Yes, I know this chapter is late… you would not believe the slag that has happened the last two weeks, and I won't bore you with a blow-by-blow rendition. Short explanation is: real life plus a fragging virus on the computer and then, to top it off, my Internet access went spotty for several days. Anyway, it is here now and I offer this chapter as a peace offering…
Okay, so that might be a little over the top. However, because of the blankety-blank-blank stuff that has been going on I have not had more than 10 minutes a day on the computer for the last two weeks, almost from the moment I posted the last chapter. For that reason I have to admit this chapter is not quite as strong as I'd personally like it to be, but it was post it now or wait for another...who knows how long. Constructive comments on content are welcome if any of you see something.
Anyway… Happy Independence Day everyone!
Bluestreak's doorwing twitched and the brief movement drew Prowl's attention from the data pad he was using to write his official report on the attack. True, the Prime had given him the rest of the orn off to tend to Bluestreak's needs, but the sparkling had yet to online from when he had slipped into recharge while magnetized to Prowl's frame. Thankfully, however, just over a joor after falling into recharge, the mechling's systems had cycled down enough that he was unable to maintain his magnetic hold.
Prowl counted it as a good thing that that fact had not alarmed Bluestreak enough to bring him out of recharge: it meant he felt safe and secure, at least subconsciously.
And, just like the dozen or so other times Bluestreak had moved or flinched within the last six joors, it was not a herald of his systems coming back online.
Satisfied that his charge did not need him at the moment, Prowl turned his attention back to his report. It was only logical not to waste the joors that Bluestreak was in recharge when he had a report to complete. And, because he would obviously have the time this orn – not to mention he considered it a logical duty for his new provisional rank and position – he was also arranging a training regimen to help the response teams learn how to better function should they find themselves without tactical support in the future.
Most of the response teams would prove relatively easy to train. There was only one, consisting of two specific mechs that could provide more of a problem. As a mech of order and precision, he hoped he would not have to factor that pair in as a wild-card – that they would let him train them. But only time would tell.
He saved one such proposal and was about to start on another only for the entry request to sound. Prowl looked up, signaling the door to open even as he belatedly scanned for a spark signature.
It was Jazz.
The silver saboteur ambled in, though he cast a surprised glance over his shoulder at the door as it closed behind him.
"Ya locked it." He observed, looking back at Prowl.
Prowl only smirked ever so faintly. "I reasoned that now that I have an official rank, as provisional as it may be, I was entitled to a little privacy."
Jazz blinked, the comment startling him. However, upon closer examination, he might have seen a tiny glint in the Praxian's optics. But he was not sure.
As if testing that Jazz gave the tactician his most charming smile. "Aw, where's the fun in that?"
Others might have flinched away or grimaced at such a statement, but Prowl simply clasped his hands together, resting them on his desk, not giving away any clue as to his inner thoughts. At least not through body language.
His words however, were a different story. "I am confident that for a mech of your skills and abilities, it will not be much of a barrier for long."
Jazz just stared at the black and white mech, not really sure how to take that. A compliment? An invitation? A statement of resigned submission to lingering suspicion? Or… perhaps something different entirely. A challenge?
"I'll take that as a compliment." Jazz found himself smiling again, though he registered himself as a touch nervous, considering his real reason for seeking Prowl out.
Prowl's stoic demeanor cracked just enough for his lip plate to quirk upward as he nodded.
The silence that settled between them then was uneasy as Jazz remembered his purpose there and as the memory of more recent events returned to the forefront of Prowl's CPU. Unspoken between them was the neon sign that was Jazz's demolition of Prowl's firewalls.
Jazz finally found the courage to break that tense silence, taking a tiny step closer to the Praxian. "So… ya scared me, crashin' like that. Scared all of us, actually."
Prowl's doorwings lowered fractionally. "It was not a pleasant experience for me either, I assure you."
Jazz moved closer and he could have sworn what looked like a touch of nervousness, to match his own, flashed behind those rich blue optics. He knew Decepticons well enough to take a good guess as to what was troubling Prowl the most. He knew Decepticon's disdained weakness, and he knew Prowl was not ignorant that the cause of his crash was an inescapable disadvantage, one that had left him with an undeniable weakness. Though the saboteur had no doubt that the Prime had addressed that matter, he had been in Prowl's head enough to know that Prowl would not assume the Prime's assessment and conclusion would automatically be universal among the Autobot ranks. But Jazz had his own concerns to worry about and decided, as difficult as it would be, it would be best to deal with his own worries and then help Prowl deal with his.
He was now standing parallel to Prowl's desk, the metal surface no longer between them, Prowl's sitting position allowing Jazz to be taller, though not by much. Suddenly it was too much like when he had been interrogating Prowl and Jazz yanked the second chair over to slide into it.
He released a vent, looking at the table briefly before forcing his gaze back to the Praxian's. This was not going to get any easier the longer he procrastinated.
Taking in another system full of air he blurted the words out, or at least tried to. "Were ya aware… when, when I… "
"When you demolished my firewalls?" Prowl asked blandly and Jazz nodded miserably, muting the faint whining sound his engine wanted to make.
He was startled beyond belief when Prowl finally shook his helm. "No, though I must admit to a great deal of surprise when I discovered how completely shredded they were."
Jazz grimaced, looking away. "Yeah. Sorry about that." He was about to assure Prowl he would never do it again, but he knew that was an untruth. He knew he would if it were needed again. In a sparkbeat.
His engine revved lightly and he brought his gaze back to Prowl's. "I only did what I had ta. I'd do it again if the situation called for it. Ya have a right ta know that."
And that was true, Prowl did have a right to know, especially within the scope of these unofficial negotiations they seemed to be involved in when it came to scouting the parameters of their still somewhat awkward relationship.
Prowl did not respond immediately and Jazz found he was loath to even release the vent he had drawn in. When the tactician finally spoke, his voice was soft and not at all angry.
"So I understand." There was a pause and then Prowl continued even softer, almost hesitant. "That is a trait I have always respected about you, Jazz."
Jazz's optics dilated with shock as he fully registered what Prowl had said. "Ya are still troubled by it, tho'." He observed equally soft.
Prowl grimaced and averted his gaze, though more out of discomfort than any type of submission. "Surprisingly, I am more troubled by the missing and corrupted data in my time logs than by the fact you are able to so thoroughly break my defenses. Especially since I have been told I harmed others during that time."
Jazz blinked, feeling off balance. "It… it doesn't bother ya that I…" Jazz looked away when Prowl lifted his gaze back to his and found he did not want to actually say the words.
"I know what you are capable of, Jazz." Prowl reminded him gently. "Based on what Ratchet told me, I find I am grateful you were able to do it."
Jazz stared at Prowl anew. It was the first time he had ever been thanked for displaying a set of skills that, quite honestly, terrified most mechs. And by the one subjected to his talents no less.
Staring almost blankly up at Prowl's open – if still well controlled gaze – he saw a hint of vulnerability there. Jazz was not arrogant enough to believe that vulnerability was strictly because of him, rather it seemed to come from something within the other mech, but he could not immediately identify it.
Then it hit him and Jazz made an almost spontaneous decision. He would trust his instincts, even though roughly a fourth of them told him it would be a mistake; a risk he could not afford to take.
But he had already taken a personal vow to help Prowl, and this was something he was in a unique position to do right now. Jazz would not pretend that what he was about to do in any way made up for the harm he had done Prowl in fragmenting his processor, but it was at least a good down payment.
Before he could change his mind, Jazz leaned forward, closing the distance between them, and extended his left arm, sliding away the panel covering his wrist dataport.
"I know it ain't the same as your own, but I'll give ya my memories of tha time you're missin'." Jazz offered the open port to Prowl.
The tactician only stared, feeling a telltale ache twinge in his processor. "Jazz…?"
Jazz did not pull back the offered port, rather he held it fractionally higher before placing it on the desk between them.
The Saboteur waited for Prowl to look away from the port to meet his gaze again before he continued. "Primus knows I've taken enough memories from your mind. Least I can do is offer ya a few of mine."
"Jazz.." Prowl was sounding almost pained.
"I'm serious." Jazz insisted then, when Prowl continued to eye him with increasing unease, he pressed his point. "I'm not playin' with ya or anything. I want ya to do this."
… … …
Prowl shook his helm, determinably not looking at the beckoning port. "There are other ways." He stated firmly.
Jazz quirked a lip plate at that; the tactician's resistance oddly making him even more determined. "This one'll do fine. Trust me."
Prowl froze, words of additional refusal choking into silence as Jazz's last comment struck home.
It was the first time Jazz had asked for his trust at all, and it was for the saboteur's own detriment. Oh, he had no doubt that a mech of Jazz's skill set and caliber could prove devastatingly dangerous even in a one-way connection.
He looked up from the proffered dataport to see that Jazz's visor was retracted and that the blue optics staring back at him were earnest and almost pleading. He was struck by that gesture itself from such a private and enigmatic mech
Prowl did not understand why, but he could clearly see that Jazz wanted him to do this. It would be a great insult to the minibot if he should refuse. Slowly, with a formal dip of his helm, Prowl reached for his own cord.
"As you wish." He whispered his acceptance of the truly generous – if unnecessary – offer.
The smaller mech did not flinch or show any resistance as Prowl plugged in his own cable. As he synched with Jazz's processor, the tactician was struck with the bizarre sense that, like the mech's desk had been, his mind was not entirely chaotic, but not exactly neat and orderly either.
The firewalls that greeted him were truly massive and intricately complicated, making his own now demolished defenses look like youngling's play.
As soon as he made that observation however, the outer layer – an actual defensive layer the likes of which Prowl had never bothered to develop for his own processor– dissolved and Prowl could see that underneath that veneer, Jazz's firewalls were much more like he would have expected. Even so, he did not doubt that even without that additional layer of defense, Jazz could prove very dangerous to any mech attempting to hack him.
Then a small portion of the remaining firewall dissolved, revealing a lighted pathway that would presumably take him to the promised memory files.
Mindful of what the other mech was experiencing, even as his own tanks rebelled at the sensation of being in another's processor, Prowl followed the illuminated path. Even so, he could not quite forget what he had been subjected to at the saboteur's hands.
Prowl found the memory files and – as he had feared he might - he suddenly felt the urge to fragment them as he went, just as Jazz had done the last time their positions had been reversed. Then he internally cursed the way his mental control was still weakened from his crash; that such a thought would even arise. Without his own firewalls, he knew that Jazz must been aware of that sudden impulse because he saw the silver saboteur shift slightly.
Yet the infamous mech made no move, either physically or mentally, to try and prevent him from doing exactly that; he made no attempt to protect himself. The only thing Jazz did was grimace, clearly just waiting for it to happen.
Perhaps feeling Prowl's consternation at his reaction, Jazz's optics narrowed. "It'd be well deserved… I won't deny that."
"It would not be right." Prowl refused to meet Jazz's still visorless gaze, shamed at his fleeting temptation.
Not wanting such a temptation to return, Prowl steeled himself and resignedly accessed the memory file. As he did so, he realized that it was not just Jazz's memory, it was the linked emotional and personal files accompanying those memories. Jazz was offering him everything.
It was… it was… staggering.
His optics widened, to which Jazz only offered the tiniest smile.
Then Prowl was in Jazz's place, reliving those moments; the experience passing in that weird, twisted perspective that put him in the other mech's perspective while not entirely robbing him of his own as the outside observer.
Prowl felt Jazz's worry and instant concern as he watched himself suddenly collapse. He saw the Prime catch his limp frame and ever so gently lift it closer to his chassis. That worry only grew as the Praxian never rebooted.
He listened to the other mechs, including the one who's memory he was experiencing, briefly debate the matter until the Prime ended the conversation with a tone that Jazz recognized as genuine concern.
"We must get him to Ratchet." The Prime's words catapulted all of them into action.
Jazz followed his leader closely, scanners constantly running over Prowl's frame, looking for any hint as to what was going on, even though he knew his sensors were not anything compared to Ratchet's medical scanners.
Prowl would never have expected the depth of concern he felt in the saboteur's memory as the actual trip to the med bay passed in an anxious blur.
Then he watched as his frame was hastily laid in a recently vacated berth… Jazz's acute sensors detecting the drying energon still on its surface. But the smaller mech was so focused on Prowl that he had not consciously noticed the handful of injured mechs still in the med bay… now watching the sudden drama with various levels of attentiveness depending on their own conditions.
He saw, through Jazz's optics, as Ratchet hurried to them, snatching up a data hub and using it to synch with him. In that moment Jazz suspected what he then knew Ratchet had immediately anticipated: a virus of some kind. He felt Jazz's immense frustration with himself that he had not suspected something like that earlier because if he had, he could have rendered more immediate first aid.
Then Ratchet cursed, snapping Jazz's attention back to the moment. "Whatever it is, his firewalls are still up. But he's not responding. This is taking too long. Jazz!"
"On it!" Jazz answered, moving forward immediately, knowing what the CMO was asking of him.
The silver frame, who's sensations Prowl was sharing at the moment, reached for his cord and plugged it into the data hub with all apparent confidence and totally without hesitation. But, privy to the mech's emotions, Prowl clearly sensed the internal conflict Jazz had had at that moment. He felt the worry – actually bordering on fear now – as well as the concern as to how his next actions might damage his budding friendship with the tactician. Added to that was the tormenting fear that it might not do any good anyway and they would loose Prowl regardless.
But then, with a gathering of focus that Prowl remembered well from his interrogation, Jazz brushed aside those thoughts and focused on the task at hand.
Together he and Ratchet frantically tore through the firewall that was preventing Ratchet from bringing Prowl out of the crash and was possibly keeping him locked in desperate battle with some unknown virus without access to help.
He had no choice, Prowl would not survive this if he did not do what he needed to do. Jazz's conviction, tinged with worry, continued to pester the fringes of Prowl's awareness as he watched the remembered progress of his firewall's destruction.
He was pleased with the almost clinical coolness he was able to maintain as he watched Ratchet first weaken an area in the firewall with his medic-only overrides and then move aside to let Jazz actually break the barrier apart. Through his connection with the saboteur, being in the silver mech's place, he knew that at one point Jazz had once looked forward to cracking such a challenging defense – when he had first been captured – but that that visceral pleasure was now harshly tempered with the knowledge of just who he was doing it to and why.
Together medic and saboteur were swift and sure in their coordinated movements, leading Prowl to believe this was not the first time they had worked together in such a manner.
"It wasn't." Jazz said softly, his regret – mixed with stubbornness – coloring his mental stance. "It was the first time we've had ta do it on one of our own, tho'."
Prowl indicated acknowledgement of that statement, realizing what he would likely have faced had he not cooperated with his former interrogator.
"I woulda done what I had ta; you were too valuable an information source not ta." Jazz confirmed again and Prowl realized he was looking away when silver claws gently touched his arm. "I'm glad I didn't hafta."
And, linked as they were, Prowl knew that to be absolutely true.
He released a shallow vent of air and signaled his generalized understanding and agreement, though he truly had no clue how one aught to respond to such a comment. Hoping to forestall further awkward conversation, Prowl resumed the memory from where he had left off.
Seeing the final bits of the firewall crumble was not a moment of exhilarating victory as it usually was when Jazz did the same to Decepticons. That was because Prowl was one of them, an Autobot and perhaps… a friend. Someday?
Feeling almost sick, regardless of the fact he knew he had only done what needed to be done, Jazz backed out of Prowl's mind after the last threads of the firewall dissolved. He quickly disconnected, backing away physically to give the medics room to work.
"First Aid!" Ratchet snapped, not looking up from where he was peering intensely at nothing physical.
Ratchet's apprentice was there instantly, and quickly plugged in to the hub. Prowl felt Jazz's lip plates twitch, despite the heavy aura of anxiety that permeated his thoughts. Leave it to Ratchet to use even such a situation as this as a learning opportunity. Jazz would have been irritated by that except that he knew Prowl actually liked it when the younger medic got valuable experience, even at his expense.
That alone kept Jazz from protesting.
He shot a glance at his Prime only to see Optimus and Ironhide exchange worried looks, standing close enough together that their nearness would serve as unspoken, understated moral support. Smokescreen stood apart from them, optics never wavering from the frighteningly still form of his former mentor. Jazz did not want to think about how devastated the white and gray Praxian would be if Prowl did not survive this. Not to mention Bluestreak…
With a shake of his helm, Jazz focused back on the moment. Like the others, he was well aware of just how grave the situation truly was by one thing alone: Ratchet had yet to demand any of them leave the med bay.
"Slag!" Ratchet's sudden exclamation snapped Jazz's attention back to him. "The interface between his emotional and logic centers is completely fried. I… I have no idea what he will do when he comes to." There was an uncomfortable, worried pause. "Bringing him online now."
An instant later an anguished keen split the air, the haunting, agonized sound tearing at Jazz's spark only an instant before First Aid was thrown away, his cord ripped from the hub. The apprentice medic hit the far wall and slid to the ground, one hand cradling his helm in a clear indication that the abrupt disconnection had fragmented him at least to some degree.
But Jazz spared the younger medic only a brief glance to make sure he was otherwise alright, even as he was leaping forward to help restrain the now wildly thrashing Praxian.
Prowl's movements were not coordinated, which was something Prowl noted with relief knowing just how much more dangerous that would have made him, rather they were the frantic, desperate attempts of a mech totally and completely terrified and only half conscious.
Ironhide quickly moved past Optimus, who had also moved to help hold Prowl down, and managed to get each ankle joint secured in a stasis cuff.
Once activated, though Prowl could still squirm his legs, they did not actually move. The sudden immobility of his lower extremities however only seemed to terrify him more and another anguished keen rattled through Jazz's armor. Never had he known such deep pain. He only hoped he had not helped to cause it.
The renewed fear made Prowl fight even harder and he managed to land a punch to the Prime's chassis, peeling a long streak of cobalt paint free of the larger frame, denting the heavy armor. But that arm was swiftly reclaimed by the Prime and a stasis cuff quickly applied.
Then Jazz also received a blow when he momentarily lost control of Prowl's other arm. Through Jazz's memory, Prowl was reassured that while the cosmetic damage smarted, it was nothing serious. Within moments however, Prowl was completely restrained and, as the last cuff was slapped into place, a magnetic field activated as a secondary precaution.
Jazz backed away again, dread growing in his tanks at what that complete a breakdown might mean for Prowl's sanity. He worried at the chances that Prowl would be able to recover from… whatever would do this to him.
Prowl knew, without doubt, that Jazz's concern, ripping through him as if he were feeling it himself, was not just about the possible loss of the asset Prowl represented, but concern about him personally.
Prowl suddenly felt guilty about the brief moment in which he had even entertained the desire to fragment these memory files and was actually relieved Jazz would feel that even across the one way connection. It was easier than trying to express such a thing verbally.
He still could not meet Jazz's optics. "First Aid?"
The junior medic's reactions had indicated either a fairly serious fragmentation or a first time experience.
Jazz shook his helm and Prowl knew the honesty of his words through the hardline connecting them. "Not seriously damaged."
Without prompting, another memory file was highlighted for Prowl.
Being as gentle as he could this time, Prowl hesitantly access this new file.
The time log indicated that half an orn had passed since his crash when Jazz ambled back into the med bay. His first stop was to check on Prowl, but the tactician remained still as death on the berth, his processor hooked up to two different monitors by a plethora of tubes and wires, Ratchet bent over the whole set up with a look of serious concentration.
The junior medics were finishing up with the remaining wounded, giving their CMO space.
Deciding to take his cue from the rest of the medical staff and not disturb the chartreuse medic, he decided to search out the other mech he had wanted to see.
He found First Aid in another part of the med bay. He was carefully sorting through tools, cleaning them and replacing them in the proper compartments. He approached the white and orange medic carefully, watching him closely.
"How ya doin' First Aid?" He asked softly but nonetheless the medic startled.
He looked sideways at Jazz. "Processor ache." He said and looked away hastily. "I'll be fine."
Jazz nodded, easily seeing what was not said. "Hey, it happens ta everyone eventually."
First Aid grunted, still not looking at him. "I know, but… I trusted him, Jazz."
Prowl felt his tanks lurch and was mildly surprised when Jazz stepped closer to First Aid, putting a clawed hand on a white arm, it was exactly what he had had an impulse to do himself. "It wasn't the Prowl we know. Ya know that. Prowl would never do that to ya intentionally."
"I know, but…" First Aid finally turned to look at him directly and Prowl was struck by the deep concern he saw in his optics, mixed with a healthy dose of trepidation. "Jazz… I've never seen something like that. That much damage to a command cortex… If Ratchet can't fix it, Prowl will be too damaged, too dangerous to let go free."
"I know." And Prowl caught the remembered concern that Jazz had experienced before the silver mech continued in a forcibly lighter tone, clapping First Aid on the shoulder. "It's a good thing ol' Ratchet is a miracle worker, then, isn't it."
Jazz's efforts were rewarded by a tiny, non-committal yet hesitantly hopeful expression from the apprentice medic.
"He never did go back in your head." Jazz spoke quietly, watching Prowl's reaction carefully. "Not even when Ratchet wanted him ta observe how he patched up your coding."
Prowl nodded silent understanding, mulling over all he had just experienced even as he withdrew his mind and then his cord from the saboteur. He did not want to risk Jazz wanting to show him anything else. He had enough to deal with at the moment.
"Thank you, Jazz… for sharing those." He made himself look at the smaller mech.
Jazz relaxed fractionally once Prowl was disconnected and flashed the tactician a tight smile. "Like I said; I've taken enough memories from ya that it's only fair."
Prowl considered the silver saboteur closely, processing the memories he had just been given yet again. Yes, Jazz had accessed virtually every memory he had had within the last decavorn and the memory of that invasion still stung – physically as well as emotionally.
But then he recalled Jazz's remembered worry over his wellbeing, the true concern the mech had felt for him and his own painful memories lost the edge of their sting.
"That does not make my appreciation any less." He told the mech who had once been his interrogator.
Jazz gave him a tiny smile that was more at ease than he had been since walking into his quarters. They sat in a surprisingly comfortable silence – even if not entirely comfortable – for nearly a breem, each lost in his own thoughts and, all the while, Bluestreak recharged on.
Then, coming to a decision, Prowl straightened and refocused on Jazz. "I need to speak to First Aid. I owe him an apology." He paused. "Will you watch over Bluestreak while I am gone?"
Jazz's optics widened as if he did not expect to receive such a request, though he looked at the youngling. "Of course."
Jazz watched almost dumbfounded as Prowl stood and walked to the recharging youngling only to bend over and place a hand between tiny doorwings. He stayed like that for a moment before straightening again. He looked at Jazz and nodded again before walking out of his quarters.
Jazz simply stared at the door as it closed, amazed that the mech would leave him alone in his quarters like that.
Then he smiled.
He could use the time to remove the monitoring devices he had placed there.
Well, most of them any way. It was not that he expected Prowl to do something untoward, but he did not put it past any naysayers or troublemaker to attempt accusing him of treason. That or any other Decepticon spies or saboteurs who may still be in, or may infiltrate, their ranks. Prowl would be a target of the Decepticons now, Jazz knew, and not necessarily in the form of a frontal attack.
Hard to have an alibi when one spent as much time as possible away from any witnesses to his behavior. No, he had promised himself he would watch the mech's back, that meant he would have to ensure Prowl had undeniable proof that he was not involved in suspicious behavior if the need every arose… just because the mech was so determinably antisocial.
Surely, if Prowl ever found out about it he would understand.
Maybe.
… … …
Prowl approached the med bay with some hesitation. The look on First Aid's faceplate in Jazz's memory haunted him. It had taken a long time to gain First Aid's trust and it was possible he had lost it in a matter of astroseconds he could not even remember on his own.
Then, with a determined stiffening of his spinal struts, he walked in to Ratchet's domain.
All of the walking-damaged had been seen to some time ago and only those occupying the ICU were still there. It was, mercifully, quiet.
First Aid saw him, looking up from where he was cleaning tools… the same tools he had been cleaning in Jazz's memory and it suggested he was still more unsettled than he had admitted to the saboteur. That was not good.
As if made uncomfortable by his attention, First Aid started to turn away then looked down. His hand clenched on the tool he was holding and he straightened, then he turned back to Prowl and walked toward him.
The young medic came to a halt further away than was strictly necessary. "Prowl, can I help you? Ratchet is taking a joor to recharge." 'Finally' went unsaid, and his tone was carefully formal.
Prowl kept his posture non-threatening. "I… only wish for a moment of your time, First Aid. Please."
First Aid narrowed his optics uncomfortably, looking remarkably like a terrified turbofox ready to bolt, but eventually he nodded nonetheless.
Assuming that was as much welcome and encouragement as he would get, Prowl dipped his doorwings a fraction of a centimeter. "I came to apologize."
First Aid dropped the tool he was holding and then jumped when it clanged loudly upon hitting the ground. "Excuse me?"
Prowl took a cautious step forward but stopped when First Aid shifted his weight the tinniest amount. "Jazz was kind enough to show me what happened during the gap in my memory files. I know I hurt you. I came to apologize for that."
First Aid looked away then, his frame heating with embarrassment. "You weren't in your right processor. Ratchet said you don't even remember it happening."
"That is correct." Prowl confirmed, not moving yet. "I have no independent recall of the event. That does not mean I do not owe you a formal apology."
First Aid looked at him, engine revving weakly, though he looked somewhat irritated. "I don't want a formal apology."
Prowl blinked, not expecting to be rebuffed in such a way. But the way First Aid refused to meet his gaze for longer than the briefest of moments testified that something was most definitely wrong with the young apprentice. He seemed even more nervous and unconfident than when Chromia had tried to coerce the medic to repair him that first time.
Then Prowl understood. That was exactly what had happened; First Aid's confidence had been shattered. That was untenable and guilt stabbed at Prowl's spark even as his tactical computer immediately set to work on what he could do to help remedy the situation. It presented a solution within astroseconds, though Prowl was not overly fond of the solution itself.
He released a resigned vent, not giving any other outward indication as to his personal opinion. He had to approach this carefully or it would only drive the timid medic away even further.
He kept his voice soft. "If you do not wish for an apology, there is only one thing I would ask of you instead."
First Aid's optics narrowed and he shifted away. "What?"
Keeping his doorwings in their deferential tuck, Prowl continued. "You saw the damage done to my command cortex?"
First Aid nodded, giving a small shudder at the memory. "Yeah. It's remarkable you're still… well, you."
"Indeed." Prowl agreed easily. "I understand you did not participate as Ratchet repaired the coding."
For some reason it was not as hard to discuss if he kept it to the third-person; less personal perhaps.
First Aid shook his helm vigorously at that, taking a tiny step backwards. "No. It was too soon… I… I couldn't." he sounded acutely stressed and Prowl knew he was touching the crux of the matter.
Prowl took in a deep vent, keeping his gaze averted just enough to not be threatening. "I would like you to look at the codes."
"What?" First Aid squeaked.
Prowl ventured to take a step closer, still attempting to show by body language he was not a threat. "Because of me, you missed out on an important learning opportunity. Ratchet is a very skilled code writer. While it is not the same as seeing the repair done real-time, it will still be beneficial for you to see it now."
First Aid just stared at him. "You want me to go back in your head?"
"I want to make up for what my uncontrolled actions did to you." Prowl corrected gently.
He saw conflicting fear and increasing curiosity war on First Aid's faceplate. The longer that conflict continued, the deeper Prowl knew the damage had been done. He doubted the damage to First Aid's budding confidence was limited to dealing with him. That was not something he could allow to continue.
Making a decision Prowl deliberately sat on one of the nearest berths and gestured the medic closer. First Aid approached, optics wide looking almost numb. Pushing away his own discomfort at what he was about to do for First Aid's sake, he took up a position on the berth identical to the one he had taken when First Aid had repaired him that first time, ducking his doorwings into a mirroring, submissive posture.
"I… I can't." First Aid stumbled, cringing, a look of raw fear and remembered agony flashing behind his optics.
"The fragmentation was worse than you told Jazz." Prowl observed softly.
"I…" First Aid looked down. "Jolt had to help me because Ratchet was still working on you. It… it was…"
"Worse than any physical pain you have experienced." Prowl supplied gently.
First Aid just nodded, looking anywhere but at Prowl. Prowl's spark ached, knowing what First Aid had experienced because of his… glitch. He wanted to help First Aid overcome this renewed insecurity. It was something the protector, the guardian in him needed to do.
"I have not yet rebuilt my firewalls." He said, watching First Aid with genuine compassion in his optics even if it was not reflected greatly in the rest of his posture. He continued, pleased with the steadiness of his voice as every instinct he had screamed against what he was about to do. "Activate the magnetic restraints. Examine the repaired coding: I will not be able to hurt you this time."
First Aid's armor rattled slightly as he began trembling physically. "That isn't necessary…"
Prowl realized then what needed to be done to make sure First Aid did what he had to do in order to regain the confidence he had lost. Once more his instincts rebelled, but he reminded himself that he was planning to give First Aid access to his processors any way. This was no different.
Thankfully, the Prime himself had given him the means to push this issue.
"Do it, First Aid." Prowl ordered, firmly but not harshly.
First Aid blinked, spinal struts stiffening at the tenor of command in that order. His optics darted down to Prowl's collar struts, taking in the new rank insignia etched into Prowl's armor for the first time. His optics widened in shock
Then, seeing Prowl did indeed have the authority to issue such a command, he cleared his vents. "Yes… yes sir."
Prowl held perfectly still until the magnetic field activated and then relaxed against it. He slid aside the appropriate pieces of armor and then shuttered his optics as First Aid reluctantly synched with his processor.
First Aid's tension was palpable through the hard line connection and it made some of his lower level defenses activate automatically. Prowl's doorwings flicked minutely at the faint stabbing sensation that caused, but knew it was nothing at all compared to the intense pain from fragmentation the young medic had experienced and thus did not respond to the discomfort, did not even react otherwise.
For his part, finding that Prowl was defenseless, just as he had said, First Aid began to relax and that allowed his medical programming to kick in.
The weak but definite stabbing pain vanished, replaced by the relatively soothing touch of medic-specific programming. It was a good sign and Prowl transmitted a wordless encouragement to the younger mech.
First Aid started with the peripheral coding of his command cortex, examining how Ratchet had spliced them back together. Then he looked deeper, examining line by line, the 'scaffolding' that bridged the worst of the damage. True to his word, Prowl remained absolutely still, not interfering at all, letting the young medic look at whatever he wanted, letting him take whatever time he needed.
Prowl could not help but notice, as this was the first time he had experienced the junior medic's mental touch in his mind without the CMO accompanying him, that First Aid's presence was, while nearly just as strong as Ratchet's, was actually less uncomfortable.
As deep in his command cortex as First Aid was, he could not help but pick up on that observation and he ducked his helm fractionally, internal systems warming.
"It is true, First Aid." Prowl assured verbally, letting his lip plate quirk slightly hoping to help the young medic relax. "He has synched with my systems frequently enough for me to be able to make that comparison with a fair degree of confidence.."
First Aid stared and then chuckled. The sound was quiet but it was enough that he was able to relax and continue the exam in a much more fluid and efficient manner.
It took nearly ten breems for First Aid to allay his professional curiosity. In that time, neither mech was aware of Jolt's blue and black form as he watched from a distance for the span of one breem before quietly ensuring the two were not disturbed by anyone else.
By the time he was finished, First Aid's nervousness had completely abated. He pulled back, disconnecting and hastily releasing the magnetic field that had held Prowl to the berth. The junior medic stepped back as Prowl's frame shifted and settled.
Prowl released a vent and slid to his pedes, glad that First Aid did not retreat further.
He looked at the younger medic. "Had I been in control of myself, I would never have harmed you, First Aid."
First Aid nodded and, even though it was the same sentiment Jazz had expressed on his behalf in the memory Prowl had been given, the medic was much more confident than he had been for the saboteur. "I know. Prowl… I'm better now. I really am."
Prowl allowed his doorwings to dip further. "That is good. I…" He cleared his vents, truly uncomfortable expressing emotional sentiment. "I am not sure I would have forgiven myself if I was unable to undo what my actions did."
First Aid blinked and then instinctively reached toward Prowl, he hesitated and then laid a gentle hand to Prowl's shoulder. "Prowl… Thank you."
"You are welcome, First Aid."
Finally, for the first time in just over three orns, First Aid was able to smile.
Ok.
One: The title came from the legal and/or moral/ethical duty that all public servants (police, fireman etc...) and medical personnel (nurses, EMT and doctors etc) have to render aid to those who need it, even when off duty. (Oh, I got a couple of people asking what type of medical professional I am... Here is your answer: I am a registered nurse)
Two: I know the two memories might have been a little awkward to follow… but I was trying to show Prowl's POV while he was experiencing Jazz's POV without loosing sight of the fact that it was still Prowl's POV. So, yeah, I did the best I could.
Three: Moving forward with getting Prowl on his path to becoming SIC of the Autobot army… Oh, that reminds me, I have had a couple of people ask how far I am taking this story. The answer is simple: Until Prowl becomes the Prime's Second in Command. He is only taking his provisional role as second in command of the Tactical Department. So, we still have some way to go. And yes, as will become apparent as the plot moves forward from here, this story may possibly be considered a prequel to TF1.
Four: There is a time jump coming up, not the next chapter but soon. See, I figure that he would have to serve as second in the tactical department for at least a vorn before he gets promoted to Commander of the tactical division. So… yeah If I tried to portray that entire vorn without a time jump I'd never get to finish the story.
Five: I will do my best to get the next chapter out as fast as possible, but the circumstances that are keeping from my computer are not likely to change for… a while. I thank you for your patience. (Seriously though, It's only been a little over two weeks. I've kinda been spoiling you guys. ;) )
