My thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! There were so many that I didn't get a chance to respond to everyone. That is just so awesome. :) You guys haven't let go of your chairs yet, have you? Just a question.

And now, for your reading pleasure…


Prowl's frame hummed to life instantly, though his processors online slowly as he strained to recall what had happened. He did not have the courage to online his optics just yet. He felt disconnected, strangely separated as if his processors were operating in parallel rather than in sync with each other. It made him queasy and lit a stab of fear through his spark.

~Easy. Your processors are still delicately balanced right now.~ Ratchet's words did not so much reach his audios as they reverberated inside his mind and Prowl belatedly realized the medic was synched with him.

~What…?~ Prowl struggled to focus, to bring both sides of his mind together enough to comprehend what was happening.

~You crashed, Prowl~ The medic's tone was professional, but not cold. There was more, however, something in the medic's mental touch. It was difficult to quantify and it was not something Prowl remembered feeling from the testy CMO before and it worried him even more.

But he could not work up the concentration to form words and so sent a questioning pulse through the hardline connecting him to the medic. Obligingly, Ratchet explained.

~It was a critical conflict between your emotional and logic centers.~ The medic's mental tone was that of… compassion? That fact worried Prowl though he could not immediately identify why it should. ~I have not done a complete diagnostic workup because I wanted your permission first.~

That only caused more confusion to lance through Prowl, since when had Ratchet needed his permission to do a medical scan? The conflict resulted in a stab of pain into his processors that made him wince. ~My permission?~

~You are not a prisoner any more, Prowl.~ The pain was expertly soothed away by the mind inside his. ~I had to connect to your processor to bring you out of the crash, but I won't do anything more without your permission.~

A storm of conflicting thoughts and emotions suddenly tore through Prowl, almost simultaneously. Shame at his weakness, fear of what the medic might find, instinctive panic over such an invasive procedure, primal terror of what the medic could do to him - let alone at such a breech of self - despair at the possible long term prognosis and raw, raging fury at his own helplessness and disgust at his weakness.

He knew Ratchet got the full force of his uncontrolled and scalding emotional onslaught, but could do nothing about it – he did not have the strength. The CMO, for his part, took the wild storm in stride, soothing the fierce tide, helping Prowl regain control and helping to clear the muddled mess that was his fragmented processor.

~Easy now. Your systems are still fragile.~ There was an almost worried pause. ~Will you trust me to do what I need to diagnose the problem?~

Instant panic tore through Prowl again, almost sending him spiraling back toward oblivion, but Ratchet's strong mental presence stopped the descent, pulling him back from the brink of another crash.

~I give you my word that you won't have to face this alone.~ Another pause. ~I won't leave you until we fix what happened, until you are back on your pedes.~

A part of Prowl wanted to desperately latch onto that promise as his mind still threatened to scatter beyond his ability to hold it together, but the stronger part wanted to recoil.

He hardly knew Ratchet and had only just started to trust him. But to allow the medic to learn what he instinctively knew was his greatest weakness… It would make him too vulnerable. How could he let someone he did not really know learn something that he could take advantage of? Better if a good and trusted friend…

But that was not an option, he realized with yet another wave of despair. He had no trusted friends…

Fear and terror welled again… then abruptly cut off, restrained by the remarkably gentle hand of the Autobot CMO.

~From what I can tell, whatever happened overloaded the interface in your command cortex and now it is as if the two systems – your logic centers and emotional centers – aren't communicating simultaneously. You are flipping from one to the other.~ Ratchet's gentle touch continued to sooth the wildly spinning emotions.

Prowl took in those words, calming incrementally, finding he was able to focus better. It made sense.

Instantly, the fire of such raw, unchecked emotions diminished as his logic systems took over, banishing them completely.

Once he was able to think clearly – though that disconcerting sense of internal division remained – Prowl became aware of other things. He was in the med bay in Iacon, laying prone on a berth. Ratchet was sitting on a stool next to him, connected to his primary data port.

Then he realized he was restrained to the berth by a stasis cuff to each extremity and a magnetic field.

Almost instantly he deduced why and un-shuttered his optics to look at Ratchet. "What did I do?"

What looked like a touch of relief flickered across Ratchet's optics.

Then, aware of the shift in his mood and his thought process thanks to the interface cable connecting them, Ratchet answered, though still gently, as if not wanting to upset him. "When you first started to come online, your emotional center was in control… you became combative."

Prowl processed that silently for a moment, knowing logically how dangerous that could have been for the mechs in his immediate vicinity. "I see. Was anyone injured?"

Ratchet grimaced faintly and he felt the medic's reluctance in answering through the one-sided connection. "First Aid was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but no permanent damage was done. Both Optimus and Jazz also suffered superficial damage. Nothing serious."

Clinically, Prowl considered the fact that he had assaulted three Autobots, including the Prime himself. At the moment he felt nothing, even though distantly he was aware that he should have.

That did not mean he was unaware of what appropriate behavior was, nor that he had done the inexcusable.

He blinked up at Ratchet, unable to modify his body language to convey his understanding because he was completely immobile. "My apologies for behaving so badly. I will make appropriate reparations once I am able and…"

"Not necessary, Prowl." Ratchet cut him off, putting a hand on the tactician's shoulder in an uncharacteristically comforting gesture. "You were not in your right processor… you don't even remember doing any of it, do you?"

"No. There is a segment of approximately one joor that I have no recollection of." Prowl paused, wondering momentarily why that did not bother him more than it did, vaguely remembering Ratchet had said something about his emotional center and his logic systems not communicating simultaneously. Interesting.

He refocused on the medic. "The time logs for that period are so corrupted as to be completely nonexistent. Therefore, I will not contest your accusation. If you say I committed such assaults, I will trust you."

Ratchet pounced on that statement. "Will you also trust me to do a diagnostic of your systems to find out exactly what happened and what we can do to prevent it from happening again?"

Prowl considered the question and realized the proposal made sense: it was illogical to remain in ignorance. "Yes."

The Praxian could feel the almost palpable relief that flooded from the CMO's side of the hardline connection, then a faint renewing of the wariness. "Some of this may be uncomfortable. Will you give me your word to trust me and not fight me?"

Prowl considered this request as well, watching the openly earnest expression of the medic leaning over him. Agreeing would bind him through his ethical programming. Surely the CMO knew that as well, meaning that Ratchet wanted him to be bound by that coding. That meant that the possibility was actually high that the diagnostic process would be uncomfortable. Thus, it was only logical for Ratchet to take precautions, especially if he had already hurt three mechs.

"Yes." Prowl spoke softly. "You have my word I will not fight you."

Ratchet blinked, then his frame relaxed. "Thank you. I will be as gentle as I can."

The CMO wasted no time, following the same pathways he had followed every time he had examined that instability in his command cortex. Prowl watched passively as Ratchet examined every line of coding meticulously. Eventually, he came to the actual junction where his logic and emotional centers interfaced with his command cortex.

Where once the connection had been, if weak, smooth and seamless, it was almost completely severed. It was as if something had exploded within the coding, as broken and fragmented neural pathways were scattered within the cortex. The anomaly that altering his ethical programming had caused, Prowl identified the reason in an instant of absolute, clinical clarity.

Abruptly his perspective shifted and the lines of broken code suddenly looked as if it was his very essence ripped in half. The giant chasm of fresh terror reached for him, waiting to swallow his very being.

Ratchet reacted instantly, blunting the rising tide of horror, trapping Prowl's mind in a solid mental grip.

"Prowl." Ratchet was actually leaning over him, both hands placed on his upper chassis, staring down into Prowl's suddenly wild optics. "Prowl… I am here. I won't let you get lost."

Air was heaving through Prowl's vents as his gaze snagged on the medic's as if clinging to a life-line. Unable to focus enough to speak, his mind screamed its panic.

"I know." Ratchet soothed gently. "I know. I see what the problem is, where it is. I… I need to work on patching the damage now."

Patching the damage? A whole segment of his command cortex was obliterated! There was no patch that…

"Prowl." Ratchet's tone was a touch more stern now. "Yes, the damage is significant, but it is not a complete loss. You said you would trust me to do this."

Trust? Ratchet had once helped Jazz fragment his mind, how could he trust? No, he had to prevent…

Prowl's ethical programming kicked in, jarring his processor to a halt so fast it was disconcerting. He felt Ratchet's faint relief even as the self-inflicted restraints of his own coding wrapped around his mind and stilled his attempts to defend himself.

It was absolutely the most helpless Prowl had ever felt and his panic morphed swiftly into a week keen of frustration and powerless grief.

Instead of condemnation from the medic synched with his processor as he expected, Prowl felt compassion and understanding. "I know my track-record isn't that great in your optics. But I'm not going to hurt you. It won't be easy, but I want to try and create a patch to reconnect your emotional and logic centers. It won't be very strong, especially at first, so I'll have to establish a failsafe so that if the pressure builds to within a certain parameter it can kick in and perhaps send you into a temporary stasis you can bring yourself out of rather than a critical crash."

Prowl could not truly focus on what the medic was saying as what was left of his mind curled around itself pitifully.

Ratchet waited a moment and then took his silence as acquiescence. "I'll need to do a shut down to write and install the new codes, I will help defragment the rest of your processor while I have you under."

Prowl shuttered his optics, knowing only that he had never felt so utterly defenseless, so absolutely helpless and at another's mercy; so terribly vulnerable.

And the Autobots did not trust him; he was a former Decepticon. What reason did Ratchet have to bring him back online once he was done? Especially now, when it was his own strategy that had been used to destroy Praxus? That thought sent a fresh stab of pain and a wave a self-loathing and shame through his processor and he felt his mind attempt to fly apart again. Once more, it was Ratchet who prevented the crash. Unable to do anything else, Prowl leaned against the CMO's steadying mental presence.

He did not even fight the blackness of stasis as Ratchet put him under.

… … …

Prowl's systems started to reboot, going through the usual routine without hitch, every system reporting functional status. The first thing he noticed was that the strange, nauseating duality that had defined his last period of conscious memory was gone. He felt drained even though his chronometer alerted him he had been in deep medical stasis for nearly two orns.

His sensors onlined fast and reported that he was in the med bay and that he was flat on his back on a berth. Those sensors also told him that he was not alone. Then, as the data from the sensors was further processed he realized he was restrained to the berth, both by stasis restraints and a magnetic field.

Instinctively he tensed against those restraints only to have his memory of what had happened register in his CPU. He remembered the utter loss of control with Ratchet still in his head, the damage the CMO had discovered as well as what the medic had told him concerning the missing data from his time logs. He had assaulted the Prime as well as Jazz and First Aid when he had been out of his processor.

No wonder he was restrained.

Shame swelled in his spark at having lost control, at the damage to his command cortex that had reduced him to, to…this.

He relaxed against the stasis fields and the magnetic lock holding him in place. He could only imagine what his behavior had done to his standing among the Autobots, his credibility in their optics. He had not even finished his probationary period and he had assaulted the Prime, messed up processor or not, that was not a good thing to have on one's record.

Not to mention Elita's promise to avenge any injury her sparkmate might sustain because of him.

He released a vent of air, only then to become aware that a monitor over his berth was beeping.

The other mech in the med bay, whom he now identified as Ratchet, made his way to Prowl's berth.

Prowl knew Ratchet was standing over him, he knew that Ratchet knew he was online and that continuing to lay there with his optic powered off fooled no one. But he did not want to see the CMO's expression.

"Welcome back to the land of the online." Ratchet said anyway.

Prowl struggled to tamp down the shame that welled in him, knowing Ratchet had seen him, had been intimately involved in helping bring him back from his complete... He stopped that line of thought and forced his optics to online.

"Ratchet." He acknowledged softly, not able to meet the medic's gaze.

If he had, he would have seen Ratchet's expression was one of concern, not judgment. "Now that you are back online, I need to do a final check of the patch I installed for stability."

Without comment, still looking at the featureless ceiling tiles above him, Prowl obediently slid aside the armor covering his primary neural interface port.

Hesitating just a moment, Ratchet connected. To Prowl's surprise, his primary firewalls did not react to Ratchet's presence. Further investigation showed his firewalls no longer existed.

Clearly catching his shock, Ratchet explained quickly. "I had to hack your firewalls when you crashed. It was the only way I could bring you out of it, your mind was locked down tight."

"I see. It is a precaution." Prowl intoned dully. "In case I was ever rendered offline while in the Decepticon ranks. I reinforced those protocols once I defected."

"Ah." He knew Ratchet was watching him and shuttered his optics, surprisingly, the medic did not move in on his mind, regardless of the lack of firewalls. Instead a hand gently touched his shoulder. "It was not as easy as you are thinking. Jazz had to help and as a professional medic I have some overrides that work universally, no matter the upgraded firewalls. It took everything we both had."

Instead of helping as was no doubt intended, that only made it worse. Jazz had seen him like this too, had been in his mind for some of it… had torn apart his firewalls. But then, Jazz and Ratchet were not the only ones who had seen his complete and utter breakdown. Apparently the Prime had as well.

"May I?" Ratchet asked after a moment.

Surprised at the question, Prowl sent a quick, consenting blip across the hardline connection and then waited.

With quick efficiency, and yet still making an effort to sooth the discomfort the scan caused, Ratchet examined the affected codes. Prowl followed the scan and diligently marked the changes as accepted, not wanting his malware programs – if they were still functioning – to undo what the medic had worked hard on.

The tactician remembered the gaping hole that had been left where his logic and emotional centers connected to his command cortex. They were reconnected now; the coding like a bare scaffolding compared the extensive nature of native programming. And where the original connection had been smooth, if weak, this was rougher. Prowl knew enough about code writing to know that this patch was not intended as a final, absolute fix. It was designed as a framework that his own regenerative coding could use to rebuild the connection. That there was already evidence of such rebuilding in place was a good sign. Idly, Prowl wondered how long it would take.

"Several vorns at least, possibly a decavorn or more." Ratchet answered the unspoken question. "With the command cortex, it is hard to say. But you have made excellent progress in the two orns you've been in medical stasis since I have installed it."

A decavorn. Or more. Prowl released another vent, rebuking himself for focusing on the negative. At least it would improve. But he already had enough problems with emotions; he did not need this.

Ratchet continued, as if unaware of Prowl's internal bickering with himself. "I will need to carefully monitor your progress until it is far enough along that there is no danger of regression. I have installed a failsafe that will trigger a temporary stasis and reset of the affected systems, should your emotion and logic systems become too stressed. Perhaps, if these connections are rebuilt sufficiently, I can remove that failsafe. Until then…" Ratchet grimaced.

"Until then, I will need to even more carefully manage emotional stimuli." Prowl supplied quietly, defeated.

"Yes." Ratchet looked at him carefully, evaluating him. "I know you will be rebuilding your firewalls. You may of course alter them again to prevent me from having standard medical access. I won't stop you. Just know that in case this happens again, it will be easier to handle if I don't have to hack you."

Prowl considered those words, not wanting to admit they surprised him as much as the reluctant understanding in the CMO's tone did.

He examined the fragmented coding of his demolished firewalls mulishly as he thought about what Ratchet had said. Now that he inspected the damage done to his defenses, it was clear that they had been almost messily torn apart – something that was very unlike either Jazz or Ratchet. It indicated that the mechs in question had been desperate, panicked even.

The only thing they might have been panicked over was his wellbeing. That was… unexpected. Most likely he was wrong about that assumption, even if he could think of no other logical alternative at the moment.

But that did not address the issue immediately in front of him.

Did prowl trust Ratchet enough to give the medic access to his mind like that? The memory of his last scan flashed through his processor, followed by the memory of the medic protecting Jazz as the saboteur had systematically fragmented his mind after that false accusation. Above him Ratchet winced minutely and, for some reason, that triggered the memory of how Ratchet had then helped him defragment his processor afterward.

Was the risk of having another critical crash truly great enough?

Did he want to have to rebuild his firewalls again if it was necessary for the medic to get access again in the future should it happen? He would never have done that for a Decepticon medic.

But… Ratchet was not a Decepticon.

But did he trust any medic enough now?

A soft clearing of the other's vents forcibly reminded Prowl that Ratchet was still in his processor and had just been privy to his internal debate.

He winced internally, instinctively trying to raise mental defenses that no longer existed, only to cringe as doing so sent a brief stab of pain through his processor.

But the pain was eased aside by the CMO and that gentle action made Prowl feel like engine sludge for having inadvertently insulted him. He tried to frame an apology.

"No." Ratchet shook his helm, his mental tone almost… patient? Sympathetic? Pained? "I knew you had – have – a distrust of medics, but I never truly understood the depth of it." Ratchet paused momentarily. "Honestly, I am amazed you have let me go as far as I did for this."

Prowl averted his gaze, looking back up, past the medic at the ceiling again. No, that was not entirely true. That fragging ethical program was to blame. He had not had a choice; he had given his word.

"You have a choice now."

The simple, softly spoken words startled Prowl into freezing mentally, glancing up at the chartreuse CMO. He realized then that, even though Ratchet was still in his mind, there was no judgment, no manipulation of his will. None of the things that had made him learn to be so defensive, especially around the likes of Soundwave.

He also remembered the touch of the CMO's mind holding his together after his crash; the promise not to leave him until he was fixed. A promise that, judging by the exhaustion that clung to the other mech's armor like lichen, Ratchet had kept.

A part of his mind distantly wondered if Ratchet had recharged at all in the two orns he had been in stasis.

Those memories clinched Prowl's decision. "I will ensure you have access." He remembered First Aid's kindness and hesitated, then plunged forward. "You and First Aid. But no more."

Shock flowed back from Ratchet's end of the hardline connection, then stunned acknowledgement and tentative appreciation for the offer of trust such an action represented.

Moments later, the medic had disconnected and immediately after that the magnetic field holding him down released. It took a few more seconds before the stasis cuffs were likewise deactivated and removed.

Ratchet helped him to sit up and Prowl noted then that an energon line had been connected to his systems at some point. Prowl looked at the drip, then at where the needle was inserted under the armor of his thigh plating before forcing himself to look briefly at Ratchet before letting his gaze drop again.

There were several questions racing foremost in his processor, but he was careful not to give any indications to his troubled thoughts. He decided to ask the one that was haunting him the most. Was he a prisoner again? Was he considered dangerous now?

"What is my status?" Prowl asked softly, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

"You are released to light duty."

Prowl's optics shot up to Ratchet in surprise. Duty?

Ratchet nodded and then deftly removed the energon drip. "Optimus wanted to see you as soon as you were able. Come. I will take you to his office."

Prowl nodded mutely and slid off the berth, rising to his pedes. He took a moment to loosen the cables in his back and arms before falling obediently into step with the CMO. Of course, the Prime would be the one to decide his fate. He was only released from a medical standpoint, not a legal one.

The reception he received from the mechs they passed in the corridors was mixed. Only very few were openly wary. Most were only curious and perhaps concerned but a fair number were almost pleasant, smiling at him and nodding his direction. It felt… surreal.

They reached the command level and soon Prowl was being ushered into a comfortable office that was large enough to host a small conference table – incidentally this one was also circular in shape – to one side. Just past the table, a window overlooked the command center itself.

The Prime greeted him warmly and then waved him to a seat at that table. It was not the typical beginning to a reaming out. But Prowl was too concerned to take comfort in that.

Still feeling a touch disconnected from reality, Prowl sat only to blink in surprise as Ratchet lowered himself into a chair beside him.

Optimus considered him closely for a while, likewise lowering himself to a chair at the table, but Prowl was unable to force himself to lift his gaze higher than the larger mech's bright blue chassis.

Finally the Prime spoke. "Ratchet has briefed me on what happened. How are you doing?"

Prowl hesitated before responding. There were so many possible ways that question could be answered, but the Prime's early warning to speak the truth, combined with his own promise to do so, limited those options. But then, the warmth and genuine concern he felt radiating from the mech made him feel distinctly unworthy.

He framed his reply carefully, the Prime's sincerity making it simply impossible to be anything but completely honest, even if it made him vulnerable.

"Physically I am doing as well as can be expected. However…" Prowl's voice caught in a static cough and despite his best intentions, the tactician found he could not continue.

All Prowl could hear was Megatron's derisive bellow, You are so weak!

Prowl felt guilty even thinking that in relation to the Prime, but he could not help it. He looked down.

As if knowing what he was thinking, the Prime spoke again, his bass tones rolling over Prowl soothingly. "The reasons for what happened are already known to me, as well as a few others on the senior command team."

That only deepened Prowl's humiliation and his doorwings tucked reflexively.

Optimus paused, evaluating his reaction then changed his approach, leaning forward slightly to regain Prowl's focus. "Tell me, Prowl, did you know something like this could happen when you made changes to your ethical program?"

Prowl nodded, still not meeting his leader's gaze. "I knew there were risks."

"And do you now regret doing what you did?" The question was gentle, but unyielding, requiring an answer.

Prowl hesitated, mulling that over, determined to be honest even if it was condemnatory. Once he carefully examined his spark on the matter he shook his helm, lifting his gaze to the Prime's. "I regret not being more careful. But that is all."

A flick of mild surprise registered in those intense optics, then Prowl received a respectful nod. "Few of us would consider ensuring impeccable ethics to be worth such a sacrifice. Such moral strength is to be respected."

Prowl stared, his processor throbbing faintly. "It is no strength, sir. But a potentially devastating weakness."

Optimus waved a hand dismissively. "Perhaps. But none of us operates within a vacuum, but as part of a greater whole, next to others who can come along side and cover for such weaknesses." The Prime paused, looking at Prowl carefully. "Your condition does not disqualify you from the place you are earning in our ranks."

Prowl could only stare, replaying those words to make sure he had heard correctly. "It… does not?"

A kind smile softened the Prime's faceplate. "No. Indeed, the character required to do what you did and then not regret having done it in the face of such a negative consequence is valuable indeed. I would be foolish to throw such an individual aside for such an ultimately inconsequential issue."

The fierce gleam in the Prime's optics bore the sincerity of those words deep into Prowl's spark and he felt a nearly tangible weight lift off his shoulders. He straightened visibly and, when he spoke, could not prevent his relief from showing in his voice. "Thank you, Prime."

Optimus smiled fully then. "Of course, Prowl."

Then he grew deadly serious, standing formally. "Now, on that note, our previous discussion was interrupted."

Concern raced through Prowl, even though he stood automatically when the Prime did.

Optimus held his hand out to Ratchet, who had also risen to his pedes. Ratchet's optics narrowed dangerously. "So help me, Prime, you do something to make him crash again and I'll…"

Ratchet cut himself off with a huff and obligingly handed Optimus whatever it was he had been requesting. It happened to be a small etching stylus.

Optimus turned back to Prowl. "Now, commensurate with your excellent performance, outstanding moral character and dedication to Autobot principles – as well as the other attributes already on file – as Prime, I hereby confer upon you the provisional rank of lieutenant Commander, a senior tactician in the Autobot army."

The Prime lifted the hand with the etching stylus but, remembering something, Prowl reached up to stop him.

"Wait, Prime." He looked up into now puzzled blue optics. "Before you do that, you should know… the strategy the Decepticons used… it was one I developed before I left Megatron's service." He felt a pang of grief hit his spark and an answering twinge in his processors. "And… it was the same one he used against Praxus."

The Prime's optics became soft, warming with compassion. "I know."

"Sir?" Prowl's doorwings winced fractionally.

Ratchet was the one to answer, doing so with remarkable gentleness. "When I traced back the critical error that led to your crash, I found its trigger. It started when you realized that. Somehow you kept it together through the battle, but it was probably the stress of doing so that ultimately led to the crash."

Prowl felt the world swim around him and he looked back up at the Prime. "And you still want me?"

Optimus nodded firmly. "Without question."

They held gazes for a long moment and a deep swell of appreciation filled Prowl. He lowered his restraining hand and straightened to attention. He still felt unworthy, he still felt that this rank was premature, but he would strive to live up to this unprecedented offer of trust. He knew that, should his concerns about the promotion prove valid, he would accept a demotion without question or affront.

Faint smile reappearing, Optimus lowered the stylus to the metal armor along his chassis, just below where his neck joined his frame. With precise, sharp and firm movements, Optimus etched the glyphs attesting to the stated rank. It was a permanent mark, but not so deep it could not be removed or changed if necessary.

Still in mild shock, Prowl nonetheless found himself standing even straighter. Then, belatedly, he began to process exactly what this rank, provisional or otherwise, would mean and felt his processor stall. Second in command of the tactical division. Under Smokescreen.

Optimus smirked slightly, looking smug.

Ratchet glared at his leader and then looked at Prowl. His engine growled. "Oh no you don't!" A chartreuse hand reached out and soundly whacked the Praxian's shoulder. "Don't you dare even think about crashing again so soon!"

Startled, Prowl flinched away. He looked to see Ratchet was glaring at him. "Sir."

Optimus started to say something else only to straighten, turning to the door, a cautious smile settling into his optics. "Come in."

A moment later Elita walked in, Bluestreak held securely in her arms.

Prowl felt his spark lurch seeing Bluestreak curled miserably against the Femme Commander's rose-pink chassis. It was obvious he was distressed and he barely seemed to notice the world around him.

Prowl's focus was so singled on the youngling that he momentarily forgot about the CMO and the Prime. Worry about his young charge lanced through him, but he did not show it outwardly, he only scanned Bluestreak carefully, looking for any physical damage. He was unaware that he was the focus of the other adults in the room.

Because he was watching the blue and gray sparkling so closely, he saw those tiny doorwings twitch as they involuntarily took in the spark signatures of those in the room.

Then they twitched again, stronger this time.

The small helm popped up from where it had been pressed against Elita One's armor and snapped around to look at Prowl.

Adult and youngling stared at each other for a long moment, each one anxiously examining the other. Then Bluestreak squealed, launching himself out of Elita's arms and zipping across the Prime's office to Prowl. He collided against Prowl's leg with such force that the older Praxian had to take a small step back.

"Prowl! You're awake, you're online!" Then the youngling grew still and released his tight hold on Prowl's plating, backing up a step. His voice held more tremble in it when he finally continued. "It was so scary looking at you in the med bay being so still and… and… it reminded me of… of Praxus."

Prowl's vent's hitched painfully and he knelt to Bluestreak's level, continuing to ignore the others. "Bluestreak…"

Attempts at an explanation failed and he settled for dipping his helm to touch the base of his chevron to Bluestreak's apologetically "I am sorry to have worried you so. But I assure you, Ratchet took good care of me."

Despite being on the receiving end of his pit-spawned emotional breakdown, Prowl admitted to himself. He was willing to believe that his delicate trust in the medic might be worthwhile.

Instead of looking relieved, however, Bluestreak pulled back further, becoming even more worried as he examined Prowl. "They said… they said it was something wrong in your processor. That it might affect your memories and… your emotions. That you might not care for me the same when you woke up…"

Prowl's vents stalled completely and he finally glanced back up at Ratchet, a silent question clear in his optics.

Ratchet answered that question, speaking quietly. "It was a distinct possibility."

Prowl's processor quickly replayed the scattered memory files of what happened and, with slowly dawning horror, he realized that – or worse – was exactly what would have happened had he opted not to let the medic diagnose the problem… if he had not agreed to let the medic do what was necessary to fix it.

Blinking back to the moment, Prowl returned his gaze to Bluestreak. "Whatever might have been a possibility, the truth remains that my affection for you is as it has always been."

He did not see Elita or the Prime's puzzled looks, their glance at Ratchet for an explanation nor the medic's faint shake of his helm. All Prowl saw was the relief that flooded Bluestreak's frame, the way he lit up just a moment before his faceplate contorted into frustrated, hurt anger as if he had just remembered all the worry and fear he had suffered the last two orns.

A tiny fist suddenly connected with his chassis, taking a streak of paint with it. "You said you wouldn't get hurt on the base again! I thought you were going to die or be different. You scared me so much, I couldn't recharge. I didn't want to refuel either. Bumblebee was so worried about me he,… You promised!"

Prowl was completely unaware that the three adults tensed at Bluestreak's assault, anxious as to what his reaction would be. The tactician frowned in disapproval of the behavior, though he struggled to process exactly what lay behind it, unwilling to reprimand if there was another explanation.

"I did." Prowl said carefully after a moment. "But this injury was not done by another. Do you remember… we spoke about why I must be careful with emotions."

Bluestreak still looked at him accusingly, though he nodded. Then his expression shifted as he pieced together what Prowl was saying. "You mean… you mean this happened to you because you, um, your emotions… I mean avoiding something like this is why you have to be careful?"

Prowl nodded. "Yes, more so now than before, I am afraid."

"Oh." Bluestreak drew the word out as his gaze unfocused and then he adopted a truly chagrined posture and crept a few steps closer to Prowl and gently rubbed his hand over the streak his strike had left. "I'm sorry Prowl. I was just so upset, and I didn't know what else to do, I wasn't thinking. I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to behave wrongly."

"I know that, Bluestreak." Prowl spoke softly. "You will gain better control as you mature."

Bluestreak's optics widened. "You aren't mad at me?"

"I have no reason to be, Bluestreak." Prowl shook his helm. "I understand the torment this must have caused. I am sorry."

Bluestreak smiled again, relaxing completely just a moment before throwing his arms around Prowl's neck.

Caught of guard, Prowl awkwardly returned the embrace and felt the youngling magnetized to his frame. Bluestreak did not move, clinging to him as he had back in the ruins of Praxus. As the moment stretched, however, Prowl realized the sparkling had slipped into recharge, still magnetized to his frame.

Prowl blinked, startled. It had been some time since Bluestreak had done that. But he knew the youngling well enough to deduce that the poor thing probably had not recharged well since the attack and that was two orns ago.

Of course Bluestreak would be exhausted.

With a tiny, almost non-existent smile, Prowl wrapped an arm around Bluestreak and stood. As he did so, he suddenly remembered the new member of his audience.

Elita One.

With sudden trepidation he glanced up at the Femme Commander, only to see that she was standing in a relaxed posture, simply watching their reunion with kind optics. He glanced at the Prime to see that he too was smiling gently, almost relieved.

It was then that it hit him; they had not known till that moment what his reaction to Bluestreak might be, whether there were any lingering problems from his crash that would affect his ability to safely and effectively care for the youngling. Judging by their reactions, they had been relieved rather than troubled. Prowl decided that was a good sign.

"I will have that expansion for him within the orn, Prowl." Ratchet assured him quickly, a tiny smirk threatening his stern normally expression. "The radical emotional swings are another sign he is in need of an upgrade. He should gain better emotional control once it is installed."

Prowl nodded, looking at the CMO. "I do not want him to have the same issues with emotional expression that I do."

"He shouldn't." Ratchet reassured, gaze shifting to the youngling in question. "You have done a remarkable job helping him to deal with the trauma he has suffered."

"Indeed." Optimus spoke then. "I know Ratchet has cleared you to return to light duty, but for the rest of this orn I believe you have a different duty to fulfill. Report back to tactical next orn."

Prowl nodded formally. "Yes, sir. Thank you."

He started to leave, but Elita put a hand briefly on his arm to stop him. "Prowl. Jazz suggested it is possible you have not activated your guardian protocols for Bluestreak."

Ratchet blinked and even Optimus Prime seemed caught off guard by that possibility, glancing at each other.

Prowl looked at Elita, but dipped his helm respectfully. "That is correct. While I was on parole it was not a wise choice just in case I was deemed unfit and my probation rescinded because it would have been necessary for me to relinquish custody of him."

Elita frowned. "But it has been at least a decaorn or more since you have become an Autobot. It would make caring for him easier."

"Perhaps." Prowl acknowledged. "But now it is a risk that is too high. You can imagine what would have happened had Ratchet not been able to restore my processors. I will not endanger him like that. The general protective programs every enforcer has will be sufficient."

"Such a bond might help stabilize your command cortex." Elita mentioned softly, confirming that she was one of the individuals who probably had been briefed on his condition.

Prowl chose not to let that fact bother him, even as he met her somewhat challenging gaze with an understated challenge of his own. "Or it could pose a great risk to Bluestreak's own stability."

"But…"

Optimus chose that moment to cut his sparkmate off. "A wise decision."

It felt more like praise, approval even, not necessarily a warning to keep it that way.

Elita considered her sparkmate for a moment and then the armor over her frame shifted a fraction as she looked back at Prowl. She seemed to set herself and then nodded formally to him. "I wanted to thank you, Prowl."

Prowl blinked, feeling a touch disconcerted. "For what?"

"You shielded me on the roof… and that even after I… um." She trailed off, looking aside, clearly embarrassed by that episode. Prowl was amazed she had even brought it up.

"What did you do?" Optimus asked, blinking in concerned curiosity, glancing briefly at Prowl.

Elita hesitated and then silently stepped forward. She reached up and around Bluestreak to lightly brush a fingertip over the gouge her energon blade had made in his armor. Prowl stiffened at her touch, but did not say anything as both Ratchet and the Prime leaned in to examine the faint scar from the now healed wound.

Optimus stepped back, looking at Prowl calculatingly. "You never said anything, Prowl."

Unspoken was a request for an explanation.

Prowl shifted uneasily, not liking this turn in the conversation. "There was no need. As the Prime's sparkmate her safety in that setting was paramount, regardless of anything else." A way to change the topic came to his processor and he leapt at it, dipping his helm apologetically, not acknowledging the odd expressions on the others' faceplates. "However, I am reminded that I owe you an apology, Prime."

The Prime's look turned inquisitive and Prowl hastened to explain before his leader could jump to wrong conclusions. "Ratchet informed me that while I was… not myself… I acted in a grossly unbecoming manner which resulted in injury to yourself and others."

Optimus actually smiled at that, though he nodded acceptance of the apology while politely denying the need for one. "I appreciate that Prowl, but Ratchet has explained the circumstances and, for my part, I do not hold you responsible."

Relief hit Prowl almost as strongly as Bluestreak had earlier and he released a vent he had forgotten to cycle. "Thank you, Prime."


Yes, I know this chapter is short, but I have been advised unanimously by my… beta committee (read my family and friends) that it would be better to stop this chapter here in order to give my dear readers a little bit of a breather before the events in the next chapter, simply because this one is so… draining? Intense? Demanding? You tell me. I decided to accede to their wisdom.

Second note: As you can see, I have taken Prowl's little 'glitch' as more of a medical emergency than some have. I know how much damage happens to a hard drive when it crashes, I cannot see something like that happening to a sentient computer (so to speak) without serious damage resulting. Because of the seriousness of the issue, do not expect him to crash very often, though he may come close. Even with the failsafe, it will take a lot to push Prowler to the point of another crash simply because he will do everything in his power to keep from doing it… as will most of the mechs who know about it (discounting Sunny and Sides perhaps…but they don't know about it. Yet. And I am open to ideas as to how the Twins might just find out.). I know that is not the way many authors have dealt with this issue, and I guess it comes from being a medical professional, but I just can't see friends wanting someone they respect and care about to flirt with such a dangerous condition.

In case anyone is wondering, my inspiration for Ratchet's repair of the damaged command cortex interfaces is that of what we in the wound care industry call a "skin substitute." Basically these things are applied over a chronic open wound and provide collagen, fibroblasts, and essential molecular component to help the body build new skin in the area. In short, the structure of the skin substitute acts like a molecular and cellular scaffold that the patient's own body then uses to build new skin across. Anyway, it's really cool (and insanely expensive).

Also, never fret, the next chapter will help fill in the details about what happened while Prowl was out of it and we will (finally) be getting back to another Jazz/Prowl centric interaction, and it will be pivotal in their relationship. *Snicker*

*Wipes brow and steps out of bunker.* Hey, I didn't really leave you with a cliff hanger this time! So, no throwing foodstuff at me. Please. *Shields laptop with body and hurries back to room.* Once more, thanks for the bunker. I… uh… I might be needing it again in the future… :D