Should I warn everyone to hold on to your seats? Do you really need me to tell you that by this point in the story? Eh… Whatever. *evil maniacal laugh….* (Sorry, sleep deprivation strikes again.) Anyway, this one sort of feels rough around the edges to me... but that could just be because action-oriented sequences are difficult for me to write. I might go back and touch it up a bit more if I need to, and I'm sure you guys will let me know if the need is there. :)
Warning: There is an actual cuss word in this chapter, but it really doesn't stand out and you might miss it all together if you aren't looking for it so… yeah. Oh, another highly anticipated moment is in this chapter too. Enjoy.
Prowl strode into the tactical command center and into a sea of barely controlled chaos. His engine revved in frustration at the loss of control and the franticness that permeated the room. It was easy to see that they were overwhelmed. But then that was doubtlessly part of Decepticons' plan. He made his way toward the central console, readying himself for the one-sided interface that Smokescreen would need to let him help with this situation.
His back hurt in several different places and he felt the ooze of energon from where multiple tertiary lines had been either punctured or sliced by the shrapnel that had hit him. But his repair systems were already working to reroute the flow and what he had told Elita was absolutely correct. He had a job to do. He was, however, thankful for the pain buffer Wheeljack had installed in his doorwings in that it allowed him to focus because he knew they had taken damage as well.
Pushing all of that aside, Prowl focused on the moment and looked for his former apprentice. Smokescreen was sitting, synched with the main terminal, his gaze unfocused, expression grim and his hands clinched on the edge of the terminal as he struggled to coordinate Iacon's defense.
/Report?/ He respectfully asked, not forgetting that Smokescreen was now his commander.
Smokescreen's helm popped up and their optics met. /Oh, thank Primus!/
Smokescreen waved him to the main terminal across from him while simultaneously databursting him a full status update.
Prowl's processor opened the file and incorporated the data in a matter of astroseconds as he crossed the room. Apparently the Decepticons had attacked in three rapid, successive waves of seekers. The first two waves had been rebuffed, thanks to the newly implemented perimeter defenses. But the third had managed to breach the defenses in the northern quadrant of the city. Vital segments of the command chain were now scattered and the perimeter teams had been decimated in the wave that broke their line.
Secondary response teams were already mobilizing, but their movements were not well coordinated because no one else on the tactical staff knew how to manage that many separate variables. Smokescreen was doing what he could, but the Decepticons had established both air and ground superiority and were systematically driving the Autobots out of the city, destroying as they went, and toward the base proper.
Prowl could see the panic in his former apprentice's gaze even if the younger mech did well to control any other outward expression of it. He could feel licks of a similar fear in his own spark, but pushed that aside as well, replacing it with determination: Iacon would not be allowed to fall.
He sent a questioning signal to the white and gray Praxian even as he slid into one of the seats at the primary terminal, accessing the holographic well, even though he would not be using it.
The response he received was a desperate, relieved nod. /We don't have time to set up a tandem or monitor. Just do what needs to be done, rank be damned. I'll back you up./
He kept Smokescreen's gaze for a moment longer, then nodded. The situation was deteriorating quickly and there was no time to argue.
He plugged his cord into the terminal and synched with it, his battle and tactical computers spinning up to full combat operations.
Stretching his senses through the terminal he took in all the incoming data from the sensory grid established around the city and the base. It was basic sensory information, but it let him 'see' what was going on. And he recognized the attack pattern almost instantly.
He recognized it as a variant of one of the strategies he had developed while working under Megatron's command, specifically designed to assault Iacon. The terminal, as useful as it was attempting to be, was trying to cross reference the attack patternwith other known Decepticon activities in an attempt to find a weakness. Prowl ignored that analysis, knowing there would be nothing to cross-reference.
He was just about to re-task the computer when Smokescreen pinged him again. /You're injured. You need a medic./
Prowl barely spared him enough attention to reply. /They are minor. It can wait./
That split-second delay was enough for the terminal to finish its analysis. Prowl spared himself a nanosecond to look at it and felt his balance systems hitch as his tanks rebelled at what he saw.
It had found one similarity: the attack that had destroyed Praxus.
Megatron had used a strategy Prowl had developed while planning a potential attack on Iacon to destroy Praxus. His home.
No wonder Megatron had sent him out without wanting him to be in on the planning. It was not only because the warlord had wanted to kill him during the assault, Megatron had already had his plan of attack. His own work had contributed to the destruction of thousands of innocent lives. Blinding despair and utter self-loathing tore through Prowl, threatening to drive him mad and a keen started to build deep in his chassis.
But then a hot, inconsolable rage suddenly burned through his lines, mixing poignantly with the raw grief he had managed to subdue since the attack that leveled Praxus. His engine growled and he felt a sharp pain, almost a faint tearing sensation deep in his processor.
Only many decavorns of training and perfecting his ability to control himself allowed Prowl to channel that mounting fury into his function. His hands closed around the edge of the table, denting the metal beneath them.
Megatron would not be allowed to win this time. He would save as many lives as possible.
His tactical computer was already spitting out what needed to be done as he threw himself even more fully into the task. Only a handful of astroseconds had elapsed since he had first synched with the computer.
Using the terminal, Prowl accessed the programmed senior command communication channels as they were blocked from his personal communications system. They were alive with the frantic attempts of different team leaders to gain a handle on what was happening.
Knowing the situation would only become uglier the longer this continued, Prowl accessed the transmissions.
/Prime, this is Prowl. Permission to interject./ His digital voice was calm and controlled, not giving so much as a hint to his internal angst even as his processor continued to analyze and project scenarios.
/This is a defensive action. Smokescreen can handle it./ Ultra Magnus' voice came back almost immediately, somewhat defensively.
/Smokescreen has asked me to take primary tactical command of this battle for now. He is the reason we have not yet been overwhelmed, but the only way to keep this from ultimately becoming a catastrophe is to turn it into an offense./ Prowl's voice was still almost clinically cool.
/This is not the time for…/ Ultra Magnus started but Smokescreen cut him off.
/Prowl speaks the truth, Prime. Listen to him./
There was momentary silence on the command channel except for the response team leaders still attempting to coordinate their maneuvers. They would either trust him to do his function or they would not. That did not mean that there would not be any fallout for pushing their hand, but Prowl would deal with that later.
/Sir…/ Ultra Magnus began, sounding wary.
But the Prime did not give his official second in command a chance to finish. His deep voice filling the audios of all his commanders with calm conviction and even acceptance if not a hint of gratitude. /Proceed, Prowl. /
Rapid fire, Prowl sent the orders necessary to begin a coordinated, counterattack including priority targets and position assignments.
The immediate response was another astrosecond of silence. Then the Prime spoke again. /You have your orders. Cary them out./
A subdued and wary chorus of acknowledgements came from the senior commanders.
Prowl felt a wave of relief that the first hurdle was behind him but brushed that aside as he turned his attention to the other aspects of the task that lay before him. While in most situations, tacticians only worked through the senior commanders – as he and Smokescreen had done to retake those two Autobot outposts – in a complex situation like this, it was permitted and even expected that a tactician would interact directly with the troops if necessary.
Prowl was not sure if that was a barrier he could overcome.
As if sensing his thoughts, Optimus's deep baritone rang through the general comm. frequency. Every single Autobot with a working communication system. would hear his words.
Optimus spoke calmly but with every bit of the impressive authority he was capable of. /Optimus Prime to all Autobots. When you receive orders from Tactical Command, follow them as specified. That is a direct order./
Then, on his private comm.: /Prowl…/
/I heard, sir… Thank you./ Prowl responded with relative quickness, cutting the Prime off, even as he sent out another set of orders.
He did appreciate what the Prime had done, but he needed his leader to focus on the battle, not on either reassuring or warning him. Perhaps aware of that, Optimus did not press the issue. Nor did he reprimand him for the breech of etiquette.
As Prowl proceeded to direct the battle, he felt Smokescreen on the periphery of his connection to the terminal. It was not a tandem process, but it was a mode of functioning they had used many times in Praxus. Prowl willingly handed secondary tasks to him; damage control, removal of the wounded from the battle field, anticipating where the next attack would be, preliminary analysis of the Decepticons' weaknesses and the readying of defenses in areas where the Decepticons were moving towards but had not yet reached. All things diversionary strategists trained for – things he knew Smokescreen excelled at.
Processors freed of the non-combat functions, he was able to focus even better, issuing multiple orders simultaneously across the city. One such order was to Steelbrow to circle further west of his intended target in order to make use of better cover and another was to Arcee who was leading a small femme strike force to bring them against the same group of Decepticons Steelbrow's team was approaching, evening the odds in that match. He likewise instructed Moonracer and another sniper, Longshot, to make priority targets of the mechs in their sectors he identified as potential gestalt members.
While the Autobots in question might have been surprised at the voice they were hearing over the comm., while they might have had their doubts, they nevertheless followed the order of their Prime and did as they were told.
Prowl had no way of knowing that his calm firmness and the well-concealed, intense determination in his voice helped them follow his commands.
Then, as the desperate retreat from the city towards the base proper gradually became an even draw and then a determined push-back against the Decepticons, that hesitant willingness turned into slowly bourgeoning confidence.
While some mechs would initially hesitate for an astrosecond or two, his instructions began to be followed immediately. Prowl's Circuit Su master had once taken a moment to mentor him when he had taken command of the Praxian Enforcer's tactical division. He had said that nothing bred confidence in a leader like success and it appeared that his master's words were proving true yet again.
But the Decepticons had come with overwhelming numbers and the Autobots found themselves facing at least one to five odds in every quadrant of the city. Victory would not come easily. Prowl was busily analyzing the Decepticon fighting styles, looking for weaknesses while still issuing combat orders when another mind synched with the terminal. Trailbreaker.
Prowl glanced up at the other tactician in the physical world, only half seeing him because of how stretched his mental capacities were – even if it was improving as order was restored to the Autobot ranks.
Trailbreaker was looking at him with grim seriousness yet also with a touch of hesitant expectation.
The other tactician might not trust him as a mech, but he was clearly willing to assist him in this function. Remembering Trailbreaker's unique abilities when it came to detecting enemy weaknesses, Prowl nodded, handing over that task as a parallel review with Smokescreen's. It was not a critical assignment, but it gave him something to do and would serve as a useful training method for review after the battle to help hone the young tactician's skills.
Trailbreaker blinked but then, with a nod, his own gaze unfocused as he bent his processor to the assignment.
Half a joor passed with admirable progress and then the Decepticons got reinforcements along the northern perimeter; the one the seekers had initially overwhelmed. With a silent snarl, Prowl instantly redirected combat forces to that quadrant, snapping orders through the comm. lines to Ironhide, Hardstrike and two other team commanders.
Outside the central command building explosions rocked the ground and lit the sky with violent fire
Then the sensor grid in that area suddenly went dark, leaving him blind.
/Sensor grid in quadrant gamma five charlie is off line. We are blind in that area./ Prowl notified the senior commanders over their dedicated comm. channel.
Ironhide, surprisingly, responded instantly. /Prowl… don't make me regret this./
Then, without him having to ask, the weapon specialist's sensory data uplink codes streamed to him.
Prowl sent a quick digital acknowledgement that did not express his true surprise and began incorporating the new data source. One set of sensors was better than nothing, but it still left vast gaps in his knowledge of what was going on in that sector.
/Here…/ Hardstrike's voice suddenly added and another set of uplink codes followed.
Surprise at having two commanders offering their uplinks in this manner threatened to stun Prowl, nevertheless he acknowledged the new uplink and likewise incorporated the data.
He noticed a team of Decepticons attempting to sneak around one of the defense teams in one of the western quadrants and sent a warning to that team as well as to Longshot, who was covering that area and another team that was nearby. He did this even as he noted that with Hardstrike's sensors most but not all of the blind spots in the northern quadrants had been taken care of.
To the south, most of the Decepticons had been dealt with and he redirected as many of those forces as he could to the beleaguered northern quadrants.
Then another voice came across the comm. line, this one hesitant but fiercly determined. It was Elita One. /Transmitting./
Prowl almost blinked in complete shock as yet a third set of sensory uplink codes streamed to him. Only well honed discipline kept him focused on his job.
/Acknowledged./ He sent a brief digital signal that both indicated he was aware of the trust she was demonstrating and a reassurance she would not regret doing so.
Then, accessing the Femme Commander's sensory feed, the blind spots were gone. And just in time.
On the edge of Elita's rather impressive sensory range, it was clear that the seekers were returning for another run at them. Distantly, Prowl realized Elita must have seen them on her scanners and had known that linking the feeds directly to him would be the most effective way to ensure he had what he needed to organize a defense.
He doubted she trusted him yet and knew Elita must have taken this step because she had judged the benefit to the effort of defending Iacon more important than her own privacy. He felt his respect for the femme jump upward, even as he pushed aside all private speculation to focus on what needed to be done.
/Another wave of seekers, bearing five two point three eight by two one zero./ He quickly evaluated their formation as well as the lightning fast analysis Trailbreaker and Smokescreen provided. Their approach was from an altitude that would demand a rapid descent to complete their firing run. Excellent.
Prowl's engine revved. Elita's forewarning gave them a wonderful opportunity to take advantage of the seeker's only real weakness when it came to air-to-ground combat.
Prowl accessed the command channel again. /Focus on the three lead trines. Fire only on my command!/
While half of his processor continued to direct the rest of the battle, the other half focused on the arriving seekers, knowing he needed to time the Autobot's counter attack precisely and that he would have only an astrosecond or two to do so effectively.
Half a breem later, the seeker squadrons started their descent, dropping like lead blocks in a pool of liquid water.
/Prowl…/ Ironhide rumbled unhappily on the command channel, threat edging into the tenor of his transmission.
/Not yet./ Prowl replied, respectfully, but with sharp steel in his digital voice none of the Autobots had heard before. /Wait./
The seconds ticked away as the seekers fell closer to the city.
/They are coming too fast!/ Crankshaft protested.
/Prowl knows what he's doing./ Smokescreen cut in. /Trust him. Just be ready to fire the instant he tells you to./
Relieved to know that his former apprentice would keep the others in line, Prowl tuned them out, waiting for the first indication that the seekers were changing velocity, knowing it would be close. He was too focused to realize he was using more concentration than he should have had to.
Then it happened.
Barely had his processors recognized that fact than he snapped out. /Fire!/
The order was followed with alacrity even as he directed reinforcements to a pair of Autobots who had managed to get cut off from the rest of their team but had not yet called for reinforcements for themselves.
Caught in the briefest of moments when a Seeker was almost blinded before their sensors fully adjusted to the sudden change in velocity, all nine of the seekers in the leading trines were struck with no chance of successful evasive maneuvers. The three leading trines fell from the sky with shrieks of rage and pain. Caught by surprise, the other trines scattered and, while only to other trines were shot down, the others beat a hasty retreat.
That was the main turning point in the defense of Iacon. Without dependable air superiority, the ground soldiers became easier to pick off.
Prowl was completely unaware that Smokescreen and Trailbreaker were staring at him through the holographic display and that several other junior tacticians had left their posts to watch, likewise in stunned silence.
Rather, Prowl's processors were still spinning as he continued to direct the battle, repositioning the troops and continuing to take the battle to the Decepticon invaders.
There was no more resistance to following his orders.
Even so it took another joor of hard combat before the Decepticon commanders realized they were outclassed and doomed to fail. Meanwhile, the Autobots fought even harder, buoyed by the unprecedented victory against the seekers.
Then, like a switch was thrown, the Autobots went from having to force the Decepticons back, fighting for every square meter regained to the Decepticons turning tail, transforming into their alt modes and fleeing from the field of battle.
As quickly as it had begun, it was over.
Iacon was still standing. The damage, while considerable was not totally devastating.
Deleting the uplink codes, Prowl began the laborious process of separating himself from the tactical computer, realizing only then how much his frame was straining, braced against the edge of the table. Smokescreen could handle damage control.
As he slowly pulled his processors back from the terminal, working diligently not to let the process fragment his mind, he became aware that the ringing silence in his audios had transformed into the ringing of cheers and celebration.
Finally free of the terminal, Prowl onlined his optics as he unplugged his cord to find that everyone in the tactical office was standing around the primary terminal shouting and pumping their fists in the air. Across from him Smokescreen was likewise disconnecting, as was Trailbreaker. The light brown mech soon joined his fellows in celebrating their victory, but not without a lingering look at Prowl.
It was obvious most had been watching, at least during the last moments of the battle, rather than attending to their own duties. Not that there was much they could have done to contribute by that point.
Likewise glancing at the ecstatic mechs surrounding them, Smokescreen grinned at his former mentor. "You did it, Prowl."
Prowl only grunted noncommittally, feeling inexplicably drained and realizing that his processor was sorer than it should be. Something must have shown outwardly because Smokescreen leapt from his chair. "Prowl?"
Prowl twitched his doorwings to tell Smokescreen to give him a moment to regroup his mental faculties, concerned it was taking so long. But the other Praxian touched his shoulder… only to jerk his hand away. "Slag. You need a medic!"
Prowl focused on the younger tactician. "Smokescreen… it can wait. There are many other injured…"
Smokescreen worriedly shook his helm, cutting Prowl off. "It looks like you have at least one piece of shrapnel imbedded in an energon line. Its amazing you haven't just slipped into stasis, you've lost so much."
Startled, Prowl glanced down and saw there was indeed quite a pool of energon underneath his stool. No wonder he felt so weak. It also explained why it had taken more concentration than it should have, especially near the end of the battle. It had been a good thing the battle had ended when it had.
"Go to med bay before we have to carry you there." Smokescreen took his arm and pulled him to his pedes, urging him toward the door.
"Smokescreen…" Prowl started to protest.
Smokescreen shook his helm again. "That's an order, Prowl."
Prowl hesitated, arching an optic ridge. But his department commander was dead serious. He dipped his chin, not liking the way the world threatened to spin around him at the movement.
He knew Smokescreen was correct as well as recognizing the legitimacy of the order itself. "As you wish."
Prowl took a step with the leg that had taken damage from the explosion on the roof and staggered into the terminal. He caught himself and pushed himself back upright, embarrassed by such weakness. How had he forgotten he was so injured? That was right, he had ignored it in order to focus on his function, pushing it to the back of his processor. It was taking longer to come back to himself than it should have. But the extreme energon loss could be the cause of that.
"Tailgate!" Smokescreen snapped, looking around for a mech who was not actively doing anything important. "Go with Prowl and make sure he gets to med bay in one piece."
The dark gray mech looked at Prowl and nodded quickly, stepping close but not quite touching him, almost as if afraid to. Prowl briefly wondered if he looked that close to stasis or if this was still a holdover of his being a former Decepticon. The idea that it could have in anyway been related to intimidation because of the level of skill he had just displayed never entered his processor.
He managed to walk by bracing against the pain shooting through his injured leg. Tailgate followed closely, but did not aim to initiate conversation.
By the time they got to the med bay most of the other injured mechs were already there. It was very crowded. Crowded enough that his arrival was not enough to distract most of the others present from their own misery, even though the medics were clearing them out as quickly as possible. For that, Prowl was thankful.
While activity in the med bay was hurried it was not frantic. There was precision and orderliness even through the rush and seemingly outward appearance of chaos. It spoke to how well the med bay was managed as well as the skill of the individual medics working there.
Of course, a treacherous corner of Prowl's processor taunted him in his exhausted state, they have had a lot of experience with mass casualty situations within the last decavorn, thanks to me.
Tailgate helped him settle into an available chair and then scurried off to find a medic. Before he could find one however, Ratchet saw him and headed his way. The CMO ran a quick scan over him.
"Any pain?" Ratchet asked sharply.
Prowl gave a bare shake of his helm. "Negligible at the moment. I am weak."
"You have lost a lot of energon. You aren't exactly critical yet, but still… I can't believe you managed to do what you just did in that state." Ratchet gave him a thoughtful glare. "Slagger. I'll get someone to you as soon as possible, but it may take a while, as you can see."
Prowl nodded, well aware there were far more gravely injured individuals, who needed a medic's skill. "Understood."
As unpleasant as it might be to have to wait, there was comfort knowing his injuries were not deemed critical enough to put him higher on the triage list.
Tailgate, who had returned on seeing that Ratchet had found him, apologetically excused himself to return to the tactical command. Prowl nodded in mute understanding, knowing there was much work to be done in the aftermath of that assault.
He started rerouting power to conserve what energon remained in his systems, including his chronometer. Eventually, the med bay began to clear. Even so it was another half joor before one of the junior medics walked up to him. It was neither Ratchet nor First Aid. This one was a blue, black and silver mech, smaller than either of the other two medics Prowl had interacted with before. What caught Prowl's attention was that his approach was with obvious caution, perhaps even trepidation.
"Ratchet asked me to take a look at you." He said warily.
Prowl nodded weakly. "Understood. What do you want me to do?"
The medic said nothing for a moment and a detailed scan brushed over his frame, followed by a higher-powered scan used to detect internal damage.
"Most of those lacerations have sealed on their own. Only a few pieces of shrapnel are imbedded, but there is one in a mid-sized energon line." The medic's tone took on a slightly defensive if not faintly challenging air. "We are over loaded right now, so I'm only going to do what I absolutely have to. Everything else will have to heal on its own or you can come back later."
The overflowing med bay was evidence to the truth in that statement. "Of course."
The medic blinked as if he had expected more of an argument. "Do you need a pain chip?"
Prowl shook his helm. "No. Save it for someone in greater need."
With that the young medic looked downright startled. But he recovered quickly and got to work right there – probably because there were no unoccupied berths to move him to.
Air hissed through Prowl's systems as the shards of metal were pulled out of his armor, but he said and did nothing as skilled fingers spliced the damage lines and lightly welded the armor back together.
As the work progressed and Prowl continued to submit to the process without comment or complaint, the medic cleared his vents. "Ratchet said you are going to teach us to defend ourselves."
Prowl's optics sharpened – though the action took longer than he would have liked – on the medic who's designation he had yet to learn. "Yes. You are interested?"
"I'm tired of being a helpless target." The tone was blatantly accusatory but the steady movements of his hands did not falter as he spliced lines and sealed leaks in Prowl's frame.
Prowl's doorwings twitched just before they were immobilized so that the medic could patch the lacerations in them. He spoke softly as those repairs started. "I will do all in my ability to help you meet that goal."
The medic hesitated, perhaps in surprise, then quickly resumed his work. He was finished in half a breem and Prowl could not help the relieved vent of air that escaped his vents when his doorwings were remobilized. This medic either did not know how, or did not particularly care, to be gentle with doorwings. Regardless, Prowl knew the medic had gotten the job done and he decided that was what mattered most.
He looked up as the medic circled back around to face him. "First Aid said you wouldn't be a cruel teacher."
Prowl blinked. "Cruelty is never conducive to learning. It is illogical for me to use such an approach, not to mention ethically unacceptable."
The visible, if not complete, relaxation of the blue mech's armor was telling. "That's good to hear. Here." He held up a large cube of medical grade energon.
After draining the cube and handing it back, Prowl stood. He felt the liquid energy rush through his lines, returning some of the strength his systems had lost. Oddly, the twinge in his processor did not fade. But it was not unmanageable and the medical staff were clearly overwhelmed. He would return later if it did not go away.
He nodded formally to the still unknown medic. "Thank you…?'
The medic blinked. "Jolt. And thank you. I understand you saved us."
The softening in Jolt's voice was evidence that his earlier coolness had been born of either distrust or because Jolt was intentionally feeling him out.
Prowl shook his helm. "I merely made it possible for others to utilize their skills in the most efficient way possible."
Jolt actually gave him a tiny smile. "Well… thank you anyway."
Without giving Prowl a chance to reply, Jolt moved on to the next patient.
Seeing he was dismissed, Prowl headed back to the tactical command center. Just like Tailgate, there would be a lot of work to do in order to evaluate the attack and find a way to keep it from happening again in the future.
Prowl did not know that after left the med bay, Jolt had paused, looking at the door he had just passed through before looking down at his own hands.
Prowl had let him work on his doorwings.
Unlike First Aid, Jolt had worked on doorwings before, at his last post before being transferred to Iacon. But only a few times and only on mechs who were so damaged that they had been off-lined for repairs. He knew his technique lacked the refinement that Ratchet boasted – and had wanted to correct that lack for a while now – but none of the Praxians in Iacon let anyone but Ratchet work on their doorwings, not by choice any way.
But Prowl had not protested. Perhaps he did not think he had a choice. Even so, the former Decepticon had not complained about the discomfort he knew he had inadvertently caused. Nor had he taken offense when Jolt had pushed him a little harder than necessary about his past actions. Pit, he had probably asked his first question about what Jolt had wanted him to do expecting to be restrained for his repairs, like First Aid had done on a couple of occasions.
All of that even though Prowl was arguably the hero of the orn.
Perhaps First Aid had been right after all. Perhaps, Jolt conceded as he turned back to his patient, his own assumptions about the former Decepticon were wrong.
… … …
Prowl had just entered the lift when his private communication system activated.
It was Smokescreen, but his tone was hard to read. /Prowl… are you finished in the med bay?/
Alarm shot through Prowl. /Yes. I am on my way back to the tactical…/
/Belay that./ Smokescreen cut him off. /The Prime has just requested our presence in the primary command center./
Prowl's vents stalled at the serious tone in his former apprentice's digital voice. Quickly steeling himself, Prowl regained his composure however, grimacing at the pain that lingered in the back of his processor. /Understood./
Prowl arrived in the command center – still half expecting security to intercept him for being unescorted in such a sensitive area– to find Smokescreen was already there. They were ushered to the conference room just off the command center itself to find that Ironhide, Jazz and Elita One were also waiting for them. This combination did not bode well for him historically and he fought to tamp down an instinctive wave of anxiety.
But he had known there would be some sort of fall out from having broken protocol in not using a monitor for his activities.
He straightened and walked forward, just behind Smokescreen, wondering if perhaps – despite everything that had been said – a processor scan might still be on the table. He could definitely see how what he had just done might be considered too good to be true. He did not really want to think about what their reaction would be when they learned that the attack on Iacon, following the same pattern as the attack on Praxus, was one he himself had developed. Though it was a distinct possibility they already knew and that that was why he was here. But he would not know for sure until one of them spoke.
Of course, he knew he would admit that fact in his report, even without the threat of a scan hanging over him, even if they would never find out otherwise. He had promised full disclosure and even though his ethical programs would hold him to that promise, he would have done so without it.
Even so, the reminder, or rather the guilt generated by the reminder, sent another brief stab of tearing pain through his processor.
Very well. He also knew he would submit to what ever was about to be required of him… and was surprised to realize that he actually did trust the Prime enough to accept that if Optimus demanded another scan it would be for a good reason.
He was further shocked to find that, regardless of what the mech might have done before, he would actually trust Jazz to do no more than absolutely required; just like the silver saboteur had promised. Where had that come from? Prowl had no immediate answer and that disturbed him.
Such trust was a foreign thing to Prowl's recent experience and the strength with which the revelations slammed into his processor made that tearing pain just a touch sharper.
He struggled to shake off the sensation as he came to a stop, aware Jazz, Ironhide, Optimus Prime, Elita One and Smokescreen were all staring at him.
He straightened to attention. "Reporting as ordered, Prime."
"Relax Prowl." The Prime's calm words settled over him with gentle authority. "How badly injured were you?"
"Relatively minor." Prowl assured, not wanting whatever this meeting was being delayed because of his physical status. He was not sure if is fraying neural wiring could handle the stress. "The most significant were pieces of shrapnel imbedded in an energon line. They have been removed and the lines repaired."
Ironhide's optic ridge cocked. "How did you receive a shrapnel wound?"
Looking at Ironhide carefully, it was easy to see where his own frame had suffered in the recent battle. The same went for all of them except Smokescreen, even the Prime.
Prowl was careful to not even look at Elita, knowing how embarrassing it might be for the leading femme if others found out about her loss of control. "I was outside the building when the attack began."
"Outside the building?" Ironhide asked dubiously.
Smokescreen spoke quickly, clearly reading Prowl's reluctance to give excessive detail. "It was official business."
Elita cleared her vents with a tiny grimace. "I appreciate your discretion, mechs, but Prowl was outside because we were speaking… on the roof."
Prowl blinked that Elita would be so forthright, stunned that she would trust others – those not her sparkmate – with that much detail.
Optimus was also puzzled by this, though for different reasons, and cocked an optic ridge himself. "On the roof?"
Elita cocked her helm, looking up at him with a delicate shrug. "You asked me to trust him. I needed to find out if I could."
Optimus's optics suddenly grew a touch cautious as he glanced at Prowl. "And… did you?"
Elita's expression morphed into a somewhat sad smile. "I did begin to see what you do. Besides, he saved Iacon."
That served to bring all their attention back to Prowl, who tensed under the almost tangible weight of it.
Optimus likewise looked at the black and white tactician. "Yes. That was impressive."
Prowl nodded stiffly. "I merely performed my function, Prime."
"While seeping energon like a sieve." Smokescreen murmured, though more for the other's sake than his own and Elita winced fractionally at the reminder.
Prowl was not comforted by the carefully neutral expression that settled on the Prime's faceplate, especially when it did not exactly match the almost mischievous light in his optics. "It is a shame you had to break four separate operational regulations to do so, is it not?"
Prowl's doorwings flared fractionally before he caught them and he missed the disapproving look Elita shot her sparkmate.
At least Prowl knew what was coming and now sought to ready himself for it. "Sir."
"Of course." The Prime continued, his gaze suddenly more intense. "If you were assigned the rank of lieutenant commander, it would not be an issue because no regulations would have been broken."
That…wait. What?
Prowl could only stare, that tearing pain suddenly stabbing through his processors like an energon dagger as his expectations clashed with what he had heard, as the unexpected, illogical reasoning clashed with the implications of what the Prime might mean.
"Sir…?" Prowl's voice sounded strangled to his own audios.
He barely registered Jazz's smirk, Smokescreen's smile or the way Ironhide and Elita One shared a look. His focus narrowed onto the Prime as the rest of the world seemed to shift, no longer as steady under his pedes as it should have been.
Optimus continued speaking, though now with a faint smile, completely unaware of what was happening inside Prowl.
"Autobot Prowl, I hereby confer upon you the provisional rank of Lieutenant Commander in the Autobot forces and all the duties and privileges commiserate with that rank and responsibility."
Prowl felt his balance systems shift again, as if his gyroscopic sensors were caught in the event horizon of a gravitational singularity. Lieutenant Commander? That could not be right. That rank, even if only provisional, would make him the second highest ranking individual in the tactical department, leaving only Smokescreen as higher ranking. There were a whole host of reasons why that was a bad, bad idea. He had not even finished his probationary period yet. It was just plain dangerous if not stupid for the Prime to make such a move, regardless of how much he could be trusted. Protocols existed for a reason, slaggit.
No, he must have heard wrong.
Prowl replayed the Prime's words, running them through his processor again just to double check, and his systems hitched audibly as the replay confirmed his initial understanding.
Smiling openly now, Optimus nodded silent confirmation.
Then he spoke again, his tone and expression more serious. "Of course, this rank is probationary, as is the position this will elevate you to within the tactical department. However, upon successful completion of your probationary period of one vorn, it will be made permanent and then you will…"
The rest of the Prime's words sort of ran together, blending into a mess of slurred syllables and jumbled noises, as Prowl's processor refused to interpret them. He felt his motor relays freeze one by one and though the process felt almost drawn out, a part of him knew it was happening very quickly. His joint's locked up as pain lanced through his processor with a savagery he had not experienced even at the hands of his Decepticon captors.
"That… is not…" Prowl began haltingly, or at least he thought he did.
But then he was actually falling, unable to prevent it, his processors locking on the illogical decision, the hope and dismay that warred within him as something deep within his processor tore apart, finally unable to handle the pressure that had been building since the battle had started.
Only Prowl did not hit the ground. Instead, strong arms caught him, holding him gently, pulling him close to a warmly thrumming chassis.
He could hear what was happening around him but could not respond or even make it compute.
A deep, rough voice that part of his spinning processor identified as Ironhide's sounded from somewhere to his left. "Hmm. Perhaps he was more seriously wounded than anyone first thought."
"Ratchet don't usually miss somethin' that important." A suave voice that could only be Jazz's
"That's assuming Ratchet was the one who looked at him." An openly anxious voice that probably belonged to Smokescreen.
Prowl vaguely remembered his apprentice had been in the room as well, but that was all he could manage as everything faded, pulling further away even though he tried to cling to it, tried to drag himself upward from the abyss reaching up to grab his mind.
"Let's get him back to the med bay." Calm, dignified base tones that could only belong to the Prime rumbled through his mental flailing from directly over him.
That meant the Prime had been the one who had caught him and thus it was the Prime who was now holding him.
That should have been humiliating, but it barely penetrated the deepening fog his now hazily drifting processor before complete blackness overcame him and Prowl was swallowed up by the darkness.
*Pokes head up from behind couch.* Everyone was waiting for Prowler to crash the first time, right? Well… um… Here you go.
*Slips out from behind couch and makes a mad dash for Kurohane Ookami's bunker* (Thanks for the offer, by the way :D)
*Peeks out.* Not bad seeing Prowl back in action though, right? *ducks back in and slams the door.*
