Woohoo! Unexpectedly quick update.
Actually, I'm just being nice. Next two weeks are looking to be really crazy so, I wanted to update now before it got delayed. But, I did rush to get it out so… I apologize in advance for any ugly grammatical issues that may exist.
As the unexpected lull in Decepticon aggression continued into its third decaorn, broken by nothing more than the occasional skirmish - which were usually over long before Iacon Command even learned it had happened - life in the spark of Autobot power had settled in a new rhythm. And, as uncomfortable as some of the Autobots might be with the fact, Prowl was part of that rhythm.
At least within the tactical department, even if he did his best to maintain the lowest possible profile he could among the base population in general.
Where some might have been tempted to sloth at the prolonged lack of aggression, Prowl, Smokescreen and – under their influence – the rest of the tactical staff were on even higher alert than before.
That had not changed midway through that third decaorn as Prowl Smokescreen, Fusion, Trailbreaker and Tailgate stood around the primary tactical holographic display-well while the junior level staff continued their various duties on the peripheral stations.
Before them, floating in the air in various green, blue and yellow hues was a representation of Cybertron with the last three decaorns' worth of known Decepticon activity clearly demarcated. It was the same map they had been staring at for too many orns and presented no new answers.
"This is useless," Fusion muttered, fist clenching.
"It is not useless," Prowl countered with outward calmness, though internally he felt the same frustration. "We must not have all the relevant facts."
"We are missing something, that's for sure," Smokescreen agreed.
"This is all there is!" Tailgate bristled at the possible accusation that he had not been competent in compiling the data.
The way Smokescreen's vents flared in frustration was testament to the increasing tension felt by all the tactical staff the longer the Decepticon's true intentions eluded them.
"I do not doubt that all the available facts are before us," Prowl mediated, "Undoubtedly the Decepticons are simply keeping a tight enough grip on their intentions that our intelligence and espionage divisions simply have not been able to discover all relevant data."
"They're doing the best they can." Fusion's optics flashed across the hologram at Prowl.
"Of course they are," Trailbreaker shook his helm, "That isn't the point."
"Then what is the point?" Tailgate demanded, pointing at Prowl. "No matter what we do it isn't good enough for him."
Prowl stiffened but Trailbreaker spoke before he could, "He is second in command of the department. His job is to push us towards excellence. "
Fusion and Tailgate fell silent, their faceplates going slack as they stared at their coworker with a small degree of shock. Even Smokescreen was blinking at his former Second.
Prowl released a soft vent of air, glad for the support from such an unlikely ally. He nodded his thanks and then looked at the dark gray mech. "Nor am I accusing anyone, Tailgate."
Smokescreen recovered his momentarily scattered wits, rubbing a hand wearily over his optics. He spoke with a small shake of his helm. "We have been staring at the same data for joors. We need a break. Nothing is going to be accomplished at this rate."
The white and gray Praxian nodded dismissal and they dispersed. All but Prowl, who continued to stare at the slowly rotating display.
"You too, Prowl," Smokescreen said quietly, though still loudly enough others heard.
"I would prefer to continue considering the problem…" Prowl started, but Smokescreen cut him off.
"Take a break, Prowl." Smokescreen's optics were hard and this time he spoke loud enough for everyone in the command center to hear.
Prowl blinked, then dipped his helm, well aware of their audience. He suspected that Smokescreen was not angry at him, but at the situation that was vexing all of them. Everyone's tempers had been short for several orns.
For that reason he dipped his helm formally, choosing not to push the matter, "Yes, sir."
He turned away before lifting his gaze and therefore did not see Smokescreen's blink, nor the sudden guilt that flooded his optics. He did, however, receive his apprentice's repentant comm.. /Prowl, I didn't mean to be…/
/Unreasonable?/ Prowl provided when Smokescreen trailed off.
/Unreasonable./ Smokescreen acceded.
Prowl transmitted the equivalent of a tiny self-depreciating smirk even as he proceeded to make a circuit of the tactical command center, checking the status of the mechs under his command. /Accepted, but unnecessary. You were quite correct that a 'break' from the same analysis is only prudent when nothing new has presented itself. Fresh intelligence will be received within a couple of joors, perhaps we will achieve better results then./
/Prudent for most mechs./ Smokescreen said mulishly. /But I know you could still perhaps find something useful./
/Perhaps, perhaps not./ Prowl allowed amiably, though his processor was still racing. /I have considered the possibility that a new approach might be needed./
Smokescreen returned to his office, though he did not stop his silent conversation with Prowl. /Such as?/
/While it is true that I have far more experience in such tactical analysis than the rest of our staff,/ Prowl's words were devoid of any hint of arrogance: he was merely stating a fact. /It remains true that my perspective is still limited./
Smokescreen pondered that in silence as Prowl finished his round of the tactical command and returned, not to the central holographic well he had been ordered to leave, but to a secondary terminal to finish a couple of reports he had not yet completed.
/What are you saying?/ Smokescreen asked finally.
/In the Precinct analysis of such magnitude and enigma would often be approached tandemly./ Prowl stated, his mental tone almost hesitant. /It allows for different perspectives in a much more…fluid manner./
Smokescreen was silent for another moment. /With more than two minds? It would have to be a hierarchical tandem chain or there would be chaos./
This time it was Prowl who hesitated in answering. /Yes./
When Smokescreen responded, his mental voice was touched with regret and apology. /I doubt any of the others will go for it. And, well…/
/I know. Technically I am still on probation and tandem interfaces are prohibited for all former Decepticons until the conclusion of their probationary period./ Prowl acknowledged. /In no way am I encouraging anyone to violate the regulations. I merely offer it as a theoretical possibility./
/I would be willing./ Smokescreen offered quickly. /But I am not sure how much assistance I would actually be. This type of analysis is not my strength. Other than you, the closest one is…Trailbreaker./
/Indeed. He did well interpreting the data and finding things others have missed during our previous battles./ Prowl agreed.
/Perhaps Fusion as well. He has shown an ability to be able to anticipate Decepticon actions./ Smokescreen hesitated, /But he remains far too hostile. I'm afraid to even suggest it to him./
Prowl had nothing to add to that statement and so he said nothing. But as Smokescreen, his commanding officer, did not cut the connection, he did not either.
/One of the lower ranking analysts perhaps?/ Smokescreen offered suddenly. /I know their experience is much less than Trailbreaker's or mine. But in a hierarchical chain, perspective matters just as much as experience. At least it would be something./
Prowl only sent a confirming blip, not commenting either way.
There was silence for a long moment and Prowl continued to work on his reports. Then Smokescreen's voice filled his processor again, accompanied by a nearly audible hiss of aggravation.
/Slaggit all. I can't ask them to do something like this. I don't care, but it would be irresponsible for me to ask, let alone order, any of them to break the regulations. Even stupid ones./ There was a brief pause and Smokescreen's office door slid open and he walked purposefully back toward the main terminal.
"Prowl!" Smokescreen barked loud enough it made everyone jump or flinch, including the individual he was addressing.
Regaining his composure, Prowl turned from the computer he had been using and inclined his helm politely. "Sir?"
"Enough of a break. Get your aft over here. Now." It was said with a devious little smile that belied the harshness of his choice of words.
Not entirely sure what his apprentice intended, Prowl obediently returned to the main terminal. Smokescreen beckoned him to come closer and Prowl complied.
Assuming Smokescreen's call had been his way of recalling all of them back to their primary task, Trailbreaker, Fusion and Tailgate also started making their way closer.
/Don't question me on this./ Smokescreen sent to Prowl only an astrosecond before his armor slid aside to allow access to his dataport. Simultaneously, he handed his cord to Prowl. "Prowl."
The way his designation was spoken was an order, a question and a plea: all at the same time.
"Yes, sir." Prowl answered, still somewhat baffled but also a touch amused. Even so he obligingly did the same as Smokescreen.
An instant later their minds melded. Much to the dismay of the rest of the tactical staff. Shouted exclamations swirled around them. It was indeed a good thing they had not attempted to involve any others.
/Continue with the analysis./ Smokescreen instructed, his amusement flowing back across Prowl's perception. /Just leave me enough processing power to deal with the rest of the staff./
/Of course./ Prowl was unable to hide his own amusement at the situation. Then he dove into the task at hand.
Prowl directed the analysis, but Smokescreen's mind flowed with him, adding a different perspective – a slightly different angle – through which to view each fact and data point investigated. It was an activity they had done frequently in their vorns together in Praxus. It was a role defensive strategists usually played for the offensive tacticians in the field. Thus Prowl had ensured Smokescreen practiced the skill frequently. So much so that it was not something either had to struggle with.
While Prowl worked, Smokescreen focused on the three senior tacticians, now staring at them with various degrees of alarm, concern and worry. His gaze flicked pasted them to see that their outbursts had attracted the attention of the entire department. And they all shared the same level of anxiety.
"Yes?" He asked no one in particular.
They glanced at each other, as if surprised he was able to talk to them at all. It was the best evidence he was not involved in a desperate battle for his own sanity at Prowl's hands.
"Um…" Trailbreaker looked back and forth between Prowl and Smokescreen, his optics snagging on the two cords connecting them.
"It's called a tandem process." Smokescreen provided, unable to hide a tiny smirk. "It makes analysis like this one easier. I should have thought about it earlier."
Trailbreaker's optics flashed. "I know what it is. But… I mean, he's… Um."
Smokescreen blinked, seeing the conflicting concerns and… loyalty?... in his former second in command's optics. Realizing very clearly in that moment just how much Trailbreaker had actually come to respect Prowl, Smokescreen softened his voice.
"He's still on probation. Yes." He smiled at Trailbreaker. "If that weren't the case or had we been back in Pra… in the Enforcer Corps, we would have utilized this approach decaorns ago."
"Then why didn't he say something earlier?" Fusion demanded. "He has been wasting our time…"
"You tried to force him into a monitor situation the last time you worked together because of these regulations, Fusion." Smokescreen snapped. "Don't contradict yourself now. You know exactly how you would have reacted had Prowl brought this up earlier."
Fusion had the good graces to wince and drop his gaze. Smokescreen continued, calmer. "I know it is against the regulations at this point. But he is only going to be on probation for the rest of this vorn. After that, we will be using much more of this type of thing."
Trailbreaker's optics focused on the cords connecting them. "I've never done a tandem process. Not really. I don't think any of us have."
Smokescreen smiled. "That doesn't mean you can't learn."
The other mechs continued to watch the scene intently, various degrees of worry clouding their faceplates.
Smokescreen sighed, turning more of his focus back to the analysis itself. /We have an audience./
Prowl did not even slow his rapid-fire perusal of the data. /They are concerned for your safety./
Smokescreen blinked, as deep in his mentor's processor as he was, he was very aware that while resigned acceptance accompanied that statement, it was devoid of bitterness or resentment. Much less than Smokescreen himself felt.
/They shouldn't be./ Smokescreen spat.
Prowl did not answer and Smokescreen followed his lead in focusing on the task at hand.
Unfortunately, when they finished they were not much closer to an answer than before. The palpable tension in the room eased as soon as the two cords connecting their commanders disconnected.
"Well?" Fusion demanded. "Did you find anything to justify the risks of…"
"The actual risks were minimal, I'm sure," Trailbreaker interrupted.
Fusion's optics snapped to Trailbreaker, but the other tactician kept his gaze on the two department leaders.
His words, delivered calmly and with a noticeable degree of confidence, helped ease the tension in the room. It was not something either Smokescreen or Prowl could have accomplished in that moment, and it served to highlight how much Trailbreaker's opinion of Prowl had changed.
"Indeed," Prowl nodded gratefully to Trailbreaker for the second time in only a handful of breems. "Unfortunately the only new insight we have gained is confirmation that these supposedly random skirmishes are indeed intentional and planned. Though for what cause remains unknown."
"To diminish our forces through attrition?" Tailgate asked.
"But we win more of them than we loose," Fusion countered, frowning in thought.
Silence settled over them for a moment then Trailbreaker looked up from where he had dropped his gaze to the holograms in the display well. "To make us overconfident? Make us careless because of a long string of easy victories so that we are not prepared when their next real offensive comes?"
The lower ranking mechs looked at each other, while Prowl calmly considered Trailbreaker. Then he nodded. "That sounds reasonable. And while it does not help us determine what that attack will look like, it at least gives us cause not to allow ourselves to become complacent. Good job, Trailbreaker."
Trailbreaker smiled at the praise, though his frame warmed self-consciously a degree or two.
Relieved, truly and deeply relieved for the first time since Prowl had been promoted to his second in command, that Trailbreaker had indeed overcome his antipathy for Prowl, Smokescreen put them back to work.
… … …
As had become his custom in the three decaorns of the uneasy lull in Decepticon activity, Prowl's innate sense that something potentially devastating was just on the horizon had driven him to spend countless joors continuing to study, analyze and calculate all possible variables and scenarios even outside his allotted shifts.
Not that he would short Bluestreak on attention, only that every spare breem not dedicated to Bluestreak or his various lessons with the Prime and the medics was spent on the larger tactical problem. More often than not, on those nights that Prowl neglected to collect his evening energon, Jazz would bring some by his quarters for him.
Prowl tried not to grow dependent on the silver saboteur's kindness and was usually so engrossed in his work that he probably would not have noticed the lack of fuel were it not provided. Not to mention; those interactions were awkward, more so than it probably should have been.
Jazz was always friendly to him, exaggeratedly so occasionally, and seemed irritated when Prowl retained a more formal demeanor. Prowl knew his behavior was frustrating his former interrogator but, in light of Ultra Magnus' blunt and public rebuke, Prowl was not about to take chances.
That did not seem to daunt Jazz's attempts, for which Prowl – if he admitted it to himself – was grateful.
It was on one such night, nearly a decaorn after his tandem analysis with Smokescreen, that Prowl consciously decided not to retrieve his evening energon for the first time. He was confident that Jazz would provide it, as the silver saboteur was on base that evening.
Bluestreak was clicking gently in recharge, as Prowl kept his attention between three different datapads and the computer monitor in his desk, when the uneasy feeling of being watched settled over him.
He frowned, knowing that was a ridiculous idea, even if he pointedly ignored the indicators that at least two monitoring devices still graced his quarters. But the feeling did not go away so, as he had learned to trust his instincts, when it did not fade after a breem he paused to glance around.
And saw Jazz standing in front of his desk, arms crossed over his chassis.
Prowl's engine revved in understated surprise and well hidden discomfort at the silver saboteur's presence, compounded by an unpleasant look on the minibot's faceplate. There was no cube of energon in view.
Jazz said nothing and Prowl got the distinct impression the smaller mech was unhappy with him. What had he done?
"Jazz…" Prowl's processor cast about, trying to think of something to say. He settled for the first thing that came to mind, which also happened to be the painfully obvious. "You hacked the lock."
That was when he realized he could not sense Jazz's spark signature, meaning the mech had it dampened, and that the feed from his upgraded doorwings was diverted because of the effort he was putting into his analysis. Belatedly he re-routed the signal priorities and Jazz suddenly appeared on his scanners, though muffled compared to how strong his spark signature should have been.
"Yeah. I hacked it. That all ya got to say?" Jazz said after a moment, his armor flared in unspoken challenge.
Carefully, Prowl put the datapad he was holding to the side. How aught he to respond to such a question? Ask Jazz what he was doing there? Offer the mech a seat?
Once more Prowl settled for addressing the obvious. "You are displeased."
A frown tipped a silver lip plate downward. "I hacked your lock and ya ask if I'm displeased?"
Prowl blinked, then he stood, slowly and respectfully, assuming a posture suitable to the dressing down he now felt sure was coming. "Clearly you are unhappy with me, though at this point I am unclear as to what I have done."
"Stop it!"
Prowl blinked. "Stop what, sir?"
"That!" Jazz's hand jerked up and down indicating the length of Prowl's frame. "Standin' there like ya expect me ta chew ya new exhaust port. I know ya got called out for talkin' informal to me, but in case ya hadn't noticed: it's just tha two of us here at the moment."
Prowl was silent for a handful of astroseconds as he considered those words and realized that while he had been worried for the last quartex that he would be inappropriately informal in light of Ultra Magnus' admonition, Jazz had been attempting to bridge that uncomfortable gap. Prowl had not even been attempting to meet the minibot half way. He realized belatedly that, while he had merely been cautious, it would have doubtless come across as rude.
He lowered his gaze, letting his armor clamp tighter to his frame contritely. "I…"
"Shove it!" Jazz leaned closer, his optics flashing behind his visor. "It's awfully hard to have a friendly chat when each time I come over I get the feeling that ya are just waiting for me to snap and…"
Jazz trailed off, one hand raised, clawed finger pointing up into Prowl's face. Then the tension left the saboteur's frame and he sagged before slumping down into the chair.
"… and chew ya out." Jazz finished softly, rubbing a hand over his visor. "Sorry."
Prowl watched Jazz for several sparkbeats, saw the genuine self-directed irritation, and then slowly lowered himself into his own chair. "I have been cautious Jazz. I did not mean to be rude, but that is what has happened. I…"
"Don't apologize." Jazz cut him off. "I know that with Ultra Magnus' dressing down an' all ya really don't have much of a choice. I shouldn'ta snapped at ya."
Prowl did not know what to say, so he glanced at Bluestreak, but the young mechling was still soundly in recharge.
As if sensing his internal disquiet, Jazz straightened and put a hand flat on the desk between them. The intensity in the saboteur's gaze drew Prowl's attention back to him. His visor was retracted.
"Look… we're friends. Sorta. At least as close to it as we can be, considerin' everything an' all." Jazz studied him for a long moment. "Right?"
"I…" Prowl's engine revved before he could catch it. He lowered his voice, "That is what I had assumed. At least before."
"Yeah." Jazz continued to study him. Then he shook his helm once, almost violently. "Frag. Why does somethin' like this happen every time we start ta make progress?"
The last was almost muttered, as if he were talking to himself and Prowl was not at first sure whether he should answer.
Then, almost as an after thought, Jazz produced a cube of energon and handed it to Prowl. "Here ya go, Prowler."
Somehow comforted by the use of the otherwise annoying nickname, Prowl accepted the cube with a grateful bob of his helm. "Thank you, Jazz."
Following that there was an uncomfortable silence.
Then Jazz released a long, slow vent of air that was followed by a low humourless laugh. "Considerin' how… unlikely it all is, we aren't that bad off. Even now. We'll find a way."
When Prowl just cocked an optic ridge in question, Jazz shot him a sad smile. "At least this time it wasn't somethin' I did to ya. At least not directly."
Prowl blinked. "Ultra Magnus' dressing down was in no way your responsibility."
Jazz only snorted air through his vents.
In watching Jazz, Prowl began to suspect more was at play in the silver minibot's thoughts than just recent events. Though he was by no means an expert in reading other's emotions, he thought he saw hints of regret and self-directed disgust lining Jazz's mostly shielded expression. He could reason what underlie those brooding emotions, but he was not confident enough in those calculations to be sure.
Then, deciding his un-intentional rudeness should be amended, Prowl took a calculated risk in assuming he could accurately identify the enigmatic mech's contemplations.
"You said before that I was too valuable an information source to not do what was necessary to get the intelligence I had." Prowl spoke quietly, watching Jazz carefully. "I knew that at the time. I have never begrudged you for taking what you needed. I expected it, and you were kinder doing so than I had anticipated. Far kinder than I deserved."
"I didn't even have ta take it, did I tho? Ya woulda given me what I'd wanted if I'd just asked." Jazz did not look at him.
"Yes." Prowl affirmed. "But that was not a chance you could take at the time. You had no reason to believe anything I might willingly give you."
Jazz's engine revved lowly in quiet disagreement. "Ya did willingly give me everything I wanted, every time… even when I fragmented ya outa spite. Ain't nothing that can justify doin' that to ya Prowler. Nothin'"
Jazz looked up at him then. "I don't feel guilty about interrogating ya. That was somethin' I had ta do. But… I shouldn'ta fragmented ya. I don't have an excuse for that."
Jazz's intensity made Prowl self-conscious and he dropped his gaze to the cube of energon in his hands. True to his previous consideration, Jazz did not quite ask forgiveness, though it was clear that was what he most desired in that moment.
Suddenly Jazz's swirling mix of anger, irritation and regret took on new meaning as Prowl considered them through the filter of lingering guilt the silver minibot might be feeling.
He opened his mouth to say something, but the words died in his vocalizer. Then he heard himself speaking. "I am not angry about that any more, Jazz."
Jazz rocked back slightly. He opened his lip plates but before he could say anything, a small, tired voice came from the berth behind him. "Not angry about what?"
The two adults' gazes snapped to the youngling, who was now sitting on the berth, optics slightly unfocused as he struggled to restart exhausted systems. Neither mech answered right away, glancing at each other, hoping one of them would think of a way to answer Bluestreak, wondering how long the youngling had been aware of their conversation.
As their silence stretched, Bluestreak's optics sharpened, his upgraded processor whirring quickly to full wakefulness.
They could almost see his mind piecing things together as he reviewed the limited amount of information he did know. His optics danced from his caretaker to Jazz and back, his tiny frame tensing.
"The last time Prowl was really angry was when he didn't want to scare me because he was hurt by some 'Bots because of a misunderstanding." Bluestreak murmured more to himself than to his now stricken audience. "No one ever told me what happened, but…" His optics grew wide, "Prowl mentioned a hostile interface to Hound and everything I've read says that that type of thing fragments a mech's mind and I don't know what that's like but it sounds like it would hurt…"
His helm snapped upward, young blue optics focusing on Prowl. "That's what happened, wasn't it? You were fragmented, your processor I mean!"
Before Prowl could answer, Bluestreak looked at Jazz, optics growing wider as he finished processing the parts of the conversation he had heard, fitting those tidbits into the rest of the picture he had managed to create.
A shaky hand rose, pointing at Jazz with disbelief tinged with hurt and betrayal. "You! You were the one who hurt Prowl!"
Alarmed, Prowl called Bluestreak's designation, but Jazz shot out a hand to stay him and stood slowly.
Prowl watched anxiously as Jazz approached the berth Bluestreak still sat on. He knew Jazz would never harm the youngling, and that alone made it possible for him to heed Jazz's silent request not to interfere. The general protective subroutines he was utilizing in his care of Bluestreak made that possible; had they been full guardian protocols, he doubted he would have been able to so fully contain his instinctive desire to intervene.
Jazz knelt before the now trembling sparkling. "Yes, I did."
Bluestreak's doorwings quivered. "He trusted you!"
Nodding solemnly Jazz confirmed the accusation. "Yes, he did."
Little hands clinched into fists. "I trusted you. I thought you were nice, that you weren't like the others who were so mean to him. But you… you hurt him! You tore his mind apart!"
Jazz winced openly. "I wish I hadn't."
"But that doesn't change anything, does it!" Bluestreak was almost yelling as he looked up at Prowl. "You didn't tell me what happened or who did it." It was as much a desperate plea to know why he had not been told as it was an accusation and a simple statement of fact.
Taking the fact that he had been addressed as his cue to join the conversation, Prowl likewise stood and stepped toward the berth. However, he stopped when Bluestreak tensed further.
"It happened." Prowl said softly. "But the damage was undone. It is in the past and I did not want you to be upset."
"So you lied to me?" The question was shrill and sparkbreaking.
"I have never lied to you, Bluestreak." Prowl rejoined gently. "I simply spared you the details because I did not want to trouble you. You liked being with Jazz and I did not want to hurt you or damage your own relationship with him."
"But he hurt you!" Confusion and a plaintive desire to understand wove into Bluestreak's voice.
"Yes, he did." Prowl confirmed, aware that Jazz winced again. "It was a legitimate misunderstanding, and I am no longer angry about it. I don't want you to be angry either."
"You haven't done anything wrong since you came here, but you get hurt anyway. It's better now I think, but… I know what you were when we first came here and I can kinda understand why you couldn't let yourself be angry with them, but…why don't you want me to be angry?"
"Because I've forgiven him." The words slipped out of Prowl's vocalizer with such fluidity it visibly startled Jazz, who then sagged faintly with relief, his shoulders slumping fractionally as he lowered his helm briefly.
Bluestreak blinked at Prowl. Then his gaze clouded and he looked back at the silver mech kneeling in front of him. "I haven't. And I don't want to. I thought I could trust him, but he hurt you and that means he hurt me too because you're my guardian, my caretaker. And you never defend yourself."
Glittering, angry optics turned onto Jazz with such fury that it startled Prowl. He had never seen Bluestreak so angry, not even at the Decepticons who had killed his creators and destroyed Praxus. It was wrong that such a strong emotion be directed against an Autobot, especially for an injury not caused to him directly.
"It mighta happened a long time ago for ya." Jazz intoned softly, not looking away from Bluestreak. "But it's fresh ta him. Ya were angry at first too. It ain't fair to ask more of 'im than ya did of yourself."
Actually, it had only been a handful of quartex, but so much had happened since then, Prowl had to admit it felt like a long time had passed.
/I lost control./ Prowl reminded the saboteur. For six joors he had ruthlessly demolished a long string of holographic opponents. It had been all that had kept him from going crazy as his ethical programming prohibited him from attacking the ones responsible.
/I'm amazed he hasn't already, actually./ Jazz replied.
/The new processor expansion./ Prowl supplied. /He's been better able to control his mood swings since he has fully integrated it./
"Get out. Go away." Bluestreak commanded, tiny fists clenched, his entire frame quaking.
Jazz shook his helm. "That isn't what ya really want me ta do."
"Yes it is too. You're a horrible monster! I hate you. Go away."
When Jazz shook his helm again, denying the youngling's request, Prowl was about to ask him the wisdom of provoking Bluestreak, but said youngling reacted before he could.
Bluestreak launched himself at Jazz just as he had Sunstreaker, small arms flailing as small fists raked against bright silver paint. "You meany, cruel, monster. Prowl's been real nice since he came here and you pretended to be his friend, and mine, and then you ripped his mind apart. Then you act like nothing happened and you… you…"
Prowl took another step, prepared to physically restrain Bluestreak, but Jazz lifted a hand to wave him away. /He can't really hurt me./
/He should not have lost control./ Prowl corrected, troubled but obediently not interfering as Bluestreak continued to attack Jazz.
Jazz shot him an arched look. /It took ya six joors to regain control. This has had a lot o' time to fester and build up a back-lash. I'll handle it./
The protective programming running through Prowl's systems wanted to snatch Bluestreak away at those words but the logical creature that controlled Prowl's programming most of the time restrained the instinct.
As if reading his thoughts, Jazz tossed him another transmission. /I won't hurt him./
Then Jazz seemed to dismiss Prowl entirely as he focused on the youngling assaulting him.
Bluestreak was blabbering incomprehensively by that point and his movements were less fierce. After only a handful of breems, he seemed to suddenly realize what he was doing. He stopped hitting Jazz's chassis and looked down at his hands, turning them over to look at his knuckle plating.
Bluestreak's mouth worked silently as he considered the bright silver paint marring his usually gray hands. Then his optics darted up to Jazz and saw the streaks where that paint had been pealed away.
With only the faint tremble of armor as warning, Bluestreak's legs buckled and he fell to the berth's surface, curling into a tight ball.
Prowl watched, mesmerized as Jazz reached out and gently laid a hand on his charge's back, between his doorwings. Bluestreak flinched but then froze entirely.
"Ya feel better now?" Jazz asked gently.
Bluestreak's trembling turned into the shaking of sobs and a keen rattled from his tiny frame. He shook his helm, burying it in his arms as if to hide from Jazz entirely.
"After all that?" Jazz asked, a hint of kind amusement in his voice. "Ya should."
Bluestreak just curled tighter to himself. It was all Prowl could do not to step in, only hearing the soft crooning sound whisper from Jazz's engine stopped him. With amazing gentleness, Jazz reached forward with his other hand, his claws not even nicking Bluestreak's paint as he lifted the youngling's chin.
Young blue optics widened, though the expression was more fear than surprise and he shook his helm, pulling back. Bluestreak looked away from Jazz, shifting his frightened optics to Prowl.
Lubricant pooled and spilt down his faceplate. "I'm sorry, Prowl. I'm so sorry."
Prowl glanced at Jazz and was relieved to see the saboteur was amused rather than annoyed that Bluestreak had chosen to apologize to him, rather than the one he had just attacked.
The tactician chose his words carefully. "I know you are concerned for me, and I appreciate your anger on my behalf, but…"
"I shouldn't have lost control." Bluestreak looked down again. Then, timidly, he forced himself to look at Jazz, optics tracing each scratch he had caused. He started to say something, then stopped. He looked away.
Then a sigh of air that seemed far too large to be generated by such a tiny frame gusted from Bluestreak's vents. "I was going to say I regret scratching your paint, Jazz… but the Prime told me to be completely honest with everything I say, so I am, even if it gets me in trouble. I'm not really sorry, because I have a feeling Prowl never did anything to you for fragmenting him, and he probably never will. I'm tired of him being treated so badly just because he was a Decepticon. I didn't really hurt you; I just scratched your paint. The only thing I do regret is letting my caretaker down."
Bluestreak had pulled away from Jazz's comforting hand at some point and was standing with his chin raised stubbornly even if his doorwings trembled, revealing the presence of other emotions under the surface.
Jazz let his hand fall to rest flat on the berth. His expression was carefully composed as he nodded. "You're right. I hurt Prowl when I had no cause ta. And, 'cause he never did give me tha thrashing I deserved for doin' so, I'm willin' ta admit I deserved it."
Bluestreak blinked, his doorwings growing still. "You do?"
"Yes," Jazz nodded again, and then a rakish grin lit his faceplate. "In fact, I feel better 'bout the whole thing than I have since it happened."
Bluestreak only stared for a long moment, then his optics darted down to Jazz's chassis again and his rigid stance sagged into regret. "I'm sorry Jazz."
Jazz's expression softened into a true smile and he reached forward to lift Bluestreak's chin back up to meet his gaze. "You're okay, Bluestreak. What say we just call it even?"
Relief flashed across Bluestreak's optics, then they narrowed suspiciously. "Only if you don't hurt him again."
Jazz nodded solemnly. "I won't. Not intentionally and definitely not like that."
"How can I believe that? I trusted you once already." Bluestreak frowned, his doorwings quivering.
Jazz did not answer right away, his lip plates set in a firm and thoughtful line and he glanced briefly at Prowl. Then his visor retracted and when he spoke it was with a seriousness that caused even Bluestreak to grow still:
"I learned from that incident, Bluestreak, and from how Prowl handled it. I ain't ever gonna do that ta him again because I swore I'd support 'im unless he truly did betray us."
"He won't!"
Jazz nodded, a smile lightening his severe expression once more. "I know."
Bluestreak considered him for a moment longer and then his frame relaxed. He looked down and then stepped toward Jazz and gently put a hand on one of the scratches he had caused. "I shouldn't have attacked you. I'm sorry."
Jazz' gentle smile grew into a cheeky grin. "I'll live. Besides… I understand you are pretty good with a paint brush."
Bluestreak blinked and then looked back up, a tiny, shy smile replacing the serious expression etched across his faceplate. Then he shook his helm. "I've only done it once before, I'm probably not that good."
"If Prowl was your previous canvas, it's good enough." Jazz smiled. "Don't worry; I'll help ya."
Behind Jazz, Prowl released a vent of air he had forgotten to cycle. Only then did it fully register just how much Jazz claimed to trust him, how much the saboteur supported him, and it threatened to make his balance systems hitch.
The sly look the silver minibot shot him indicated Jazz knew exactly what effect his words had had.
He was being teased, though kindly. Prowl released another vent and cocked an optic ridge. "I do not suppose you have your paints with you?"
Jazz shook his helm, then held a hand out for Bluestreak to take. "Nope, but I got a stash in my quarters. Come on Bluestreak. Lets give you're guardian here an extra joor to finish up his reports."
After a moment's hesitation, Bluestreak reached out to take Jazz's hand and was lifted from the berth. He looked up at Prowl. "Is that alright?"
Prowl nodded, and Bluestreak smiled.
As the two walked out Bluestreak looked up at Jazz. "When we get back, can you make Prowl recharge? Because he hasn't been getting enough lately, I don't think. He stays up long after I've gone to recharge and then is up before I am. I worry about him, but I'm just a youngling and I can't tell him what to do, but… um may you... uh..."
"I'll take care of it." Jazz promised and then looked up and back at Prowl and shuttered one optic in a wink before his visor slid back into place.
Bluestreak had indeed returned a joor later with Jazz in tow, but Prowl had only been two-thirds the way through the report. One look between the two and Prowl knew he was out numbered, and that was before Jazz half-way teased about making it an order to recharge. So Prowl bowed to the superior force and left his work for the next orn.
He never bothered to reset the lock on his door.
… … …
Another quartex passed after the incident with Jazz and Bluestreak, and though the continued lack of definitive Decepticon strategy continued to vex all the Autobot tacticians, Prowl was also using the lull to train both the medics and the Prime as frequently as possible.
For that reason Prowl had the Prime join him in the training room for the fourth orn in a row.
This time they were sparring. The Prime had mastered the form he had been working on and it was time he learn to use the new movements he had learned. In order to help the larger mech integrate the moves, their fight was an orchestrated one – as well as being one that was conducted at less than full speed.
They had just started some light spontaneous sparring when his scanners detected a familiar spark signature. The Prime's sparkmate.
They paused their fight, stepping back to put space between them as the door slid open and Elita One walked into the training room. She stopped two steps past the threshold, looking between the two mechs.
"My apologies. I thought you might be alone Optimus. I didn't mean to interrupt." She smiled congenially.
Optimus glanced at Prowl, his expression one of respectful deference. Prowl was the master of this dojo and Prowl was impressed that the Prime would be willing to continue following the formal courtesy of their relative positions within the discipline even in the presence of others – of his sparkmate. He gave a subtle nod, one that was nothing more than a glance downward.
Optimus looked back at Elita One, "Of course not, my dear. Welcome."
She stepped to the side, allowing the door to close and the holographic matrix to reform. She glanced briefly around at their surroundings and then looked back at the two mechs. "Please continue. Do you mind if I watch?"
The Prime glanced at Prowl again, this time in question and Prowl gestured deferentially to him, letting him decide.
Optimus smiled down at his sparkmate, "Not at all."
Prowl turned toward the Prime when Optimus refocused on him. They bowed to each other as tradition dictated and then resumed their fight. Their movements were still slow and measured, allowing the Prime to get used to the newly mastered skills in differing situations.
But as they traded strikes and blocks in an intricate and gracefully deadly ballet, Prowl could not help but notice something was wrong. He had sparred enough with the Prime to know what he was capable of; to know his skill. And what he was seeing as their sparring match continued was that his movements were not as precise; that his responses were not as sharp.
Prowl frowned, processing the change, calculating the possible causes and remedies. It took nearly a breem before he figured it out: the Prime was distracted. By Elita One.
He could not demand the Femme Commander leave… or rather he could but knew that would not go over very well and would likely ruin whatever ground he might have gained with both the Prime and his Sparkmate.
That left him to use the distraction as an object lesson. He quickly weighed his options and chose his course of action.
Without giving any warning, he switched to full speed, abandoning the languid pace he had been using to let the Prime adapt to the new movements. He threw in a couple of strikes that the Prime should have been able to deflect but which struck true, leaving dents in the larger mech's chassis and ended with the Prime on one knee in a submission hold.
Prowl held the Prime there, one hand closed around a primary energon feed just long enough for Optimus to process what had happened. The Prime's heaving vents bathed his frame in heated air.
Then, abruptly, Prowl released him and stepped back. Seeing the change in his teacher's demeanor, the Prime did not move from his kneeling position. Instead, he just watched Prowl warily.
That Optimus did not retaliate indicated he recognized what Prowl had just done and was now waiting, trusting him to explain why he had done it. Prowl did not keep him waiting long, doing his best to ignore the angrily revving engine coming from the femme now at his back.
"You allowed yourself to become distracted," He said to the Prime, his voice tight. "Your focus was not on the fight."
The Prime dropped his gaze briefly to Prowl's chassis, accepting the rebuke. Even so, he spoke quickly. "Were you not also distracted?"
Prowl allowed himself to nod once. "Perhaps. But my function requires me to process multiple, complex processes simultaneously." Disappointment made his tone sharper than he intended. "You allowed your distraction to affect your fighting ability. It does not matter that…"
"How dare you!" Elita One slid between Prowl and Optimus, her frame dangerously tense.
Seeing the anger blaze in her optics and her carefully controlled posture, one that toed the line between authoritative command and the promise of ruthless violence, Prowl knew he was addressing the Femme Commander just as much as he was the Prime's sparkmate. Tactical computers only needing an astrosecond to sort through the available responses, Prowl immediately fell silent and stepped back.
She followed his retreat and that was enough to tell him he and pushed too far.
Prowl ducked his doorwings and lowered his own gaze submissively, but she took another step, closing the distance between them. Her optics flashed dangerously and, knowing that he was not going to get out of whatever she intended, he froze, bracing himself.
"How dare you." She repeated, her tone sharp as an energon blade. "This is your Prime. You are only a provisional Lieutenant Commander. Clearly being his instructor has made you loose perspective. You over stepped yourself."
Prowl shook his helm, daring to defend himself. "That is not true, ma'am. I…"
"Don't talk back to me." She snapped, cutting him off with another step toward him. "I won't tolerate any insolence from you, Prowl. Understand? Ultra Magnus has already addressed this matter. That I am having to do so again is not good. Am I clear?"
"Yes, ma'am." Prowl was still standing rigidly with his gaze lowered submissively.
She opened her mouth to continue, but Optimus – still kneeling on the mat – stopped her. "Elita…"
She looked back at him, optics blazing and he hesitated. Prowl understood: Optimus could not interfere without risking her dishonor in the optics of a lower ranking mech.
Prowl saw the Prime's glance at him and, with his optics told the Prime to stand down for now. His pride and dignity were not worth the Prime putting an otherwise avoidable wedge between himself and his sparkmate. However humiliating this might become, the sanctity of their bond was more important, especially since Prowl trusted the circumspect and discrete nature of both the Prime and his Sparkmate: he doubted either would be prone to tell others whatever was about to transpire.
He would just endure it and then attempt to mend the breach he had unintentionally caused.
At Optimus' continued silence, Elita One took another step closer to Prowl. "I will not have my sparkmate – the Prime – spoken to with such disrespect again. Especially not by you. Autobot you may be now. Trusted tactician as well, perhaps. But you will remember your place. Am I clear?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Now: I want to make sure there is no misunderstanding. What is it I expect from you?" She demanded, hands on her hip joints.
Prowl's doorwings twitched. She was treating him like a misbehaving youngling. Nevertheless, he answered in clipped, unemotional tones: "You expect me to treat the Prime and yourself with all due respect, at all times, ma'am."
She gave him a sharp nod. "Now. Explain yourself."
Prowl's doorwings shifted again, just a fraction of a centimeter. "I…"
"No." Optimus cut him off and Prowl froze even as Elita One looked up at her sparkmate, who was now standing. Optimus continued gently but firmly, "For all that this is nothing more than a training room, it is – at this moment – Prowl's dojo and he is its master."
The Prime smiled sympathetically down at Elita One's widening optics and continued just as gently as he had started, wielding his power and authority with kindness. "I am his student. Within these walls, he may speak as he wishes."
"But he was rude, insolent, demeaning and…"
"What he did," Optimus tone was a touch harder, cutting her off, "he did for my benefit, nothing more."
Elita One stared at Optimus for a long moment then glanced at the rigidly but still submissively standing Praxian. "But to do so with others present is…"
"He let me choose to let you stay. My choice gave him leeway to continue as if we were alone." Optimus shook his helm, but his tone was patient as his sparkmate struggled to wrap her processor around his words and their implications.
"But…"
"Please, let it go, dearspark," Optimus shook his helm. "Prowl has done no wrong, much less one worthy of such a dressing down." Optimus looked at Prowl. "My apologies, Prowl, for letting that go on as long as I did."
Though concerned at what this might do to the Prime's close bond with Elita One, Prowl deeply appreciated that. He shook his own helm. "Unnecessary, Prime. Elita One's admonition is well received."
Elita One turned her stunned gaze from her sparkmate, to the black and white Praxian. She considered him keenly, noticing that he was still absolutely motionless. She was struck by the true humility in his tone, humility that was so at odds with the angry sharpness she had heard earlier. She could not help but feel that she was missing something important.
The two mechs gave her time to come to grips with what had just happened, for which she was grateful as she continued to study Prowl. She knew the mech must be aware of her intense regard, but he just continued to stand there, his doorwings held rigidly and deliberately.
The Prime, her Sparkmate, had trusted this former Decepticon to witness the private matter of his correction of her. Perhaps, she allowed in the secret realm of her own contemplations, she had overreacted. It would not be the first time where Prowl was concerned.
Perhaps she could trust him with an equally private moment.
She turned to look up into the calm and uncannily wise gaze of Optimus and stepped toward him. She reached up to put a hand lightly over the armor covering his spark. It was a silent request that he open their bond and share with her why this was such a big deal.
Without hesitation, Optimus pushed the bond open wide and shared his perspective of the incident.
Elita One's optics widened in shock as she realized that Optimus had understood almost immediately what Prowl had done and why – that he had learned a valuable lesson. More than that, he had known Prowl intended it to help him, never to demean or belittle him. Furthermore, she then understood what her own attempt to stand up for Optimus had done, how it had been a slap in the faceplate; a great insult to Prowl.
As if that was not enough to make sudden guilt lash at her spark, she also saw and understood the moment Prowl had stopped Optimus from interceding earlier.
When she perceived Optimus' speculation as to why Prowl would have done that, her systems heated and she was forcibly reminded of her own overriding fear from when she had first learned the position Optimus believed Prowl would one day hold. She had known that the Prime's desire to trust the Praxian and her own hesitance would cause sparkache between them.
Instead Prowl had been willing to accept her demeaning of him specifically to avoid that.
And she had accused him of insolence and disrespect.
Her spark constricted in her chassis as her frame continued to heat. She shuttered her optics before looking back at the mech in question, only to see that Prowl was looking deliberately to the side. Her vents hitched: he was politely and studiously ignoring them, giving them privacy.
He had probably deactivated his audios as well, to ensure he did not intrude on such a potentially intimate moment. That realization caused an ill-defined feeling to worm its way into her spark.
She took a step toward Prowl to regain his attention.
Prowl turned back to her immediately, his optics refocusing on her briefly before dropping respectfully to her chassis.
Even though he was a former Decepticon, in looking at him now Elita One had no difficulty seeing him for the mech he had truly become. Doubtless, sharing her sparkmate's insight on the matter had some impact on that.
She smiled weakly. "My apologies, Prowl, I jumped to conclusions I shouldn't have."
The Tactician shook his helm. "Unnecessary, but accepted, ma'am."
She had a feeling he was one who would refuse any apology given by a higher ranking individual. She continued in a much kinder tone, hesitant to do so but needing the reassurance, "If you would, please confirm why you addressed my sparkmate as you did."
Prowl lifted his gaze to hers. "Distraction in a fight, no matter how 'understandable' could get him killed. My job as his instructor is to make sure he learns not to let that happen."
Elita One released a vent. "I see."
Prowl continued to study her for a moment longer and when he spoke it was with a fair degree of caution, as if unsure his words would be believed. "He is still my Prime, and he retains my utmost respect… as do you, Elita One."
Optics widening, Elita One stepped back, pressing up against her sparkmate as if seeking reassurance. "You… you took that from me just like… like…"
She released a sigh of air through her vents, unable to continue.
Prowl actually rocked back fractionally and spoke quickly, not wanting her to continue, afraid of what she might say. "Elita One… ma'am…"
Elita One shook her helm, effectively silencing him. She stepped away from Optimus, closing the distance between her and Prowl. "I do not have the Matrix next to my spark. Even so, perhaps I will also learn not to jump to conclusions. I can't promise it won't happen again, though."
The last was said with a sad, apologetic smile.
Prowl nodded once, the movement almost regal in an unlikely mirror of the Prime's own carriage. "I will not pressure you to trust me more than you are comfortable with."
"I see that." Her expression turned thoughtful. "You never have."
Inexplicably, Prowl found himself growing more concerned as her gaze sharpened. Still he waited, very much aware she was not through with this interview.
Elita regarded Prowl carefully as she considered her plan. If Optimus trusted him as much as he did, it was time she finally pushed herself to do the same. Or at least start that direction. One way came to mind almost immediately and it nearly made her shudder.
Before she could reconsider and listen to the little voice in the back of her processor that insisted it was too dangerous, she spoke. "Prowl, I am not a student of Circuit Su The only thing I know of unarmed combat is what was taught at the Iacon Autobot Training Center before it was destroyed. But… would you spar with me?"
Prowl's engine sputtered as it felt like the ground fell away from him. "Ma'am?"
She nodded, speaking more firmly, somehow encouraged by his shock at the suggestion. "I want to spar."
Seeing Prowl's sudden discomfiture, Optimus put a hand on her shoulder. "Elita, dearspark…"
"I need to do this." Both mechs tensed at the strain in her voice.
Prowl looked at Optimus for guidance as the Autobot leader continued to study his sparkmate. After a long moment, Optimus merely nodded, stepping back.
Prowl released a vent: that was not what he had wanted.
As if sensing his thoughts, Optimus looked at him, speaking gently. "It is a sparring match she is asking for, Prowl."
Prowl stiffened, then he nodded and Elita One blinked, guessing what Prowl had probably suspected. But Prowl turned toward her, bowing his helm before she could reassure him.
"Understood, Prime." Prowl hesitated and then nodded deferentially to her. "One moment please, ma'am."
She watched as he stepped up to the holographic controls and quickly replaced the dojo with the Praxian training hall he used to train the medics. At her openly puzzled expression, the tactician explained.
"A Circuit Su dojo incorporates a world of etiquette and tradition that will not burden us here."
She nodded, though it was clear she did not fully understand. She did not know that Prowl could also see her steadily increasing nervousness.
Prowl stepped onto the mat and then deferentially beckoned her to join him. Once there he nodded to her. "When you are ready, ma'am."
She drew in a shaky vent to steady herself, distantly aware that even now he was leaving control of the situation in her hands. Then she steeled herself; she was doing this to prove to herself that she could trust Prowl.
Without giving her self a chance to second-guess her decision, she launched herself at the tactician.
Prowl nimbly dodged one strike, blocking her kick and then her next strike. Elita growled, straining to move even faster, using her speed and agility – which had served her well in the battlefield numerous times – to try and land a blow. But somehow he managed to avoid her with deft, sure movements.
So she changed tactics. She began to feint and switch.
Suddenly he seemed to all but collapse under her revamped assault and by the time it was over, she had slammed him into the mat, one hand closed about an energon line just above his pelvic complex.
Elita One started to grin triumphantly but, as her processors retrospectively analyzed the last seconds of the fight, it turned into a frown.
Her engine growled. "You let me do that. I've seen the recordings of you in a fight. I know you are better than this." Elita One leaned closer, her hand tightening around the energon line until she felt his frame tense.
Her words were a low and threatening. "You just let me take you down like that again and you will wish you hadn't."
As faint as it was, Prowl's expression of shock changed as pain flicked across his faceplate. Elita One did not think that that pain was related to any discomfort of his frame.
But he regained complete control before she could be sure and nodded his understanding and compliance.
She let him up and they circled before she attacked again. This time, Prowl met her attack with one of his own.
And it was over so fast Elita One had no idea what had happened.
She was on the ground, Prowl pinning her in place with one hand wrapped around one of her energon lines. But she was not truly harmed; only very light, almost unnoticeable cosmetic scuffs. She looked up at him, curious as to what she would see, and saw the pained hesitance and uncertainty in his averted expression.
Even as he released her and stood back, the way he offered her a hand back to her pedes, it was clear – by the way his armor clamped to his frame and the way his doorwings stayed tucked and his gaze averted – that he had not enjoyed doing that to her. He had taken no pleasure in defeating her.
She sat up slowly, looking him up and down, and then accepted his proffered hand. He lifted her gently and politely, letting her regain her balance before he stepped away.
Abruptly Elita One was reminded of when she had taken him to the roof for a 'chat.' She had been terrified that he would have been able to tear her apart in the lift. Here was her proof that he could have.
But he had not.
He had been willing to accept her blade when he could have so easily defended himself.
Nor had he hurt her this time, when she had all but given him an open invitation to do so.
Gaining confidence, not in her own fighting ability – which was woefully lacking in comparison to his – but in Prowl the mech, she nodded. "How did you move like that?"
The tiniest hint of a rueful smile touched his lip plates. "Many decavorns of practice, ma'am."
Elita One nodded, recognizing and accepting that even though he had so easily bested her, his respect for her remained intact. She smiled widely. "Again!"
She moved forward, not intending to give him an option. This time, however, he met her at her level and they traded blows in an almost friendly dance of strikes and blocks. The match continued and it became clear he was matching her almost perfectly, never giving her more than she could handle, but not letting her get anything by his defenses either.
The former Enforcer seemed unwilling to best her again, despite his demonstrated ability to do so. Elita One guessed he would keep this up until either she managed to beat him, or they both tired to the point of exhaustion.
The longer they moved, in seeming perfectly coordinated unison, the more Elita One could see the control, the conscience that drove the deadly fighter. It was a conscience she knew the mech had taken great pains – and had sacrificed greatly – to restore from what his time with the Decepticons had made of him.
She began to relax, to realize that he was not a threat to her, even now. He was showing respect, even as he met her as an opponent in a field he was clearly superior in. She also knew he would let her win if she wanted to, but that he was giving her exactly what she had asked for: a sparring match.
She had ordered him not to throw the match, but it was just as clear he was not about to take victory for himself. She would just have to play dirty. Only she was convinced that even if she used a dirty trick, he'd probably not fall for it.
It would not hurt to try.
She smiled sweetly, even as they continued to trade blows. "We both know we can't keep this up all orn. And there is no way I can beat you, so…"
Prowl did not miss a beat, blocking and parrying her strikes with perfect timing while ensuring his own strikes were ones she could manage as well. "We could call it a draw."
"Hmm. No." She danced away from him to put space between them, circling.
Prowl's optics had grown a fraction wider as he watched her, matching her circle warily.
"Elita, you do not need to toy with him." Optimus chided gently, though with a hint of humor.
She released a vent of air, sensing that Prowl was truly concerned she would force his hand. To bad he was right.
"Oh, very well." She smiled again. "We will end it however you wish, Prowl, but a draw is not an option."
Optimus quirked an optic ridge, his engine giving a low rev. Prowl's frame tensed.
"If you see an opportunity to take me down," Prowl asked cautiously, "Will you take it? Or is this a scheme to make me win?"
There was a tension in his voice and posture that made Elita One suddenly realize that Optimus had been right.
She laughed, lowering her guard and easing out of her fighting stance – trust Prowl not to take advantage of her lowered guard – to let Prowl know she was not serious. "Oh, very well. A draw then."
Prowl pulled up, looking relieved.
She canted her helm to the side, growing thoughtful again even as her vents continued to heave from her recent exertions. "You are teaching Optimus to fight like you can?"
Prowl bowed his helm, respectfully formal just has he had been before the fight. "Yes, ma'am."
She considered him a moment longer then nodded her approval. "As his sparkmate, I am grateful for your efforts. You have given me what I needed to see. Thank you, Prowl."
She glanced briefly at Optimus, who was smiling with serene pride in her change of spark, and the light in her optics turned mischievous. "Feel free to beat sense into him whenever you need to."
She turned to the Prime, pretending to be unaware of the look of compounding surprise in his optics. She smiled. "I will see you when you are finished here, dearspark."
Then Elita One was gone, leaving the two mechs to stare after her. They continued to stare after her, even when the door closed behind her.
The moment of stunned silence stretched uncomfortably.
Prowl cleared his vents, "That was…" he choked off whatever he was going to say, looking askance at the Prime.
"Interesting?" Optimus provided and Prowl nodded quickly. He smiled wryly. "I agree."
Another moment of silence echoed between them, then Prowl straightened, turning back to the Prime formally. "Shall we continue?"
Optimus nodded with equal formality. "I believe you were 'beating some sense' into me."
The Prime smirked faintly as Prowl's helm jerked back in surprise.
"Prime… I… I do not…" Prowl's doorwings trembled so faintly it might have been an illusion.
Then Prowl winced only an aestrosecond before he started to fall.
Only lightning-quick reflexes of his own allowed the Prime to catch the Praxian before he hit the ground in an unconscious heap.
EEEK! Don't hit me! This isn't really the horrible cliff-hanger it seems to be, okay? Honestly it isn't! That annoying little failsafe just activated, that's all. He's fine… even if his pride is perhaps a little shaken, but he's fine. Poor Prowl: just can't handle Optimus teasing him. :)
Right. Just in case anyone missed it, this chapter took place over the span of roughly two quartex, so: a little time jump there. That's why it might have felt a little scattered.
In case you are worried that Prowl is crashing too frequently it has been at least two and a half quartex since his last crash, though I think it's actually a little longer than that. If you do the math:
1 orn = 6 days, 1 decaorn = 10 orns = 60 days.
1 quartex = 4 decaorns = 40 orns = 240 days.
2 quartex = 240 x 2 = 480 days.
Then ½ a quartex = 2 decaorns = 20 orns = 120 days.
120 + 480 = 600 days.
1 year = 365 days. Thus 600 days = 1.64 years
So… it has been at the very least 1.64 earth years since that failsafe has last activated. Considering how recent his original crash was, that isn't bad. No, I will not start having him crash every time he turns around.
Final note: I noticed Ultra Magnus received a lot of… erm… shall we call it 'hate mail'?... following the last update I understand he was a little high-handed in the last chapter and that he has his own issues. Rest assured, Ultra Magnus is another character that I actually have a little bit of a soft spot for so... Never fear, he and Prowl will come to an understanding and… well... you'll see. Eventually. :D
