I do. He's more than earned a chance."
Elita frowned, not expecting such a firm statement from Jazz. "It isn't like you to so easily trust a Decepticon."
"Former 'Con." Jazz corrected softly, with a shake of his helm. "I've been in his head four different times. I know what he coulda done and didn't." She felt Jazz's focus shift to somewhere in his own memories. "I know what he had a right ta do and didn't even consider, Elita."
"Like what?" She asked, disconcerted by Jazz's demeanor.
"He never resisted me." Jazz focused back on her with an effort. "Not when he was a POW with fresh wounds and immobilized in my interrogation cell. Not when he was a paroled prisoner right after his first patrol. Not even when we falsely attributed a major loss to him and I fragmented him outta spite 'cause I was angry and felt betrayed."
Elita drew back at that, at the genuine regret she heard in Jazz's tone, as restrained as it was. "I wouldn't have expected that."
"None of us did, but that's what we got." Jazz focused fully on her again. "He's taken more slag than any mech should have ta and he ain't ever complained 'cause he believes he deserves it at some level… says he knows his place and doesn't object to it."
Elita just blinked, and Jazz nodded. "He's got skills and talent ta be a great asset and, more than that, he's willing. I've learned he also has tha character for it too. He's one of us now, ain't no two ways about it."
"You're serious." It was an observation, not a question.
"Very."
"Thank you, Jazz." Elita said thoughtfully, deciding she needed to read his official report before speaking to anyone else.
She was only two steps from the door when Jazz called out again. "Elita One…"
She turned toward him, to see he had retracted his visor. The seriousness in his expression was so unlike his usual jauntiness that it gave her pause. This was not the Jazz she had come to know, this Jazz was almost… dangerous… even if he was not overtly threatening. She had known his skill-set, knew what he was capable of and how dangerous he was in theory. She had never been confronted with it so directly before.
"Yes?" She asked cautiously.
"If you're wanting ta learn about Prowl, I'd suggest just talking ta him. But preferably not in a crowded place; he's apt ta open up more that way." He met her gaze steadily. He was dead serious.
She nodded, taking his words to spark. "I will keep that in mind. But I do want to know more about him first."
So saying, Elita went back to her own office and pulled up the records concerning Prowls initial defection and interrogation.
First was Ironhide's report on his capture, though 'capture' was perhaps too strong a term. He had apparently surrendered in the ruins of Praxus after he had been discovered crawling out of the wreckage of a building. He had been severely, though not critically, injured but instead of negotiating for his own treatment, his negotiations had entirely focused on making sure Bluestreak would be taken care of. So much so, Ironhide had suspected that Bluestreak might have been his own sparkling, perhaps raised in secret from his Decepticon masters… until Prowl had admitted who he was. The thought of the rumored emotionless Decepticon tactician having a 'secret' sparkling was nearly ridiculous, not to mention Prowl himself had admitted that Bluestreak was an orphan whom he had found during the attack.
Even so, he had still surrendered, not lifting a hand to defend himself or even once complaining at all about his status or treatment. And, according to Ironhide's report, those who captured him had not been shy about expressing their anger and disgust at what the Decepticons had done in numerous petty ways. There had been a general assumption that Prowl had masterminded that assault, and that it was only a miracle of poor communications that he had gotten caught in it.
Elita had to admit, she assumed the same thing; what else was she to assume? That was what made Optimus' willingness to trust him so… disturbing and infuriating.
She closed that report and opened Jazz's about his initial interrogation.
Just as the silver saboteur had stated, his report confirmed that not only did Prowl not fight his deep scan, he had actually cooperated. She read Jazz's brief analysis of Prowl's firewalls and then felt her systems hitch when he stated that the tactician then lowered them voluntarily. Blinking she only quickly perused the data he had retrieved from Prowl's processor and had to admit that it was substantial and comprehensive. And she shared the mech's shock that Prowl would then offer a personal file to his interrogator.
She reread the last paragraph twice.
Over all, it is my belief that Prowl volunteered because he wants the Autobots to use the information he has to defeat Megatron. He was willing to give me the information even though he believed I would destroy his mind in the process. My official recommendation is to offer Prowl a chance to defect, though additional precautions should be used because of his rank and abilities.
She stared at the screen. Apparently Optimus had chosen to follow that recommendation. There were three other reports on file, each from a different scan Jazz had done, but Elita did not open them, feeling sure she knew what she would find. She would come back to them later if she needed to.
Thoughtfully, Elita tapped a finger on her chin plating. Since Prowl was allowed to defect, Ratchet would have doubtlessly ran the second scan required by the regulations covering the treatment of prisoners and defecting enemy soldiers.
Closing out Jazz's report, the Femme Commander quickly called up the CMO's report.
Like Jazz, Ratchet clearly stated that Prowl had cooperated. She went on to read his evaluation of the Praxian's ethical programming and personality matrix. What she read surprised her. Drumming her fingers on her desk a moment she stood. She wanted clarification for a couple of points and there was only one way to get it.
Thankfully, unlike Jazz, Ratchet was usually easy to find.
She entered the med bay slowly but not really hesitantly to see Ratchet was at a monitor going over some readings but that there were no patients currently in residence. She walked toward him, sending him a gentle ping to announce her presence an astrosecond before she spoke.
"Ratchet, do you have a moment?" He looked at her, expression softening in greeting and nodded. She watched him pull a cloth out of subspace to wipe his hands as she continued.
She got right to the point, knowing Ratchet did not like to waste time. "You stated in your initial report on Prowl that he was potential Autobot material if his ethical programs could adapt to our protocols." He nodded again. "You believe that?"
Ratchet looked at her, raising an optic ridge fractionally. "I was right, wasn't I?"
Elita frowned. "But he was responsible for the targeting of medics… along with a lot of other atrocities. That is hardly Autobot material."
Ratchet grimaced, looking back at his hands as he continued to clean chemical residue from them. "Yes."
"Yet you still said as much." Elita pressed, watching the medic's face carefully.
Ratchet stilled completely and turned all his attention back to her. Then he flicked the cleaning cloth back into subspace. Elita was caught by the sincerity in the medic's optics.
He nodded slowly, evaluating her reaction to his words. "Prowl's decision to issue that directive was strictly based on logic coupled with his loyalties at the time. He has since proven that he no longer believes such actions are appropriate and has taken steps – is taking steps – to right them where he can."
Elita could not stop her surprised blink. "Like what?"
Ratchet lifted one hand and counted off on his fingers. "For one, he has extended an all but open invitation to let First Aid get whatever experience he can. He started with his doorwings."
"His doorwings?" Elita echoed, her own vents flaring a fraction as she tried to reconcile that proclamation with the image of Prowl she had in her processors. "But…"
"Yes." Ratchet cut her off, though for him it was gently done. "He is the only Praxian on base who will even let First Aid near his doorwings. Do you know why? He has the foresight to see that only one medic with the skills to work on doorwings is not good. He also understood that every medic has to begin somewhere and was willing to let that 'somewhere' be him."
Ratchet's optics narrowed, almost as if he was wary of how she might respond to what he said next. "It is much like Optimus was the first to allow him to work on delicate motor wiring."
"You compare this, this… Decepticon to my Optimus?" Elita felt her frame heat with indignation and, even though she knew that was probably what Ratchet was wary about she did not care.
Ratchet's armor flattened fractionally at the growl of her engine, hearing clearly the warning in her voice. Even so he nodded. "Yes. In many ways. Foremost, because he puts the needs of others before himself. What he is doing for First Aid is just one example."
Still stiff, Elita acknowledged that statement with nothing more than a forcibly bland. "I see."
Ratchet straightened. "Do you, Elita?"
It was not a challenge, not for dominance, and Elita knew that. But it was still a challenge and it mirrored the one Jazz and Optimus had both leveled, only with Ratchet's typical brusqueness.
Apparently Prowl had accumulated a fair amount of support if all three of those mechs believed he deserved the trust he was being given.
For a brief moment Elita tried, she really did, to accept that based on their testimony alone. But she could not. Not for a mech like Prowl and not based on what she had felt from her sparkmate. She was not convinced enough to risk Optimus' life on the evidence she had accrued just yet.
She thanked Ratchet for his time and left the med bay. She needed to rethink her strategy.
… … …
Elita One joined Chromia in the rec room later that orn, as the lounge was beginning to clear out from the change of shift rush. There were still a fair number of mechs and femmes present, but their numbers were thinning. Chromia had proven to be a wonderful distraction from the thoughts that had been troubling her since the briefing early that orn. Not to mention the prospect of getting to meet her new mechling charge, Bumblebee, when they were done was just too tempting to pass up.
Besides that, Chromia was the only one on the base who would share the base gossip with her, but that was what good friends were for.
Chromia was in the middle of bringing her up to speed with the latest trouble the Twins had managed to get themselves into when movement at the rec room door drew Elita's attention.
It was Prowl.
The low, threatening rev of her engine was instinctual and happened before she caught it. Even afterward, she found her hand tightening on her energon cube.
Sensing her mood and the shift in her attention, Chromia followed her gaze. "Ah. Yeah, he doesn't like crowds, so he tends to avoid them."
Elita nodded, her optics following the black and white mech only to snag on the small blue and gray form that his frame had been hiding when he had first entered. It was a sparkling. Bluestreak her processor supplied the youngling's designation from the reports she had read.
Somehow she had forgotten that the Decepticon – former Decepticon she reminded herself – had been made the young orphan's guardian. The very idea of that mech assuming such a role was…
Her jaw fell slack as she watched Prowl let Bluestreak take his hand and lead him to an empty table after they selected their energon. The adult Praxian then obligingly settled into the specific chair the youngling pointed him to.
It was almost impossible to believe and if her own optics had not recorded it, she would have said it was impossible.
"Has he been a good caretaker, Chromia?" She asked softly.
Chromia looked that way as well and Elita would have sworn there was the hint of a smile touching her lip plates when she answered. "I'd have to say so. Though I wouldn't have thought it possible at first."
That snapped Elita's attention back to her friend. "Why?"
Chromia shrugged as if it were self-explanatory. "Well, he is – was – a 'Con." The blue femme took a deliberate sip of her energon, set the cube down and then shrugged again. "Eh. First time I actually met him was right before his first patrol. Threatened to teach him a lesson if 'Blue ever developed Decepticon tendencies from being in his care. You know what he did?"
Elita grimaced, almost able to picture such a reaction. "I can only imagine."
But Chromia only chuckled, shaking her helm once at the memory. "He said that if such a lesson were ever necessary, he'd expect it to be painful."
"He did." Elita could only stare at the other femme. "Just like that?"
Chromia nodded vigorously. "Yep. Left me speechless."
Elita blinked, glancing back at the mech in question only to see that he was entirely focused on the youngling beside him, who seemed to chattering incessantly. As she watched, he put two fingers to his temple to indicate a comm. message, but whatever it was must have been brief because his attention was soon back on his charge.
"I only know of two other mechs who can cool your jets like that." Elita whispered, finding she was distinctly uneasy.
"I know." Chromia agreed. "Ironhide and Optimus."
Elita stiffened as yet again this Decepticon, former or otherwise, was once more compared to her sparkmate.
"Anything else he's done? Anything else I should know about him?" Elita asked, though her tone was more formal and curt than it had been.
Chromia straightened at the change in her demeanor and her expression became more composed as well as she thought about her answer. "Well, he also managed to keep Ironhide from doing something stupid their first patrol together. Apparently my loveable lug-nut was almost in his own full blown rage at the time."
Elita only stared, her optics darting back towards Prowl. "But… Optimus is the only other one I know who can do that."
Chromia's mute nod of agreement was solemn.
As if sensing their regard, Prowl's attention suddenly shifted to the two femmes. The surprising depth of his rich cobalt gaze made Elita's vent's hitch as their optics met briefly.
But, just as he had in the briefing room, Prowl averted his gaze quickly and respectfully. Disconcerted, Elita broke the contact entirely, rising to her pedes and looking at Chromia.
"Its good to be back. Thank you for sharing energon with me, but I have work I must do."
"Elita." Chromia's hand closed over the one the Femme Commander still had on the table. Her gaze remained serious. "Give him a chance."
Elita blinked, then found herself nodding. "I think I will, but I'm not ready yet."
Chromia searched her optics for a long moment then nodded, releasing Elita's wrist. "Yeah, I know. It took me a long time too. But he saved Ironhide's life when he could have gone back to the 'Cons."
Elita stared. She knew what Chromia was saying. "I'm still not ready. I need to know more."
Chromia considered that then nodded again. "Do what you have to do, Elita. I think he's an okay mech, but you will always have my support."
"Thank you." Elita said quietly and then bid her farewell.
… … …
The next orn Elita found Ironhide in the firing range, happily blasting away targets during his routine 'training.' She smiled faintly as she watched him from the safety of the doorway. He enjoyed this so much it was hardly training. He looked rather like a youngling playing his favorite game.
After a breem spent just watching him and appreciating the enjoyment he was obviously having, Elita sent him a polite ping to announce her presence.
He lowered his weapon's immediately though he did not retract them into his arms yet, the tell-tale simmering in the air evidence that they were still too hot, and turned toward her with a rueful smile. "Ah, Elita. Chromia warned me you might try to find me."
Elita smiled, despite herself. She had missed being around her closest friends. "If you didn't wish to be found Ironhide, you should vary your routine a little. Or at least pick somewhere else to hang out."
Ironhide laughed briefly then sobered. "So… can I assume this has to do with your inquisition about our newest tactician?"
The reminder of her purpose sobered Elita as well, and the smile fell from her lip plates. "He is a former Decepticon."
Ironhide nodded. "I know. But you have to admit, he's come a long way since then."
Elita considered that briefly. True, the mech had defended her sparkmate's honor. The image of Prowl and little Bluestreak ran through her processor again. But Decepticons were deceptive by nature. As much as she wanted Optimus to be right, as much as she wanted to believe Jazz, Ratchet and her best friend… it was too much.
He had come a long way, but… "Far enough to be able to trust him this much?"
Ironhide looked at her, regarding her carefully, doubtlessly choosing his words. "Prowl is, perhaps, one of the most deadly mechs on this base. We interrupted him and Optimus sparing once." Elita flinched and Ironhide hesitated a moment before continuing. "We came in just as Prowl managed to pin Optimus to the ground, his life at Prowl's mercy."
Elita's optics widened in shocked horror. She well knew Optimus' strengths and abilities.
But Ironhide held up a hand to forestall her comment. "Jazz and I… we reacted like you'd expect. Elita… he could've torn us to shreds. Well, he could have torn me to shreds – not so sure about Jazz. But instead he let us throw him against the wall. He let us subdue him without a lick of resistance when he hadn't done anything but follow orders."
Elita blinked, then narrowed her optics. "And this makes you trust him? That he can defeat Optimus?"
Ironhide nodded, much to Elita's consternation. "He surrendered to me in Praxus without a fight to save Bluestreak when I know he could have probably defeated our entire team even as injured as he was. But he didn't. He never did. He has accepted whatever place any of us wanted to put him in without complaint. Do you know any 'Cons who would do that?"
Elita stared for a long moment then deflated. "No. No I don't."
"You know what else?" Ironhide asked with a cocked optic ridge. "He's teaching Optimus Circuit Su. Did you know that?"
Elita could only blink. "No… we haven't had… time… to discuss such matters. I would not have expected that." She suddenly wanted away, almost afraid that Ironhide would dump more unwelcome and unexpected news on her. "Thank you Ironhide."
She turned to leave, but he called out to her again.
"One more thing." She turned back reluctantly. "You might want to get used to the idea of trusting him. Like Smokescreen said, he will be leading the development of future offensive strategies."
"I see." She lifted her chin, sensing there was a lot more behind that statement that she was missing.
… … …
Feeling rather disconcerted and off kilter, Elita retreated back to her office. She was so absorbed in her own thoughts that she almost jumped when the mech entering the lift with her greeted her respectfully.
She blinked back to reality and identified him easily enough. She returned the greeting. "Good orn, Hound."
He smiled and then politely turned his attention back to his datapad. Elita was about to do the same, but his presence triggered something in her memory banks from one of the reports she had read about Prowl.
One that had been written by Hound.
She focused again on the green scout. "You have gone on several missions with Prowl, isn't that correct?" She heard herself asking.
Hound blinked, looking back at her with surprise at the sudden question and then nodded, lowering the datapad to give her his full, respectful attention. "Yes ma'am."
"And what do you think about the fact that he is now an Autobot?"
Hound considered that question then answered. "I wouldn't have expected it at first, but I'm glad it's finally happened. I mean, he's done enough for us that it would be rather ungrateful if it never came about."
She let her engine thrum unhappily. "And the fact that he may very well be planning the defense of Iacon, as well as any future offensive maneuvers?"
To her surprise Hound actually smiled. "I'd be relieved, though I don't know about others. I know there are a lot who wouldn't be happy, but he is the best tactician I've ever worked with. I mean, Smoky's great and all, but Prowl… its as much art as it is science with him. And as far as defending Iacon? We couldn't be in better hands. He once orchestrated the defense of a dilapidated way-station with just him – severely injured by the Decepticons who captured and tortured him – myself, Springer and Moonracer against twenty-something Decepticons. Because of him the three of us are alive, and no one except him was more than lightly damaged."
"So the prospect doesn't worry you at all?" She pressed.
Hound did not even hesitate. "No."
Once more it felt like the world was swimming around her. Thankfully, the lift chimed as it reached the floor her destination was on and the door slid open. "Thank you Hound." She offered quietly and then hurriedly stepped off.
Once back in her office she sat down at her desk and stared at its blank screen for a long breem before reaching forward to access its databases. For a handful of seconds, she hesitated, not entirely sure what she was looking for. Then she remembered Ironhide's comment about a sparing match between her Optimus and Prowl.
Quickly narrowing the search parameters, Elita soon found the security footage of the training room. There were joors and joors of data to comb through so she narrowed the criteria again to only include times in which Optimus was also present. Three files remained.
Taking in a draft of air to prepare herself, she initiated a play back of the first one.
On the screen she saw Prowl sitting on the mat of what was clearly a dojo of some kind. Then Optimus entered. She watched in shock as Optimus clearly initiated the fight and her hands clinched on the desk surface at seeing just how easily Prowl had taken him down.
That shock morphed slowly into consternation as Prowl then backed off, assuming a clearly submissive posture, and then surged to new heights of horror as Optimus again initiated the fight.
After that, however, Prowl was almost a different mech. Where initially he had clearly only been on the defensive, he was now attacking with vigor. The ferocity with which he attacked her sparkmate sent a thrill of terror into her chassis, clenching her spark like liquid nitrogen. She sped up the playback, but the tempo never changed, the time stamp indicating the file was well over a joor long.
Her tanks felt numb at that, at realizing that her sparkmate, her other half, had been secluded with such a dangerous, deadly mech for so long. Only as the playback continued did other aspects of their fight finally filter through the horror of her first reaction: Even though he had been clearly distraught and emotionally driven initially, Optimus was never truly hurt. Then he had become more calculating and evaluating as the match continued.
She leaned forward as the file neared its end, slowing the playback speed back to normal, only to wince as once again, her beloved was pinned to the ground by the Praxian. She watched as the training room door suddenly burst open and Jazz, Ironhide and Ratchet hurried in. She got to see the incident Ironhide had referenced as Prowl was thrown against the training room wall only to have Ironhide and Jazz descend on him.
He was thrown against the wall again and then forced to his knees where he was held, roughly immobilized, as Ratchet tended to Optimus. Just as Ironhide had said he never resisted the two holding him, regardless of the fact he could probably have prevented them from laying a hand on him. His posture was that of complete surrender, even though Optimus had initiated the contest.
Nor did she miss the look of true surprise on his faceplate when Optimus offered him a hand to his pedes rather than… whatever he had been expecting and realized that he had likely complied with Optimus's order to fight assuming he could be punished for doing so.
With nearly trembling fingers she shut the terminal off, not having the energy to watch the other three video logs.
Instead of finding herself reassured, she was only more conflicted.
Ironhide was right, Prowl was far more dangerous than she had originally given him credit for. True, she now had multiple mechs telling her he was trustworthy. But they had had four quartex to get to know him personally, to observe him and to test him themselves.
She straightened, her optics brightening. Everyone had been telling her to get to know Prowl, to talk to him herself. Perhaps that was exactly what she needed. Deciding on her course of action even as she stood and exited her office, Elita made her way to the tactical command center.
… … …
The tactical command center was alive with the quiet but steady hum of activity as mechs went about their duties in an orderly, efficient manner. Smokescreen, who was standing at the primary console glanced up at Elita's entry.
He look startled, but nevertheless quickly made his way to her. "Elita One. What can I do for you?"
Elita almost smiled. Even though he had been their head tactician for nearly a decavorn, Smokescreen had never developed the ability to be at ease around any of the senior command staff, almost as if he never quite believed he deserved to be one of them. Instead of answering immediately however, she looked around the room. She saw Prowl sitting at a secondary terminal, filtering through what appeared to be a large amount of data.
She spoke quietly, not taking her optics off her target. "Did you not have a monitor assigned to him?"
Smokescreen blinked and then followed her gaze. "Oh. Well, he's only doing a preliminary analysis at the moment."
Right. Junior level work.
She canted a look at Smokescreen, keeping her voice low enough only he would be able to hear. "So… if he is as good as everyone seems to think, why isn't he running the department?"
Smokescreen gave her an odd, sharp look, then shrugged, likewise keeping his voice down. "He should be. But it's too early for that." Then he became faintly accusatory. "He still doesn't even have a rank yet."
Elita released a vent. She was allowing herself to become distracted. She knew herself well enough to know that was because she really did not want to have the confrontation she knew was coming.
But there was no use in delaying the inevitable
She looked back at the gray and white Praxian. "Well, I need to borrow him temporarily."
Smokescreen's optics widened, then he blinked audibly. "Oh… Right. Just a moment, ma'am."
She watched silently as Smokescreen walked over to the former Decepticon and spoke to him in tones to low for her to hear. She saw Prowl's mutedly startled reaction in a slight flinch of his doorwings and a brief glance her direction. Then it was as if a blank mask settled over his face and posture. He nodded to his department commander and rose to his pedes.
Elita stood straighter as he neared, lifting her chin. She would not tolerate any disrespect from the former Decepticon.
He hesitated mid-step, evaluating her change in posture. Then, his own body language changed significantly. It became that of deliberately respectful submission and stayed that way as he finished closing the distance between them.
"Elita One." His voice, like his posture, was deliberate and respectful. "Smokescreen said you wished to see me?"
She sized him up and down again. "Yes. Come with me."
She turned on her heel struts and walked out of the tactical command center.
Prowl followed her silently, though when they entered the lift, she was very aware that he watched her keenly as she gave the command to take them to the roof of the building. She focused on drawing air in through her vents in a steady manner, as the lift doors closed, sealing her into the small enclosure with a mech she knew could tear her apart if he wanted to.
They rode in silence for a few astroseconds before his calm voice shattered it, nearly making her jump. "If I may ask, where are we going?"
"The roof." She snapped, disliking her jumpy reaction, worried, despite everything she had heard about him, about how he might respond to such an unintentional show of weakness.
His expression was a silent request for an explanation as her curt reply obviously made him hesitate to actually ask. It was rather disconcerting to experience knowing how high ranking a Decepticon he had been, knowing how dangerous he was.
Thrown off balance internally, she answered his unasked question. "Because it has the benefit of being relatively private while still being public enough not to be inappropriate for my purpose."
She watched him as he contemplated her words, probably attempting to determine the things she left unsaid. If he was concerned about what that purpose might be, he said nothing to that effect. Instead he merely frowned. "With all due respect, the roof is not a safe place to be right now."
Elita blinked. It sounded as if he was concerned for her safety. But that could just be a rouse; an attempt to put off whatever he suspected was going to happen by attempting to manipulate her. suspecting that, her reply was appropriately curt. "We are in the most secured building in Iacon and the entire base is on alert."
His doorwings flinched ever so slightly, but she did not know how to read that. "Still, it is not safe…"
"Not safe for who, Prowl?" She snapped, turning fully toward him, her optics glinting dangerously.
Prowl blinked and then his chin tucked minutely indicating a reluctance to challenge her. "You are the Prime's sparkmate. There is no need for you to take unnecessary risks…"
Growling lowly in her chassis she took one step closer. "And just how much of a risk am I taking being up here with you?"
His optics widened at her challenge and then, instead of responding with a heated denial, he averted his gaze. "I am no threat to you."
Elita stared. Never had his façade of calm wavered. It just had to be a front. At the very least she had to make sure. "So I have been told. But even you must admit why it is hard for me to think of you as anything else."
She stepped off the lift, half just wanting to put space between them and half wanting to see what he would do with the insult. He hesitated a moment, watching her and then he stepped out of the lift, following obediently.
He stayed a respectful distance away, but still close enough to converse easily. "If your opinion of me is so low, why are we here?"
It was asked with what had to be forced blandness, and she was a little surprised that there was nothing more than mild curiosity in his voice and not a hint of the defensiveness she had anticipated.
"To give you a chance to improve it." She turned back to him abruptly and saw a faint hint of a startled expression flash across his faceplate before it was gone. But she saw other things as well: the alert, slightly flared doorwings, the tension through his shoulder plating, the way his attention seemed divided – though not so much so she could take offense or become slighted.
Elita recognized it for what it was. Prowl was actively scanning their surroundings, watching for any threats.
He frowned faintly even as she made these observations. "I doubt there is anything I could say that will accomplish that." He spoke softly and, if she did not know better, she would have suspected there was a hint of sad resignation in his voice.
She shook her helm, one hand resting on her hip joint. "That depends. Will you be completely honest with me, Prowl?"
She asked the question and meant it, even though a part of her processor argued that it was pointless asking a Decepticon to be honest – even a supposedly rehabilitated Decepticon.
Prowl's look sharpened. "Will you believe my answer?"
She smirked at realizing he was not unaware of her unspoken assumptions. "I would not be here asking you questions if I wouldn't."
She was resolved to give him the chance that so many seemed to believe he had earned.
When the silence stretched longer than she expected it to, she studied him more closely. He was looking at her thoughtfully and she realized he was taking her very seriously indeed. He was evaluating her just as much as she was evaluating him, though his awareness of their surroundings never diminished.
At length Prowl released a vent of air as if he had come to some weighty decision.
Though his voice was still well controlled, she detected an almost vulnerable tremble when he spoke next. "Early in my probation, the Prime had a discussion with me during which he pointedly stressed his expectation that I speak honestly with him at all times, despite the consequences. I later made changes to my ethical coding that will prevent me from doing anything else."
Whatever she was expecting to hear, that was not it. "Why do you tell me this?"
Prowl hesitated, a faint choking noise sounding from his engine before he cleared his vents.
Now she could clearly hear the stress lacing his voice. "Because you are the Prime's sparkmate. The two of you are one and a promise given to one of you is the same as giving it to both." He met her gaze then, though there was nothing challenging about his expression. "Ask your questions, Elita One. I will answer them honestly and to the best of my ability."
Elita could only stare at him for a long second before speaking the most pressing question on her mind at the moment.
"I understand you are teaching Optimus Circuit Su." Prowl nodded once so she continued. "I saw a recording of your sparring match. Is my sparkmate in danger?"
He was looking at her seriously. "I give you my word that the Prime will never be intentionally harmed by my hand.
Elita narrowed her optics, the hand on her hip joint tightening. "That is a very strong modifier in that promise."
"I will make no promise I can not keep."
He was serious. With a brief nod she moved on. "Most of the mechs and femmes on this base don't trust you." Even if the higher-ranking mechs already do.
He mirrored her nod. "Of this I am well aware."
Elita frowned, pursing her lip plates momentarily. "Optimus asks me to trust you, yet it is impossible to escape the fact that you are dangerous. The position he seems to think you belong in would make you even more dangerous to us, should you seek to harm us."
Prowl blinked again and shifted his weight fractionally away from her and, to Elita's surprise, his gaze dropped away almost as if embarrassed. "There is more than one reason I cannot seek to harm you or any Autobot."
Elita's engine growled. This was getting her nowhere.
Prowl could say all the right things, that was obvious. But he had been a Decepticon; they were known for their silvery glossas. The leap of faith Optimus was asking her to make was too great without more proof. Oh, Optimus had not said anything, but she could feel it in her spark. He held very high hopes that Prowl would not only be a valuable asset to their faction, but would eventually become a close and trusted confidant.
That would mean that she too would have to allow this… orchestrator of destruction…close to her or it would cause Optimus great internal conflict and sparkache. They would have to be close enough she would be vulnerable should he betray them. Close enough she had to know, she had to be absolutely sure.
She turned away from him, trying to focus. "You say you won't harm us. But that will only be good unless one of us attacks you."
Prowl was a very long time in answering. "No. Not even then."
She whirled to face him, optics blazing, but he moved nothing except to lower his own optics to the ground. "Explain."
He hesitated, as if sharing that explanation was painful or… frightening?... for him. "I cannot even defend myself without permission."
She stared at him in disbelief. "I saw you with Optimus."
He took in a vent of air, never lifting his optics. "That was a sparring match. And even then if he had been able to best my defenses…" He shook his helm cutting himself off. "Outside of a training room even less so."
Less what? She did not understand and it irritated her. "You have the skills. I've seen them." She pressed.
"Perhaps." Still he did not move. "That does not mean I may use them."
Her frustration mixed with her growing irritation, though she could not clearly define either. All she saw before her was a mystery and a potential threat not just to her but also to her sparkmate. She felt the sudden urge to push him, to prove the falsity in his words, to prove the danger he truly was.
"You would if your life depended on it." She spit. "Decepticons are all about saving their own lives. Most of the time that is the only reason any of you even defects." Prowl said nothing to the insults so Elita pushed further even though a small part of her spark rebelled at her behavior. "And it will happen again, the first time your life is truly on the line."
He looked at her, lifting his cobalt gaze to meet hers, though there was nothing but infuriating calmness in his optics. "You are wrong."
The objection was softly spoken but only served to irritate her further as well as build the conflict within, and between, her processor and spark.
She was tired of being manipulated. "Am I?" She growled. "You will retaliate or you will die."
She let one of her energon blades slide out of its scabbard on her forearm, locking into position. Her spark was pulsing faster, well aware that she might not survive this but did not let her self hesitate or reconsider. The price if Optimus was wrong was too great.
She spun toward the Praxian, raising the weapon and aiming at the enrgon lines feeding his processors. The blade sang through the air on its deadly arc. She expected a defense of some kind, even if only an attempt to deflect her blow.
But there was… nothing.
So completely caught off guard by that, the sharp, glowing edge of the blade had already started to bite into the armor covering his upper chassis before she caught herself, arresting the blade's momentum just in time.
And there they froze; time itself seeming to dilate between the rasping of her heaving vents.
Prowl's optics were locked onto her, while hers, in tern, her locked onto the spot on his armor were her blade was now imbedded.
It had to hurt, but he never flinched, never attempted to protect himself even now that she was motionless. He did not even attempt to remove the blade.
She shifted her gaze then, to the rest of the mech. His doorwings where dipped in that deliberate submissive posture he had affected earlier. And his optics… they caught hers. There was no fear there, not even anger or a heated demand. Only resignation and perhaps a hint of surprise that she had stopped. Optics that were a deep crystal blue, almost unfathomable now that she took the time to study them as he patiently waited for her to make the next move.
His optics were so much like Optimus.'
Her hand trembled.
The plating around his optics tightened as her tremble jostled the blade, but otherwise he did not move. All the comparisons others had made between Prowl and Optimus flooded her mind again as she could not help but make her own.
Optimus: her sparkmate, her other half… her very reason for existence.
She growled. "If Optimus comes to trust you and is ever hurt by your betrayal, you will pray to Primus that I had ended you this day because if that ever happens, I will make sure you suffer for any pain you have caused him and that your death will be agonizing!"
Those cool, calculating optics watched her carefully, taking in her threats without outward reaction.
Then he spoke, his voice just as controlled as the rest of him: "You speak as his sparkmate. What of the Femme Commander?"
Elita blinked at the gentle, almost admonishing reminder that came from the mech at her sword point. As soon as she remembered the responsibilities of her rank however, her tremors stilled.
Prowl was right. The responsibilities of her office came before personal vengeance. Thankfully, in such a hypothetical scenario, they would work well enough together. The enraged snarl fell from her lip plates and, when she spoke it was with cold regality rather than tumultuous rage.
She leaned forward, pressing on the blade just enough to convey her seriousness and felt his frame tense a fraction. "If you should ever betray the Autobots in such a manner that the Prime comes to harm, you will be held completely immobilized in our most secure cell until you can be tried for your crime and then you will be publicly executed in the harshest manner allowed by our laws."
Prowl's optics flashed briefly but it was not defensive or angry. Then he nodded, though the motion was truncated by the blade still biting into his armor. "Your warnings are duly noted, Elita One. I give you my word that should the Prime ever come to harm because of the reasons you stipulated, I will not resist whichever method of reprisal you choose."
Looking into Prowl's optics, Elita suddenly realized she believed him. She was not sure why, only that she did.
Abruptly she deactivated her blade and lowered it, acutely aware he had allowed her to brace him like that, that he probably would have allowed her to do whatever she had wanted, even if he had not survived. Just like Ironhide had described. Just like Jazz had hinted at. Just like Hound's report had stated.
Suddenly she felt immeasurably guilty.
What else might there have been in all the reports she had not taken the time to read that could have kept her from taking it this far? She realized with a lurching, sickening sensation that she had done exactly what Optimus had silently pleaded with her not to do; she had acted impulsively without knowing the full datafile. It made her sick.
As close as she was to Prowl, she could not miss the way his frame relaxed once the blade was gone. Hastily, Elita stepped back to give him room.
They regarded each other silently for a long time, then he lowered his gaze to a neutral point. Never once did he investigate the laceration she had given him.
"Do you feel better now?" He asked voice just as gentle as it had been before.
Elita looked at him sharply, suddenly seeing her recent behavior as the illogical, emotion-driven, unprofessional outburst that it had been.
She took a deep vent, taking another step backward to give him more space. "I behaved badly."
"You behaved honestly." Prowl stated softly. "I cannot fault that."
Elita closed her optic shutters briefly, this… former Decepticon's tacit forgiveness was almost more than she could handle. She stepped back again. "I should let you get back to work."
He did not retreat to the lift as she expected him to. Instead he stood his ground, though his posture never changed. "With all due respect, it remains true that this roof is relatively unsafe. I cannot leave you up here alone."
Elita stared at him, then felt a wave of indignation that he would presume to order her. "I am not ready to go back inside."
She spun away from him, walking quickly to the banister. She rested her hands on it and looked out across the cityscape. Most of the buildings were still standing, though on the edges of the city ruins attested to the times the war had made it close enough to leave its scars on the ancient architecture. But she did not really see any of that as she processed what had just happened.
She felt Prowl move closer, following her, but not too close; not within her personal space. Instead it was as if he was shadowing her, almost like a bodyguard would.
Which was exactly the role he had assumed, she realized as a brief glanced showed he was scanning the surrounding structures with sharp, watchful optics, his doorwings flared to bring in as much data as possible. It was the role he had assumed from the moment they had stepped out of the lift and had likely maintained even as her blade had descended on him.
That realization made her tanks roil even as, despite everything, she felt… safer.
She was not sure if she welcomed that feeling. She did not really know this mech, and what she did know about him was conflicting. Unless… unless he was truly Autobot now. She looked back to the city, feeling even worse for the injury she had given.
"You should report me for treating you like that." She said softly.
The noise that came from Prowl's engine was not exactly a laugh – more like a stuttering release of air through his vents.
"I could." He admitted. "That does not mean that I shall. It was only logical an altercation such as this would occur and, in the end, I believe more good has come of it than harm. Do you not agree?"
Elita turned to look at him, calmly this time. "I don't know. Have I given you reason to doubt your decision to join us?"
She was rewarded by a tiny, barely there smirk and a rueful shake of his helm as his gaze focused momentarily on his own memories. "It will take far more than this. It is only natural for you to be concerned about what has happened. I imagine it was a great shock for you to see me in that briefing room if you had no prior knowledge of my defection." Elita snorted air at that, but Prowl continued. "Have you found the answers you sought?"
Elita cocked an optic ridge. "You are surprisingly generous."
Prowl's doorwings flicked in disagreement. "The Prime was surprisingly generous in allowing me the chance to become an Autobot. I can hardly do less."
"So…" She began suddenly suspicious. "Your kindness is offered in obligation only then?"
Where he had not winced as her blade had descended on him, Prowl winced fractionally before his mask of neutrality reasserted itself. "I did not mean to give that impression."
"Explain." She half ordered, half requested.
Prowl considered her for a sparkbeat and then dipped his helm formally. "There were things clearly weighing on your processor. If I was the only safe outlet… so be it."
Elita could only stare at him, slowly processing what he had said. Somehow this taciturn mech had realized that she had been developing an emotional overload on this issue and had resolved to help her deal with it, regardless of what that meant for him.
"Why…?" She breathed the question, not truly intending to ask it.
His look was almost canted as he turned his gaze back to the city. "You are the Femme Commander. The Prime depends on you being able to function with a clear processor in a crisis and… as I outlined in the briefing, we could find ourselves in that crisis at any time."
He looked back at her and she was struck by the hints of the well-concealed compassion in his optics. "Besides, it was not hard to extrapolate that I was the cause."
She stared at him, almost mesmerized by the depth of his gaze… that gaze that was so much like Optimus'.
This time that comparison did not send stabs of resentment through her spark. This time she thought she understood. Her own faceplate softened a fraction.
"I think I begin to understand what my sparkmate sees in you." Elita said softly.
Elita watched his optics widen as surprise flicked across his face.
He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could his head snapped up, his attention instantly elsewhere. Her own, highly acute sensors, finally picked up on what had distracted him a full three seconds later and only a second before the perimeter defenses lit up. Simultaneously a distant building shuddered before splintering under enemy fire.
Prowl stepped up beside her, focused on the bourgeoning battle as the sounds from the attack finally reached their position, the concussions ricocheting off the metal around them.
"It is starting." Prowl said needlessly, turning to her, the light in his optics fierce and intense. "We must finish this discussion at a later date, ma'am. We cannot stay here."
Elita nodded, knowing she would be needed with the defense teams. She stepped back from the banister and turned, bolting for the lift.
Prowl was right behind her and the impression that he had assumed the unofficial role of body guard hit her again, especially as he stayed right on her heels, but never attempted to out pace her.
Suddenly the sound of an incoming missile whistled through the air only a second before a nearby building took the hit. Metal exploded in a shower of sparks and shrapnel.
The explosion followed them into the lift as Elita all but dove for the door, tumbling into it. She winced, waiting to feel the sting of shrapnel biting into her armor. She barely registered that the sensation never came as her internal comm. lit up with frantic system updates, alerts and attempts from commanders to direct the troops and mobilize their forces.
On her command frequencies, Optimus was snapping out orders with that unfathomable calm, but internally she could feel his spark's anxiety. Defending from an attack such as this, of this magnitude, was new for him. She checked in, issuing her own orders even as she pushed herself into a more respectable position and turned to look at Prowl.
The lift was dropping, doubtlessly at the tactician's command, for which she was grateful. She was about to say as much but then her optics widened as she saw the metal shards imbedded in his frame, the blue energon seeping from multiple lacerations and she realized immediately it was no stroke of luck she had not felt the sting of shrapnel from that explosion.
She gaped at him in mute surprise.
His optics focused on her. "Are you injured, Elita One?"
She blinked and managed to shake her helm. "No… but you are."
Prowl only grimaced. "Nothing significant."
Elita's processor stuttered at that, almost unable to comprehend what he must have experienced if that much damage was considered insignificant to him, especially as she caught a glimpse of energon dripping from lacerations to his doorwings.
The lift stopped and the doors slid open on the command level and Prowl stepped off. Suddenly prompted back into action, Elita reached out and grabbed his arm.
"You need a medic…" She began
He looked at her, and though it was brief she thought she saw a flash of startled appreciation in his otherwise stoic visage. "I have a job to do first. My injuries can wait."
With that he was gone, walking down the corridor at a rapid pace. Only the slight hitch in his gait and the scant trail of glowing liquid energy indicated he was injured.
Then the lights flickered and the walls shook as the Command Center itself took a hit. Thank Primus it was heavily shielded. It spurred her back into motion again and she hit the command that would take her to the street level. Her strike team had a role to play and she was its commander. She too had a job to do.
She had just stepped out when static hissed through the comm. an astrosecond before Hardstrike's desperate voice filled her audios. "Slag! They've made it past our outer perimeter defenses!"
Don't hit me. *Cringes and hides behind the couch*
*Pokes head up* At least look at it this way… next chapter we get to see Prowler in action! *Quickly ducks back behind the couch.*
