Prowl quickly learned that his bourgeoning trust in the Prime's discretion was proven well founded. Even though he had been unimaginably embarrassed to come back on-line to see the concerned Prime peering down at him, never did the Autobot leader make him feel inferior for his glitch.
In fact, once Prowl was back on his pedes, the Prime had acted as if nothing unusual or noteworthy had happened at all. He had, by that act, made Prowl indescribably grateful. In fact, since that orn, nothing of the matter had been said by either mech.
Likewise, no one else on base ever learned of the incident either. And, as time progressed, Prowl was able to relax in the belief that he truly could trust the Prime, with more than just professional issues.
Meanwhile, the disturbing lack of true aggression by Decepticons continued for another quartex. In that time, the pattern of life in Iacon continued undisturbed. Bluestreak continued to mature mentally and emotionally and, somehow, Jazz managed to become an even greater fixture in Prowl's life. Prowl continued to maintain his careful formality with the saboteur, but Jazz did not seem to care, even if their interactions were mostly brief and far from personal.
In command briefings, Jazz did not push his own brand of swashbuckling informality at Prowl, appearing the consummate professional. So much so, it had other commanders quietly wondering what had happened, if not making them feel a little creeped out. Off duty, when he would waltz into Prowl's quarters unannounced, he would return Bluestreak's warm greeting and meet Prowl's formal one with a cheeky grin and a matching quip.
Inexorably, Bluestreak would giggle at Jazz's antics and Prowl would then politely invite him to sit. Their conversations never did delve into personal issues or even touch on the uncomfortable history between them. It stayed light and superficial, if still genuine.
Much like the unstable 'peace' the Autobots found themselves in.
As all things must inevitably come to an end, so too did the reprieve the Decepticons had granted them. And, when it did, it was with a vengeance…
… … …
Prowl had continued to train the various response teams, Fusion hanging around the periphery of those sessions like a prowling hunter, just waiting for Prowl to do something he could report. The fact that Prowl was never apprehended, or even called into the Prime's office over the matter, indicated he had found nothing. That did not stop Fusion from staying alert for anything.
Prowl saved the Twins for last in his training schedule. Whether it was because he wanted to avoid it for as long as possible or to give them a chance to get over their… problem… with him, Prowl would not have been able to tell.
All he knew was that even Bluestreak had noticed something was bothering him the orn he had the Twins scheduled for their first training module.
As he had for nearly every orn of the last two quartex, Prowl met Fusion in the training room nearly fifteen breems prior to when the training session was to start.
Fusion shook his head, looking Prowl up and down. "You have some ball-bearings, sir. The Twins do their own thing and nothing you do is going to change that. In fact, it might just make them more unpredictable."
Prowl eyed the younger mech. "That is a distinct risk."
Fusion's optics narrowed. "Then why take it?"
"Sunstreaker and Sideswipe are formidable warriors, but they lack the ability to work well with others." Prowl grimaced. "As you say, they are unpredictable and impulsive."
"You, especially you,aren't going to change that." Fusion's engine revved.
"Indeed not." Prowl acknowledged easily. "Nor do I aim to. My goal with them is to help them become more focused, a more honed weapon so to speak."
Fusion's optic ridges arched and he opened his mouth to respond, but the doors to the training area buzzed open before he could. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe walked in.
Neither looked particularly happy, or comfortable with being there. Sunstreaker's concern manifested itself in a dark brooding silence that bordered on latent aggression. Sideswipe covered his unease with a front of arrogant flippancy.
"So… Prowlie…." Sideswipe said with a smirk, though he glanced around nervously. "Didn't think ya would actually call us to one of these."
Behind Prowl, Fusion smirked; quietly anticipating the humiliation the former Decepticon would experience trying to corral the Twins. They could be highly inappropriate when they chose. Even Ultra Magnus had suffered from their upstart ways. Only the Prime was safe… and Elita One. And Ironhide, but that was because he would physically wipe the floor with them if they stepped out of line and they knew it. Most of the senior officers did not even try.
Prowl straightened, sensing the same thing Fusion had. "Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, this is a work-related session. Will you be upholding your end of our agreement?"
Immediately, both Twins froze, their frames stiffening. Then they looked at each other briefly before looking back at Prowl. Reluctantly, both nodded.
Prowl then briefed them on how the exercise would work. They listened with a remarkable level of focus, even if their enthusiasm was lacking.
When they were done Sunstreaker almost sneered. "What is the purpose of this?"
Prowl looked at both front line warriors for a moment that was long enough they grew uncomfortable. When he spoke, his words caused both of the Twins and Fusion to stare.
"I have said before that both of you are skilled warriors, but you are not as good as you could be. The purpose of these training sessions is to help you learn how to be even more effective than you have been." Prowl looked at Sideswipe. "Are your blades effective if you just swing them around wildly without a target?"
"Of course not." Sideswipe scoffed.
Prowl looked at Sunstreaker. "Are yours any more so?"
"No." Sunstreaker frowned. "But we do have a target: we kill every Decepticon we can get our hands on."
"Yes." Prowl allowed. "But you are like a blade swung wildly. You attack without giving thought to strategy. If you learn to work with me and the other response teams you will be able to help ensure the off lining of even more Decepticons than you are currently able." He paused. "That is what you want, is it not?"
Sullenly, the Twins admitted that it was.
"Will you at least attempt to learn from these training sessions?" Prowl asked quietly. "If the answer is no then you are free to go."
Sideswipe looked at his brother for a long moment. Then Sunstreaker nodded. Sideswipe returned the gesture then looked at Prowl. "If you can help us fight better we… we'll give it a shot."
Prowl nodded graciously and motioned them forward, signaling the simulation to begin.
Fusion, for his part, was staring at Prowl as if he could not believe what he had just seen. Nobody, but nobody - except the Prime… and sometimes Jazz – usually managed to gain voluntary cooperation out of the Twins. And Prowl had not even raised his voice.
Surprisingly, the Twins maintained their promise to give the lesson an honest try. It was stumbling at first and they chaffed at having their impulsiveness curbed.
Tempers, at least the Twins' tempers, got hot more than once. Near the end of the session, Fusion was sure they were about to assault Prowl, but the tactician maintained control of the situation.
"You are holding us back!" Sunstreaker accused, pushing his faceplate into Prowl's.
Prowl did not act in any way intimidated or put off. "On the contrary, I am trying to help you."
"You did not let us go after the 'Con signals." Sideswipe joined his brother in facing down the black and white tactician.
"For good reason." Prowl crossed his arms over his chassis. "You must understand that as a tactician, it is my job to see the larger picture. I am aware of the enemy's movements more than you are. There is a reason I direct mechs to certain areas."
"We've done fine enough on our own so far." Sunstreaker growled.
Prowl's doorwings hitched in a faintly mocking fashion. "You think so? In every battle I have helped direct so far, I have had to divert mechs otherwise involved in defeating the enemy to rescue you two. Furthermore, you missed numerous opportunities to do far more harm to the enemy than you did because you refused to listen to my direction. In addition, at least twice, other mechs were seriously injured and in one case killed because you were not where you could have been to save their lives."
"You are making that up." Sideswipe hissed.
"Am I?" Prowl cocked an optic ridge and then accessed the holographic controls.
The training program dissolved and in its place a three dimensional, vastly scaled down map of the outposts Prowl had helped the Autobots retake appeared, floating at about the height of their waists. It moved around them, adjusting so that what Prowl was illustrating stayed right in front of the Twins.
"You recognize this, yes?" He did not give either Twin a chance to answer, but set the simulation in motion.
"Here you caught the signal of two Decepticons. My orders, through Smokescreen, directed you to circle around and come up on the rear of this Decepticon formation." A group of Decepticon signals were highlighted and Prowl continued without missing a beat.
"There were thirteen mechs in this formation. Your insistence in following your own ideas meant that you took out two when you could have had a hand in taking out thirteen." A handful of Decepticon signals broke away and fled. "As it happened, five out of the thirteen escaped. I calculated a 98.52% probability that the two you allowed to distract you would have been called to assist the original thirteen. Had that happened, if you had done as commanded, fifteen Decepticons would have been taken out."
"We had no idea…" Sideswipe murmured.
"No. You had no way to know. That is why an on the ground tactician is so valuable." Prowl changed the scene to another. "By this point in the battle, after having already disregarded ten attempts to direct you, I stopped trying."
The visual showed two Autobot signals, closing on a lone Decepticon signal and chasing it through the battlefield, suddenly surrounded and cut off, deep inside enemy lines.
"You remember this, yes?" Prowl asked again, cocking an optic ridge. Then the focus of the scene shifted, showing a team of Autobots who had managed to corner a group of Decepticons and were pounding away at them. "I had to call off these mechs and send them to your location to save your lives, as they were the only ones close enough to get there in time to actually do so. The Decepticons they were attacking were attempting to repair the ground artillery installments at that location."
Even as the group of Autobot signals moved away from the Decepticons, Prowl kept their focus on where they had been fighting. "Had we managed to take these Decepticons, we could have held the artillery guns. However, because I could not risk these weapons being made functional again while still in Decepticon hands, I had to order the Seekers to destroy them entirely."
As he spoke a wave of Autobot seekers started a firing run. Prowl continued to speak as they spun around and returned to fire again. "Unfortunately, in doing so, a main fuel line was struck, causing a chain reaction deep into the base itself. While beneficial in that it helped end the battle more quickly, it also helped ensure there was little left to salvage. It might have happened any way, and a few Autobot lives might have been saved in avoiding a longer ground battle, but it could have been avoided and, in having to completely scuttle the base, a potential weakness in our outer territories in the region has been created. At the very least, we now have no platform in the area for launching future offensive strikes at the Decepticons."
The hologram dissolved so quickly it was startling, causing the Twins and Fusion to flinch. It was replaced just as quickly by the familiar Iacon skyline.
Prowl continued speaking and though his voice remained outwardly calm, it was clear that there was a growing tension to it that was almost dangerous. "Then there was the battle to defend Iacon. You will recall, I trust, when…"
"We get it." Sideswipe said quickly, his vents flaring. "Stop. We get it."
"Do you?" Prowl looked from silver twin to the gold one.
Sideswipe and Sunstreaker looked at each other for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then Sunstreaker looked back at Prowl. "We get it. We will…"
The golden twin was cut off as they were all deafened by the blaring of the emergency alarms.
… … …
Prowl raced through the halls to the tactical command center as the alarm klaxons continued to ring through the base. He transformed back into bipedal mode just outside the doors and strode in, with barely a break in his momentum.
"Report." He snapped.
Blaster's voice over the base intercom interrupted whatever Trailbreaker might have been about to say.
"Incoming SOS from Stanix. The city is under attack. It's a full-fledged siege."
Prowl was at the primary tactical terminal before the communications expert finished speaking. He synched with it, even as the rest of the department likewise sprung into action.
Smokescreen was beside Prowl an instant later. "It looks like what they tried on Iacon," he murmured.
Prowl nodded. "We have limited time if our forces are going to arrive in time to hold the city."
/Tactical Command?/ The Prime's comm. prevented Smokescreen from answering.
Smokescreen nodded for Prowl to answer.
With a slight frown, Prowl did so, all business. /We need to have our forces enroute to Stanix in three breems./
/Understood./ Then, over the other command channels, Prowl could hear the Prime issuing the orders necessary to have ground and aerial reinforcements dispatched to Stanix.
As soon as the Prime signed off the command channels, they lit up as response team commanders took over and the appropriate orders were passed down the chain of command with a fluid efficiency that pleased Prowl immensely
Smokescreen looked at him. "We will have to use the stealth ship as our base – we've had no chance to scout one on the ground."
Prowl just nodded, then looked at Trailbreaker. The brown mech's optics glowed brightly with anticipation.
… … …
The tiny stealth ship landed at almost the same time as the first ground team. It did so in full stealth mode and as quickly as the laws of physics and the tolerance of its passengers allowed.
Once secured, Prowl, Smokescreen and Trailbreaker slipped into the routine that was becoming easier and more efficient each time they worked together.
Prowl was already snapping out orders over the comm. channels even as Trailbreaker finished synching the computers to the local information grid. Smokescreen synched with the tactical terminals only a moment before Prowl and Trailbreaker did the same.
Less than a breem after they were fully operational and engaged in the battle for Stanix, their shipboard communications system crackled to life. "Stanix Tactical Command to Iacon Tactical Division. We just received orders from the Prime to defer to your orders. Said you'd recently defended Iacon from something similar."
Prowl looked at Smokescreen, who nodded his permission for the other mech to answer. Prowl felt a wave of appreciation for the Prime in foreseeing and dealing with that potential roadblock.
Not deviating from his coordination of the Iacon response teams, Prowl remotely accessed the communication system. "Acknowledged, Stanix Tactical Command, this is Iacon Tactical Division. We request that you transmit all sensory feeds to this receiver."
Prowl transmitted the appropriate information.
"You want all our sensory feeds?" Came the incredulous question.
"Yes." Prowl subdued his instinctual irritation, reminding himself that Autobots from outside Iacon would never have experienced his particular talents. "Speed is of the essence, Stanix."
"Understood, Iacon."
A moment later the sensory feeds flooded the terminal and thus his processors and his vision of the battlefield expanded then crystallized and he was almost instantly snapping orders to the Stanix defenders as well as the Iacon reinforcements.
It might have been because the Stanix soldiers were unaware of his identity, but they followed his orders readily enough. Or perhaps they were just desperate. Regardless, Prowl was not about to question whatever favor Primus was seeing fit to grant.
Just as in Iacon, once it was clear the new voice on the tactical communication channel knew what he was doing and could win the day, the Stanix defenders began fighting with even more zeal.
Even so, it took nearly a joor for what had been an inevitable defeat to turn into an even draw and then into a determined push back as it went from being a mere defense to an offensive strike against the Decepticons attacking them.
Then something changed in the Decepticons' tactics.
It was nothing major, in fact it was not really anything in their direct attempt to take Stanix. It was more accurate to describe the change as something being added to the strategy already being used by the Decepticons.
All three tacticians noticed the change simultaneously, though only Trailbreaker commented on it.
"They… they're looking for us." He said almost dumbly, his hands tightening on the consol in front of him.
"Indeed." Prowl murmured acknowledgement, even as he sent orders to Ironhide's team and the Stanix snipers covering the same area.
"Will we have this battle wrapped up before they find us?" Smokescreen asked, his attention – like Prowl's – split between the battle and the marauding hunters.
Prowl was already running the calculations based on his analysis of their search pattern, even as he issued three sets of simultaneous orders, one to an Iacon strike team, one to a Stanix response team and one to one of the Stanix fixed defense batteries.
"It is possible," He answered Smokescreen, "But unlikely."
"Aren't you worried?" Trailbreaker asked.
"Indeed." Prowl responded, his attention mostly on the battle. "But we cannot leave without jeopardizing the outcome of this battle and the fate of Stanix." He issued two more orders, growing thoughtful. "Or rather, I cannot leave. You and Smokescreen may take the ship and withdraw to a safer location."
Smokescreen's engine growled. "I'm not leaving you."
Trailbreaker was slower in responding, just staring at Prowl for a long moment. "I won't leave you either."
Prowl shot the brown tactician a startled look and Trailbreaker flashed him a tiny grin. "Wouldn't want to risk you going back to them, after all."
With his processor split so he could managing the battle, Prowl was unsure whether it was an intentional joke or a serious concern. He settled for an inflectionless "Indeed."
Then his entire focus was reclaimed by the battle. He was distantly aware that Smokescreen tasked Trailbreaker with keeping tabs on the Decepticons hunting for their location.
… … …
The battle raged on, occasionally drawing closer to their hidden location before the Decepticons were pushed back once more. It was just when the combined forces of Stanix and Iacon had definitively turned the tide – though the Decepticons fought for every meter that was taken back from them – that the Decepticon scouts found where the tacticians had hidden themselves.
"Slag! They found us." Trailbreaker cried out just astroseconds before the ground shook below them.
"We can't handle much of this." Smokescreen ground out between clenched denta as the ship took a direct hit. "This is a stealth ship, not an armed transport."
Prowl quickly analyzed the assault, even as sparks flew through the ship as another blast shook their tenuous refuge.
Instantly, Prowl made a decision.
His fingers started flying over the computer terminal, even as he issued another set of orders. "Transferring all incoming feeds to my personal receiver. We need to get out of this ship."
Smokescreen glanced at Prowl worriedly, though he did not question his mentor. "That's what I was thinking. But… are you sure you can handle all those direct feeds?"
Prowl finished his task and stood, only half seeing his physical surroundings as his mind struggled to appropriately process the sudden, direct information dump. "I will manage."
And he was. The overwhelming nature of the input diminished as his processors sorted, categorized and prioritized the information flowing to him without the terminal to do that task.
They stumbled to the boarding ramp as the ship was pummeled again. Trailbreaker triggered the portal to open, then he fell against the bulkhead as the ship was rattled under another direct hit. He looked around and then ducked back inside as plasma whipped past.
"Um… Commander, Prowl… we are surrounded." He said with heaving vents.
"Frag." Smokescreen looked at Trailbreaker and then at Prowl and then dove through the open doorway, throwing himself to the side, just barely managing to avoid a plasma blast that seared the air where he had been standing in the doorway.
Sparks flew about them as that same plasma blast melted the bulkhead they had been sitting at only moments prior.
Even as Trailbreaker quickly followed Smokescreen's lead, Prowl cursed that his weapons systems had not been deemed necessary for this – supposedly – non-combat role.
Prowl launched himself out of the ship as well, hitting the ground and rolling up to one knee. Smokescreen returned fire at the Decepticons as the three of them scrambled to find some semblance of shelter. Trailbreaker likewise attempted to fire back, but every shot went wide.
Because Smokescreen had been Prowl's apprentice, and a former Enforcer, he was a decent marksman even if not on the same level as Prowl. Trailbreaker, however had never had to fire his weapon outside the practice ranges and it showed.
Prowl flicked his doorwings back, ducking behind their meager shelter, even as he continued to monitor the battle and issue a flurry of orders to the defending Autobots. Unfortunately, the forces dedicated to defending Stanix were still too bogged down for him safely to divert any troops to their position. Not yet.
Smokescreen looked at Prowl, troubled at his mentor's silence, only to see the grim determination written across his faceplate. It was very clear that the majority of Prowl's processing power was elsewhere.
Then all three of them were suddenly were thrown into the building they were hiding behind as their ship exploded.
Dazed, they picked themselves up, hurrying to take cover again.
"Do either of you know how to re-enable a mech's weapons systems?" Prowl asked through gritted denta, even as he issued two orders to a team of Stanix defenders and a complimentary order to one of Iacon's response teams.
"Medics usually do that!" Trailbreaker stammered.
"We cannot risk a medic." Prowl shook his helm. "Right now we aren't able to defend one well enough to justify the risk."
Smokescreen snorted air through his vents as he sighted on a Decepticon stupid enough to poke his head up from behind the rubble shielding him. "Pit. They probably wouldn't even be able to get to us in one piece."
The white and gray Praxian looked at Prowl momentarily before firing again, hitting another Decepticon but not felling him entirely. "Trailbreaker, you do it. I'm the only one hitting anything at the moment."
"But… what if I do it wrong…?" Trailbreaker shook his helm.
"So long as it gives me access to my weapons, collateral damage can be dealt with later," Prowl insisted, beckoning the other tactician closer even as he issued another order.
Still unsure, Trailbreaker fired yet another completely ineffectual shot and then darted to Prowl, who granted him access to the appropriate relay panel.
"I've never done this before." Trailbreaker murmured, feeling the need to stress that point yet again.
Unfortunately, the system was locked using medic-only blocks, so Smokescreen had no choice but to do a hardwire bypass of the control panel. His fingers trembled as he worked and it took three times as long as it should have. Nor was it nearly as painless as it should have been.
Prowl focused entirely on directing the battle for Stanix to distract himself from the discomfort as he endured the procedure.
Then, suddenly, he had access to his weapons.
Without proper tools to do the job, the reconnected relays were not as secure as they should have been and the insulation was not aligned properly. This caused the system to spark, sending a searing pain through the wires of his weapon control systems. But Prowl merely winced as he accessed his weapons.
"Slagging pit spawn." Trailbreaker gasped as he saw sparks leap from the relay. "I… I'm sorry…"
"You got the job done, thank you." Prowl told him calmly. Then sudden motion caught his attention and, recognizing the Decepticon IFF of the approaching spark signature, he sighted and fired in one smooth motion.
The action of firing stressed the loose relays and the mechanism gave a warning twinge. A quick diagnostic showed it would function, though by the end of the battle his weapon control system would need some serious work. But, as he had told Trailbreaker, that could be dealt with later.
Trailbreaker was staring where Prowl's hastily aimed shot had hit a Decepticon square on the chassis, right below his collar struts. The acid was eating up those struts, leaving a gaping hole where a vital energon feed should have been.
Taking aim at another Decepticon, while simultaneously issuing more orders to the Iacon defenders, Prowl addressed Smokescreen. "How many?"
Prowl was redoubling his efforts to find a way to bring assistance. But, by intention, they had hidden their ship too far away for any rescue team to get to them quickly. The idea had been to keep the relatively defenseless tacticians out of the battle itself so they could focus on running the battle.
Smokescreen answered a mere astrosecond later. "Ten, with the one you just took out."
Prowl issued a set of orders to four different teams, then addressed Smokescreen again. "I estimate that if we can hold them off for fifteen more breems I will be able to have reinforcements to our location by that time."
Smokescreen and Trailbreaker grimaced but said nothing else.
The three tacticians continued to defend themselves for eight more breems with relative success. Prowl and Smokescreen took out three more of their attackers in that time. Unfortunately, the terrain allowed both sides to hunker down and it turned into a siege. That was fine with Prowl, whose primary focus remained on directing the final battle in Stanix. So long as they could maintain the status quo…
Which was shattered when Trailbreaker was struck in the abdominal plating while shifting positions in an attempt to get a better line of sight on a pair of Decepticons. The blast seared through plating and wires, dropping the brown tactician with a wail of pain.
Without giving it a second thought, Prowl and Smokescreen moved to physically cover the injured Trailbreaker.
"You see to Trailbreaker, I have the better aim." Prowl told Smokescreen.
"Right." Smokescreen accepted the 'command' without question, grimacing as be bent over to take a firm hold on brown armor.
Smokescreen drug Trailbreaker further behind cover, using the rubble around them to provide as much protection as possible as he attempted to stabilize his former second in command. Prowl followed, using his own frame to help shield them as Smokescreen raced to stem the loss of energon from Trailbreaker's wound.
Taking a handful of astroseconds, even as he fired at one of the Decepticons attempting to take advantage of their diminished numbers, Prowl ran the calculations and then sent orders to Ironhide's team to come to their location as quickly as possible. Simultaneously, he sent orders to the other teams to compensate for the first team's relocation.
"Help is on the way." Prowl assured his companions, gritting his denta together to get the words out.
The black and white tactician continued to fire, grimacing against the fire that lanced through him each time he accessed the trigger control systems because of the hastily done reconnection. Meanwhile, he did his best not to let the grunts and whining engine noises from Trailbreaker distract him.
Three breems after Trailbreaker went down, Smokescreen was beside him again, picking out his own targets from among the Decepticons who had managed to close the distance between them.
"He's as good as I can get him. He shouldn't leak out, at least." Smokescreen murmured, firing his weapon and downing the unlucky Decepticon who had poked his helm out too high from the rubble he had been hiding behind.
Behind them, Trailbreaker's vents were still heaving in ragged gasps in testimony of the agony he was experiencing. Prowl was very much aware of the now defenseless life depending on him. Still split between managing the final push of the Autobots to drive the Decepticons out of Stanix, Prowl let his instincts and his core programming take precedence in directing his own physical reactions.
Old Enforcer subroutines that demanded he protect all those who were weaker and more defenseless than he were running unencumbered. His purpose, his reason for existence – to serve and protect those under his charge – sang through his wires and his drive and dedication to that duty rushed through his energon lines with a fierceness that surprised Prowl.
It did not matter what Trailbreaker might have done to him, in fact it could have been the Twins in his position. At that moment, Trailbreaker was a mech under his command and, more than that, a mech depending on him to survive.
Prowl smiled, embracing the slight change in perspective this offered him.
That was when the relatively small, beast-shaped Decepticon suddenly launched himself from above, firing twin blasters incorporated into its back.
Prowl's first move was to place himself between this new threat and the wounded mech he was defending.
Searing pain lanced through him as two shots pierced his doorwings, but the sensation was muted by Wheeljack's installed pain dampener.
But the Decepticon kept coming straight for him, metal jaws open wide.
Ravage, Prowl identified him belatedly. And he was wearing a spark dampener – which explained how he could get so close. Prowl's need to direct the battle had meant he was not utilizing his upgraded sensors
Still reacting on instincts, as Ravage's lunge had brought him too close for ranged weapons, Prowl backhanded the felinesque mech.
The blow deflected Ravage's attack, but the crafty assassin managed to rake claws through Prowl's arm, scoring deep gouges through his armor. Ravage also managed to land on his pedes… all four of them.
Twisting and coiling himself Ravage launched himself back at Prowl all in one movement.
Prowl was distantly aware that the other Decepticons advancing toward them had ceased their attack and were retreating before the approaching cadre of Autobot signals. The part of his processor that realized his life now hung in the balance of his ability to defeat Ravage, handed direction of the Autobot troops to Smokescreen. But the other tactician had already stepped up to the task, directing final mop-up procedures.
He struck at Ravage again, hitting the Decepticon strongly on the side. But the smaller mech did not seem phased, able to allow the blow to push him, redirecting his attack, rather than crush armor as it should have. Undaunted, and ignoring the new gouge marks in his own armor, Prowl analyzed what was happening.
Where most mechs would brace against such a blow, Ravage was small, quick and agile enough to move with his attacker. A strike merely changed the angle of Ravage's attack rather than preventing it. No wonder the twins had been so badly mangled.
All that necessitated a change in tactics.
Prowl made these observations and analysis even as he and Ravage continued to parry blows in their deadly dance. He was so hyper-focused on the fight that he failed to fully notice that the Autobot rescue team had made it to the scene, but were just standing their, weapons armed but unable to assist because the two of them were little more than a swirling mass of metal and spraying energon.
Finally determining what he needed to do differently, Prowl's engine growled.
Ravage launched himself at Prowl again.
"This is for Sunstreaker and Sideswipe." Prowl allowed a tiny snarl and met the Decepticon.
Instead of meeting the attack with a powerful strike, however, Prowl moved aside, letting one hand come in behind Ravage's back while the other pounded into his frame. Then, continuing in the same direction the impact had changed the Decepticon's momentum to, Prowl applied his own considerable strength and hurled the smaller mech into a building some distance away.
Ravage hit the unforgiving metal and then slid to the ground.
A moment later, he staggered back to his pedes.
Tail twitching angrily, the one-opticed Symbiont glared at Prowl and took a step, crouching as if prepared to re-enter the fight. But the sound of warming plasma weapons caused Ravage to glance away from the tactician… at the ring of Autobots who had taken the opportunity to stand along side Prowl.
In an infuriated screech, Ravage spun away and then leapt across the rubble.
Plasma lanced out from no less than eight weapons, but Ravage was too agile for any to score a hit.
Only as his combat systems accepted that the immediate threat was gone, did Prowl become fully aware of his own injuries. Lacerations covered his frame, thanks to razor-sharp claws. Only half a dozen were critically deep, having managed to damage the underlying internals as well. Three of such scratches were on his doorwings. Other than where energon oozed – or in some places flowed steadily – multiple plates were dented badly enough the pain exerted on his pressure grid was extremely acute.
Prowl was aware he looked much like the Twins had, just not as bad.
Feeling the energon loss that was continuing to accumulate – even though he rerouted the systems to stem the flood – Prowl subspaced his own weapon. He winced as disconnecting the improvised control relays caused sparks and a brief searing pain on top of Ravage's contributions. But, as he was well aware this was the first time most of these Autobots had witnessed his fighting ability, he did not want any to see him as a potential threat.
It did not hurt to be cautious, not when he was so badly injured.
The mech closest to him spoke, still looking at where the beast-like Decepticon had escaped. It was Ironhide. "What was that?"
"Ravage." Prowl answered simply, glancing at the weapon's specialist.
Ironhide finally turned to look at him and Prowl did likewise. However, now that his combat systems were finally winding down, returning to standby, his injuries were catching up with him and he stumbled.
Ironhide caught him with remarkably gentle hands, optics widening as he finally got a good look at the tactician. "Smelter's rod, Prowl!"
Prowl shook his helm, "Trailbreaker…"
"He's got a couple of medics from Stanix working on him. Smokescreen's helping them. He's stable." Ironhide assured, changing his hold on Prowl so as to more easily take his weight.
"Good." Prowl nodded weakly.
Ironhide grimaced. "Let's get you to the medical ward too." He looked around, optic ridge's furrowing. "Um… where's your ship?"
Prowl nodded to the still smoking pile of debris. "Over there."
"Slag."
"Indeed." Prowl cleared his vents, coughing on leaking fluids.
Another form came up beside him and Prowl, only recognizing the spark signature once the individual was very close, realized a significant number of his sensors had suffered damage.
It was Moonracer.
"Here, let me help." She slipped up to his other side.
Prowl looked at her with surprise.
Seeing his incredulous look, she shrugged delicately. "I owe you my life back there, when those 'Cons got me surrounded. I… I like to keep my ledger clean."
Prowl frowned. He had sent aid to less than twenty different Autobots at various times during the last battle.
"There is no ledger, Moonracer." He spoke softly and she looked up at him with wide blue optics. "Do you keep tabs of how many lives you save on the battlefield and then demand payment from those individuals?"
Moonracer recoiled in horror. "No! Of course not. It's my job to protect those on the frontlines."
Prowl nodded. "And it is my job to read a battlefield and direct our forces to where they need to be… to bring as many home alive as possible while still accomplishing the mission."
She searched his optics for a long moment, then smiled gratefully and slipped under his other arm.
It was a relatively long walk to the Stanix medical transport – which someone had called in – and Prowl had to lean heavily on Ironhide, while Moonracer helped to steady him further. They had only traveled half a klick when Trailbreaker was carried past them on a Stanix medic's alt mode. Smokescreen came up to them soon after than and relieved Moonracer.
To Prowl's great surprise, he was welcomed aboard the medical transport without much fuss. He only hoped that would continue once they learned who he was.
For all that he was able to bear the damage and resulting pain stoically, Prowl did not want to have to wait till he returned to Iacon to find a medic willing to fix him.
… … …
The Stanix med bay was a flurry of activity as medics raced to stabilize the most badly damaged, while technicians patched up the less damaged so as to make room for others.
Upon their entry, Stanix's CMO pointed the mechs carrying Traibreaker toward the surgical suite, all the while making marks on a datapad, rearranging the triage lists. Then he walked over to Prowl. He took one look at him and immediately pointed to a freshly vacated med berth.
A detailed medical scan itched across Prowl's frame and the CMO frowned. "Serious, but not immediately life threatening." He made a few notes on his datapad and called out to a mech. "Dar…"
The CMO's vocalizer hissed static as he cut himself off, looking up at Prowl with wide optics. "You… you're Prowl. You used to be Megatron's senior tactician."
Prowl stiffened, as did Ironhide and Smokescreen beside him. Prowl answered, suddenly wary. "Yes."
The medic drew back, raw terror filling his gaze. "I… I can't order one of my medics to repair you. I…"
"Why not?" Ironhide growled the question.
"Be… because of who he is… was. He targeted medics…"
"He saved your base." Ironhide stepped closer to Prowl, almost protective. "He's the one who orchestrated Stanix's defence."
"He'd never hurt an Autobot. Not now." Smokescreen said with absolute confidence ringing in his tone. "Let alone a medic."
The CMO drew himself up, though his armor rattled faintly. "We don't know him that well. I will get to him personally when I have seen to all the others before him on the triage list, but I can't ask any of my medics to take such a risk…"
"He is an Autobot Lieutenant Commander." Ironhide pressed, his engine giving a low, threatening growl.
"I see that but…"
"Who do you think you are to…" Ironhide began.
"Don't push him, Ironhide." Prowl winced as putting a hand on the large black mech's arm caused the jagged edges in a laceration Ravage had created in the armor of his lower arm to rub against each other.
Ironhide looked down at Prowl in disbelief. "But you are the only reason the Decepticons haven't overridden this base."
"And this is there base." Prowl nodded toward the still trembling CMO. "Most of Iacon's medics are still leery of fixing me. Don't expect more of mechs who have never seen me as an Autobot before."
"But…"
"I will see to Prowl's repairs." Patch, who had been part of the Iacon relief team stepped forward then, running his own scan over the indicated Praxian. "But I will need assistance."
Patch turned back expectantly to the Stanix CMO. Before the smaller mech could answer, another one – dark gray with lighter gray detailing and emblazoned with cobalt highlights – stepped out of the surgical suite. It was one of the field medics who had helped stabilize Trailbreaker.
"I'll help." He looked at his boss.
"Are you sure?" The CMO asked with wide optics.
The larger medic nodded. "Yes. The injured tactician was awake and mumbling that Prowl had saved his life by the time we got him here. A 'Con wouldn'ta done that."
The CMO considered the other mech for a long moment then nodded. "Thank you, Gasket."
The CMO looked at Prowl again, opened his mouth to say something then, with a nervous glance at Ironhide, he moved away.
Gasket turned his attention to Prowl, glanced at Ironhide as well, and then stepped closer to Prowl. His hand trembled noticeably as he held it toward the tactician. Despite his words, he was clearly very nervous.
"Level One Medical Technician, Gasket." He said politely.
Level one… a mech just beginning his training. Able to work under the direction of a trained medic but not able to do much more than basic tasks on his own.
Regardless, Prowl lifted his least damaged arm to return the greeting. "Lieutenant Commander Prow."
It still felt strange to say those words and Prowl realized he never actually had until that moment.
No sooner than the introductions were out of the way than Patch sent Gasket off to get some tools. Then he turned to look at Prowl.
"I will do what I can but… I am still a junior medic. Some of this damage is beyond my training. I…"
"Do what you can." Prowl told him gently, wincing. "Ratchet can take care of the rest. I am grateful for anything you will be able to do."
"Um… alright." Patch looked over Prowl again, clearly intimidated by the level of damage facing him.
Gasket returned then and likewise glanced nervously at Prowl and then questioningly at Patch.
Reading the look in the technician's optics, Prowl put his hands on the berth, letting his fingers lightly curl over its edge. He knew painful work that was done on conscious mechs was usually done with said mech restrained.
Patch blinked and then took one of the tools Gasket had laid on the berth next to Prowl and reach for the worst of the lacerations. He paused. "Do you wish to be offlined?"
Had they been in Iacon, Prowl realized he would have felt relatively comfortable choosing that option. However, given the hostility and distrust he had already encountered here, Prowl was uncomfortable with that idea. He shook his helm mutely.
Patch nodded and lowered the tool to begin repairing what he could of the internal wires laid bare by the tear in the metal armor.
Gasket blinked. "You… ah… you aren't going to restrain him?"
Patch paused, looking at the Stanix technician sharply. "He is a Lieutenant Commander. I'm not restraining him unless he becomes combative."
Patch looked at Prowl. "You have deactivated your pain grid?"
"Yes." Prowl spoke through gritted denta as, even so, the sensation on his pressure grid was distinctly painful.
With a satisfied yet still sympathetic nod, Patch got back to work.
Carefully Patch repaired what internal systems he could, then he carefully straightened metal that had curled back under Ravage's razor-sharp claws. Where the armor did not meet perfectly he welded proto-mesh that Prowl's systems could use to rebuild the armor. In a few places he was unable to salvage the shreds of armor Ravage had torn free and apologized before cutting them the rest of the way off. Those open gashes he covered with temp plating which would be replaced with true armor plates in Iacon so as not to deplete Stanix of resources.
As Patch worked, Ironhide watched Prowl. He knew Prowl was able to handle a great amount of pain and he knew, even with his pain grid offline, that the type of work the tactician was enduring was still very unpleasant. Seeking a way to distract Prowl, he asked the first thing that came to his processor.
"So… what happened to your ship?"
Prowl looked up from where both medics were working on patching up some mangled lines in his right upper leg. "I believe it was three consecutive high yield projectiles."
Ironhide stared. Was that a joke? Surely not.
Before Ironhide could recover, Prowl spoke again, lowering his voice. "They were looking specifically for us."
Ironhide's helm jerked back. "You sure?"
Prowl nodded, though the weapon specialist noted he never removed his hands from the edge of the berth. "Yes. Just over three quarters of a joor after the Iacon contingent joined the battle, we noticed a change in the Decepticon activities – something separate from their efforts in the battle itself. It was an easily distinguishable search pattern."
Ironhide had gotten over his shock at the almost possible joke and responded thoughtfully, running Prowl's words through his own spinning processor. "They knew tacticians were in the area and were looking for you." It was not a question and his optics narrowed. "You personally, or all of you?"
"Unknown at this time." Prowl released a soft vent as the medics finished what they were doing and there was a pause before they started working on a new wound.
Ironhide crossed his arms. "So what do we do about it?"
Prowl glanced at where Smokescreen had been settled on a berth for his own repairs. The white and gray tactician was out cold, never having developed the aversion to being offlined as Prowl had.
"I am unsure at this time." Prowl hesitated. "Respectfully, I ask that I be allowed to confer with my department leader before commenting on possible future recommendations"
Ironhide blinked. He had actually managed to forget that Prowl's true position in the Iacon chain of command was that of second in command of the tactical department. It was a shock to be reminded – and by Prowl no less. The black mech remembered then Smokescreen's heated admonition right after Prowl had become an Autobot that Prowl would never violate the chain of command without good cause.
Anything Ironhide might have thought to say was interrupted by Patch, "Prowl… your doorwings…"
"Yes?" Prowl looked up at Patch.
"There are some loose and frayed sensory and electrical wires in the areas exposed by the lacerations. Any jostling on the ride back to Iacon and an entire relay could overload and blow…"
"So it needs to be repaired before our return." Prowl finished for the junior medic.
Patch nodded reluctantly. "I… I'm afraid so. Ratchet will have to address the issue with your weapon control relays as I've not dealt with that type of damage before. Theoretically I know how to repair the wiring on your doorwings, but…"
"Understood." Prowl said with a calmness that startled even Ironhide.
"But… I… I've never…" Patch stammered, his hands trembling faintly.
Prowl eyed Patch's trembling fingers and then looked back at him. "You know what needs to be done?" Patch nodded. "You know how, even if you haven't practiced the skill?" Another nod. "Then simply do the best you can. At what angle do you want my doorwings held at?"
Patch had stilled, though it was more in disbelief than suddenly acquired confidence. "Uh… ninety degrees, relative to each other."
Obligingly Prowl did as asked. The tactician looked at Patch again. "I would recommend immobilizing them. My whole frame as well if you are unsure about being able to prevent excessive pain."
Patch, who had not been able to do anything but stare, blinked down at him. Then he nodded, slipping behind Prowl to do exactly that, or so Ironhide assumed.
Patch moved back so that he could work on the anterior surface of Prowl's right doorwing and looked at the gray technician. "Gasket, hold the leading edge of this doorwing steady while I…"
"No way." Gasket took a step back, shaking his hands as well as his helm. "Praxians don't let mere Techs like me touch their doorwings unless it's an emergency and we're the only ones around."
"He just gave his permission." Patch frowned.
Gasket never stopped shaking his helm. "He gave you permission."
"I need another set of hands…"
"That's… it's too much, mech." Gasket stepped away, glancing helplessly at Prowl. "I… I can't. I'm sorry."
"Then I'll help." Ironhide growled and stepped forward. He shot a hard glare at the medics from Stanix who were now staring at him as if he had mounted a cannon where his helm should have been.
Then another voice, a distinctly feminine voice, sounded. "I… I'll help."
The three mechs looked around to see it was Livewire, the technician from Iacon sent with Patch.
She looked at Prowl briefly, her optics unreadable, before returning her attention to Patch. "Sir?"
Patch gave her a grateful smile. "Hold the leading edge of this doorwing steady, while I work on the wiring." When Livewire cast a nervous look at Prowl, Patch hastened to continue. "Don't worry, he isn't going anywhere."
Ironhide caught the faint widening of Prowl's optics as the tactician's gaze snapped to Patch. And then the weapon specialist saw the black and white frame stiffen and brace. What was going on?
Still hesitant, Livewire approached, hands extended, only to pause and draw her hands back fractionally before reaching out and taking a firm grip on the indicated sensory panel.
Very slight movement caught Ironhide's attention. As Patch got to work, Prowl's hands tightened around the edge of the berth, the metal warping slightly from the strength of his grip. It was something he should not be able to do. Not if he were truly immobilized as Patch had implied.
Then Prowl grimaced as Patch began doing something inside the laceration that did not exactly sound pleasant. Reflexively, Livewire tightened her hold on the leading edge of the doorwing she was holding. Prowl glanced at her even as Patch mumbled an apology.
The tactician grunted in reply to Patch, but otherwise said nothing.
Patch did something else and then stepped back. "There. Done. Um… that's the only truly critical damage I was able to detect, but you have some pretty large and deep dents in both doorwings and… all over actually. They'd be easy enough to pop out, but if you'd rather wait…"
Prowl looked up at Patch and Ironhide sensed a world of unspoken communication pass between them as the tactician studied the young medic. Finally Prowl spoke. "Do as you see fit."
Patch relaxed visibly. "Livewire, grab a stylus. This will go much faster if both of us work on it."
Livewire backed away a step. "Wait… I'm just a technician."
Patch looked at the femme with consternation. "Technicians are trained to do this type of work. And you have steady hands."
"Not on doorwings. And not on Command Staff." The last was said with a touch of bitterness, but Ironhide could not determine if it was directed at 'Command Staff' in general or toward Prowl for being one of the Command Staff.
Releasing a vent Patch gestured the femme back toward the med berth. "Theoretically, doorwings are just like any other piece of armor. They're just more sensitive."
"Way more sensitive." She shook her helm again. "Praxians don't like Techs touching their doorwings."
Patch gestured exasperatedly, "But you've already touched his doorwings."
Livewire nodded, not coming any closer, giving a mirroring gesture to Patch's. "Helping you. Not doing my own thing. Ask him. He'll tell you he doesn't want a mere Tech treating his doorwings."
Patch fell silent, static hissing briefly through his vocalizer. Then he looked questioningly at Prowl.
Prowl had been watching Livewire the entire time but then smiled faintly though it almost immediately turned into a grimace. "Patch is the medic overseeing my repairs, Livewire. I will not contest his assignments because of personal preferences. Technicians are trained to remove dents and, back in the Enforcer Corps, such a task was routinely assigned to Medical Technicians. You will hardly be the first to work on my doorwings."
Livewire really looked at Prowl for the first time. Her engine revved. "I've never worked on doorwings."
Prowl offered tiny, challenging smile. "Nor had Patch before today. Would you pass up the opportunity to do so?"
Despite his calm words and outward expression, Ironhide had the distinct impression that Prowl was very tense.
Livewire cycled her vents. "I…" her voice dropped and she stepped forward. She spoke so low, Ironhide barely heard her. "I still don't like you."
Prowl answered her in equally quiet tones. "You don't trust yourself."
To Ironhide's surprise Livewire shook her helm.
Prowl nodded, "Your warning is duly noted. I stand by my earlier statement. I know you can do the work."
The copper-colored femme continued to stare at Prowl for a long handful of astroseconds during which none of the mechs dared to even cycle air. Finally, she pulled a stylus out of subspace and reached for the doorwing opposite the one that Patch was working on.
Ironhide frowned, not comfortable with the way she attacked the dents with short, quick movements that would have made the process uncomfortable even on a relatively non-sensitive armor piece.
He commed Prowl. /Prowl…/
/I know./ Prowl cut him off. /She has been wanting an opportunity to repay me for a while now./
The tactician winced as Livewire snapped a piece of plating back into proper shape with an audible twang that caught Patch's attention as well.
/Are you insane?/ Ironhide hissed through the comm. line.
/Wheeljack installed a pain buffer when he repaired my doorwings./ Prowl winced again, despite his words. /I cannot say I would have been so quick to do so were that not the case./
/You're still glitched./ Ironhide transmitted the equivalent of a snort. /She's a femme./
Prowl looked at Ironhide then, his gaze level even if touched with echoes of the discomfort that was gracing his neural wires. /And I am the reason she is singled out as a target by Decepticons. If taking her frustration out in a constructive manner… I will not begrudge her that chance./
Just then the casing on a sensor housing was yanked back into proper shape, eliciting a short hiss of static from the tactician.
Patch paused while Prowl glanced at Livewire.
The femme grunted, not looking up from her work. "I warned you."
"You did." Prowl's response, while clearly strained, was noticeably amicable.
Livewire paused, glancing up at him, her tone that of pure challenge. "You want me to stop?"
Prowl blinked. "Not until you are finished."
Livewire dropped the tool she was using and it struck the trailing edge of Prowl's doorwing before clanging to the berth.
Prowl's engine revved at the new dent to the sensitive panel, but said nothing.
Livewire reached for the tool, looking down. "S…sorry."
Prowl's denta were clenched when he answered. "Feel better?"
Livewire's helm snapped up, her optics blazing. "That was an accident." She snatched the stylus up and straightened the metal harshly with an audible pop. "That wasn't."
"Livewire!" Patch called out, embarrassment mixing with shock.
Her engine growled, not a bit repentant. Ironhide was too much in shock at what he had seen to do anything but stare.
Then Prowl's optics sharpened as if he had just come to a realization. He looked at Livewire, speaking softly. "Someone took a shot at you today."
Her engine growled again, though her vents stalled momentarily as she snapped another dent out. "I just got finished helping to repair the mech who took the hit for me."
Patch glanced between the femme and the mech she was doing her best to make feel every twinge and sting of reshaping metal as possible. "Perhaps you should…"
Prowl shook his helm, cutting the young medic off. "If she wants to, let her finish."
Not giving Patch a chance to reply, Livewire stepped around the berth to glare down at Prowl. "If I want to? I just saw a mech get his legs blown off because he stepped in front of me. Do you know how many times I've had to help repair someone who got injured saving my live? How many times we couldn't save them? And you have the bearings to suggest I want to fix you?"
"You did volunteer to help Patch." Prowl pointed out softly.
"To help Patch. Not you."
"Livewire!" Patch finally regained control of himself. "That's… He's a Lieutenant Commander. That isn't an appropriate way to address someone that high ranking."
"I don't care!" Livewire nearly shrieked, helms from all around the med bay snapping around to look at her. "That was the fourth time Drivetrain has taken damage for me. For me." She glared at Prowl. "I'm tired of it. And it's because of him!"
Ironhide, Patch and the Stanix mechs were staring, completely taken aback. Livewire was trembling visibly by that point, her arms wraped around her torso as a keen – choked into static – escaped her vocalizer.
Then Prowl slid to his pedes and gently touched her upper arm.
She collapsed then, falling to her knees keening openly. But Prowl caught her, helping ease her down. Her optics were shuttered as her vents heaved.
Ironhide was leery of moving, having seen more than one femme boil into a rage after a melt-down like that. But Prowl merely held her, letting his bulk shield her from most of the mechs in the med bay.
After a sparkbeat, Patch and Ironhide silently moved to add to that protection, knowing it would help protect her dignity to have this loss of control seen by as few as possible.
… … …
It took nearly ten breems for Livewire to come out of her post-traumatic emotional overload. As her systems cycled down, the feeling of warmth from a strong, calm spark close to hers eased her pain. Then she became aware of steady arms supporting her and she realized she felt safe.
Safer than she had in a long, long time.
Her systems released a long over due draft of air, cycling to cool her frame.
Then her memories flooded her active processor again and her optics snapped on-line. Calm, deep cobalt orbs of light stared down at her.
"You…" She pushed away from the white and black mech and Prowl helped her to her pedes and then stepped back. She blinked, looking at the berth, then back at him. "You were immobilized… but then you shouldn't have been able to move… like that. No. You…"
She looked accusingly at Patch. "You said he was restrained."
"I said he wasn't going anywhere." Patch answered shakily. "And he didn't."
Her optics widened and she turned back to Prowl. "You… you let me… um, your doorwings… all those dents? When you could have stopped me?"
Prowl held his hands up, placating, "If you wish, there are several more dents on my doorwing and many more on my armor that need to be removed."
Livewire's optics widened and she found she could not say anything.
At her silence, Prowl continued, "If that is something you want, we can let Patch work on the more seriously wounded and you can ensure I am properly restrained."
As if in demonstration, Prowl backed up and sat back on the berth, resuming the position he had been holding earlier. For a long moment, Livewire just stared at him in indecision.
While she struggled with her own decision, Prowl looked at Patch, opening a tight comm.. /Patch…/
Patch drew to attention at his tone. /Sir?/
/You took an unnecessary risk in not immobilizing my frame. If I had not been able to control myself, someone could have been hurt, including you./ He let his tone soften. /I do not want that./
/I…/ Patch lowered his gaze. /After the last time… that scan.../
/Restraints were logical then as well./ Prowl reassured him. /Though I do appreciate the statement you were attempting to make this time, I do not want you potentially endangering yourself and others just for the sake of my reputation./
Patch dipped his helm formally, though his frame heated. /Understood, sir./
By the time they were done, Livewire was looking between them, aware communication was going on.
Patch looked at the femme. "Livewire, I apologize for misleading you regarding Prowl being restrained. Please… finish with him?"
"Yes, sir." Livewire nervously looked at Prowl, her earlier anger turned to anxiety.
Patch looked at Prowl, glanced at Ironhide, then nodded to Livewire before moving on to the next patient.
Once he was gone, Livewire looked at Prowl, who was still sitting in the exact same position he had been earlier.
She lifted her chin, though her voice had a detectible tremor. "It is standard procedure to immobilize a patient when doing painful repair procedures if they are online."
Prowl did not answer right away. They both were well aware that dent removal was not necessarily a painful procedure per se. Most of the time it was merely uncomfortable, though it could be made painful.
Finally Prowl ducked his helm in a formal nod. "And for good reason." He looked back up at her. "Do as you see fit, Livewire."
Then, for all the rank he held, Prowl dipped his helm submissively to her.
He did not move as she circled the berth. She reached for the control panel on his neck but stopped as he slid it open for her. Witnessing that act alone made her hand shake. Then she clinched her fist and instead reached for the berth controls, magnetizing it.
Prowl did not so much as flinch.
Taking a deep vent, Livewire picked up her stylus and slowly, as if testing his resolve, put it in the deepest part of the worst of the remaining dents in his doorwings; one that also involved a sensor housing.
Usually such large dents were worked out starting at the more superficial margins and moving toward the deeper areas. Doing so provided a more gradual change of the metal's shape and reduced the discomfort from being a sharp and stabbing pain to something no more than an intense sting.
Livewire paused, waiting for Prowl to react. If she pulled the dent out with the stylus in that position, it guaranteed a very painful experience. Yet all the Praxian did was tense, bracing himself against what was coming.
The femme hesitated, her hand on the stylus trembling.
"You want to." Prowl noted softly, his voice free of inflection.
Livewire answered just as softly. "Frag you. Why do you have to be so slagging nice?"
Prowl was still braced as Livewire had not yet moved her stylus. "How would you prefer that I be?"
Livewire's hand flexed on the stylus. "If you weren't so… so… ugh! Now I feel even worse about this." Her engine revved.
Prowl lifted his optics to look at her. "That was not my intent."
"I know." Her words were ground between her denta. "And that just makes it worse."
Prowl blinked, genuinely confused. "I am sorry."
Livewire groaned. "Slaggit!"
With a soft exhalation of air through her vents, the stylus was slid to the edge of the dent and she began working on it quickly and efficiently. And almost without any discomfort at all.
As she worked, she spoke softly. "You would have let me do it too, wouldn't you?"
Prowl cocked an optic ridge at her. "I am magnetically restrained to the berth. I could not have stopped you."
She chuckled, but it was without humor and almost hapless. "That's not what I mean. You wouldn't even…"
"I said I'd let you finish." Prowl said when she trailed off.
"I…" Her engine coughed as she looked up from her work to meet her gaze. Then her optics dropped. "I don't want to hurt you any more. I still don't like you, but I don't want to hurt you."
"I appreciate that." Prowl allowed the tiniest hint of a smile to grace his lip plates.
Livewire snorted air through her vents. "Why should I feel guilty about being upset because you made me a target?"
"You should not." Prowl answered her, completely serious again. "You have every right to be upset."
"Just… stop talking… please."
Prowl just gave her a formal nod and respectfully fell silent.
Five breems passed and Livewire moved from Prowl's doorwings to his chassis after remobilizing his doorwings. Then she moved on to his arms and then his legs. Eventually she finished.
Livewire stepped back. "I'm done."
Prowl looked at her. "Do you plan to let me off the berth?"
Livewire considered him for a moment. "No. Not yet."
With that she turned on her heel strut and walked away without looking back.
Ironhide chuckled softly as he stepped up to the berth. Both mechs watched the femme as she moved through the med bay, tending other patients. "I warned you: she is a femme."
"Indeed." Prowl glanced up at Ironhide.
Ironhide laughed again and reached out to deactivate the magnetic controls on the berth. "Come on, you need some energon after that."
Thanks to Worstcase for reminding me that I hadn't yet followed up with Prowl training the Twins. :D
Okay… I've decided what the surprise will be for the 1,000th reviewer! Whoever that is will get to choose the topic of the next side story related to Turning Points! (Impressions was the first side story.) In can be anything from a back-story to something from the story told in a different POV or even something that you wanted to see in the story but it wasn't there. (So long as it isn't something that is still coming… no spoilers!)
In the meantime I am looking forward to your thoughts.
